School officially ended on Thursday and I packed up my dorm room and with my Dad’s help, we drove home the first batch of my ridiculous amount of luggage. I swear, if I stay in hall again next semester, I’m not taking that much nonsense with me. I brought home the second batch today. I was in the middle of packing up my bedroom at home and figuring out where some of my extra things would fit my drawers when I had a small moment. I was changing things. It’s a simple, natural action to reorganise for the life, the interests you grow into. But for over a year, I chose to stagnate.
This isn’t the first time I’ve thrown out old stuff since I’ve begun to move on from my grief over N. However, I held that small thought for a moment when I was tired, hot and slightly surprised with myself at how it didn’t occur to me that I didn’t even consider what was happening the day before and all the way till the middle of my packing today.
I like being home again. Now that my parents know and have gotten more used to my habits, everything is easier. The situations where I am agitated, usually because of food, has been dramatically reduced. I like my bedroom. I love the soft sheets of my comforter and I like my orange and green walls. I like turning down the temperature of the air conditioning and snuggling under the covers. I like writing in my WordPress at my own desk. I like everything about being in my room.
I loved home.
It’s always been my safe house. When I was a kid, home was where I was safe from fear. I was scared of my grandmother but my fear towards her was nothing like my social phobia. In high school, a strange pang of extreme sadness always hit me when I had to leave for school when my mother waved me off from the door, as I waited for the escalator with my Dad. I would feel as if I giving up precious time with them when they’re still alive. It always almost brought me to tears. Is such a feeling strange?
It’s becoming easier to love home the way I used to again. I’m not sure what I look forward to. I wonder if I will love home for being able to be with my family again. That’s a rhetorical question since I am after all a family-oriented person.
The people around me always seem to have someone to return to. Their special someone. Many of my schoolmates seem to be broken people. This makes me envy them more for having someone to return to. But at least I am content to be with myself again, I think.