There's something about coming back to your parent's home. You can feel like a child all over again even when you're all grown up.
I suppose I have been away for almost ten years, but coming home and smelling the familiar smells of the garden, eating dinner in the same familiar way with the same familiar dishes... Hiding my valuables in the same spots where I used to hide my prized toys and pulling out my favorite t-shirt from when I was twelve and putting that on to go to sleep in my childhood bed. I see all my favorite books and they all seem like old friends acknowledging that I am back.
And there are those subtle things that are tell tale signs of how much time has passed. The dining table is so scratched and worn. I still remember when we first got it and how proud we were of it. How my job was to wipe it down every evening after dinner so that we could see our reflections off it. There are new pieces of furniture that look strange until i realise they are meant to aid my aging grandma get about the house. My posters in the bedroom are yellowing. The mango tree is now taller than my bedroom window. I still remember dad planting it and saying that he wanted it to grow so that no one could see into my room from the streets. This would protect my privacy. Brings a tear to my eye that it has achieved his vision now... But I no longer live here...
It is always emotional being home the first night. It is always so hard to get used to the humidity and I always spend the first night in air conditioning. But this night I adapted very quickly, I can't wait for S to arrive so that I can lay in this room with him...where I used to spend many a night with my teenage fantasies of my Mr. Right, or just crying over my unrequited puppy loves. I now get to share it all with my husband and one day our kids.
Yes I am glad to be home
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