Monday, 16 June 2008
This morning, I sat and watch my nieces playing with Rusty at my parent's home. To them, this is home when their parents drop them off in the morning before heading to work. At night, they return to their own home not far away.
Growing up, my home was a simple abode in the countryside. Our childhood days were spent exploring our acres of land fronting a river. Life was simple and happy. As kids, our parents were our world. We adored them and looked to them for answers and comfort.
As we grew older, the charms of countryside living slowly diminished. Commuting to school in the city became a burden. Not only that, in class, I was seen as the village girl. The rebel in me started to treat my parents' watchful eyes, criticisms and curfews with disdain. I wanted to get away...study overseas or live somewhere else.
After a row with my parents one day, I moved out to live with my best friend's family for a year. The excuse I had was the inconvenience of having to travel the long journey to work. I moved back home when I could afford an old car. My parents were happy to have me back home again.
Shortly after, I got married and moved out. For 10 years, they saw me less than they had liked to. When my marriage failed, I was once again welcomed back into their safe cocoon. No questions, just unconditional love and support. For once in my life, I really felt so at home, like I was a child again.
In a few weeks time, I will be moving out again. The feeling this time is completely different. There is no argument or resentment, in fact I feel some reluctance on my part. For the kids, I can completely understand their excitement because I had been there before.
Home will be a different place soon. A new start for us finally, as a small little family.