Friday, June 26, 2015

nest


Our time in America this summer is right at the halfway point. 2 months have gone, and we have 2 months to come. It’s not until I sit down in a quiet room and open up a blank file on my computer that the thoughts and musings of the past 8 weeks begin to come quickly to me. A long plane ride around the world, returning us to the place we both call home. Reuniting with familiar faces, greeted with warm hugs and whispered ‘I missed you’ s. To put it simply, it has been good.

And simply is a good word to describe this time, for me, anyway. Whenever I come back to stay with my parents for any amount of time I always feel about 16 years old. Like I have time travelled, and returning to my old bedroom makes me a teenager again. The space hasn’t been overtaken with exercise equipment or crafting tables. It holds the same wardrobe and bedframe that I used 10 years ago. The familiarity is comfortable and kind. Like a little nest I keep flying back to. It has seen me through many stages of life. This bedroom hosted sleepovers, with walls that listened in on prank phone calls and were adorned with posters of teenage heartthrobs (I’m looking at you, Orlando Bloom). The closet where my prom dress hung and the mirror that I relied on to apply that glitter eye shadow. The headquarters of dance parties and a few screaming matches followed by tear filled apologies.

And now, here I am again. It is my nook to simply breathe. A place where 20 mins of Netflix turns into an hour (or two). A spot to Skype with far away friends. My little abode to swift through old things, and reflect on the memories tied to them. It is the room I rush out of to meet friends and go to lunch, but hurry back to the minute my introverted nature begins to roar her head. Back to my nest. Back to my comfort. Back to this 16 year old teenage simplicity. Knowing that my parents are right upstairs should I need advice. With sisters banging down the door to borrow my clothes. With cars forever pulling in and out of the driveway and a constant rotation of people walking through the door. My dad is making a grilled cheese sandwich and my sister has Taylor Swift turned up too loud, but everyone is secretly enjoying it. 

I fall asleep with my smile on my face most nights. This is home. This is simply good.

No comments:

Post a Comment