When I was walking through my parents quiet flat (as they were at work) earlier today after having arrived from London after 8 months, I was reminded of the times when I was a child. Looking at the books and some of the furniture - it all feels familiar and comforting as something that is always there, something that will never change. Even about 10 years later, I still find it hard when Lord (our Pekingese) is not welcoming me. My room is no longer in its own location as my parents turned it into dining room but it still feels like it is there. I guess that it is engraved into my mind - where my room was, my shelves and wardrobe behind the doors. All the years I spend behind my desk doing home work, drawing or doodling. My room was my refuge, a safe place, my small kingdom, which was just mine. My bed where I dreamt, where I rested or cried. There I was able to transport myself into any world or history and dream my dreams. It was my haven. I have grown since then but still miss that feeling of not knowing what the adulthood will bring. I am an adult now and the reality feels harsh sometimes and sometimes it is quite tiring to be responsible adult. Sometimes I awake my inner rebellious child and become stubborn or do silly things, say silly stuff.
I guess that we do not realise how great it is to be children, to be naive, to watch and observe the world, to dream about wearing all the adult clothes, dream about being treated with respect, dream about being listened to and recognised, dream about being important, about being good at something, about having a career, about having a house etc. How blissful can that ignorance feel before we grow up and realise that it is ....
Thinking about it, this is actually not ignorance. It protects us in those early years, helps us grow and it forms our character. We need to find our own worldview, learn to test the boundaries and learn who to trust. Home is that place where it all starts happening and I am lucky that I can come home, feel welcome, loved and taken care of.
No comments:
Post a Comment