Friday, July 10, 2009

Uprooted... again

I’m moving soon. And my feelings about this change hourly.

After the break-up, I moved in with my parents. Living with them has actually been one of the most positive things to come out of all this. It’s changed my relationship with them for the better.

I fully thought that this was going to be a big mistake, but I had nowhere to go and I knew I needed support. My relationship with my mom and dad had always been good for the most part, short of a few screaming fits here and there over the years. They've lived in the house they live in now for only 7 years. I've never lived there before, didn’t have a room, and the things from my childhood were in boxes in the garage. It felt very foreign to me in the first weeks. There was nothing inherently comforting about it.

I remember the day I moved in; I could barely deal with what was going on. It was the middle of February, cold but sunny. I was just going through the motions, doing what I needed to do to get out of my apartment and into their house. Movers filed into my apartment, took everything I owned piece-by-piece and piled it into a truck. My mom pulled up, I heaved the crate containing my giant cat into the backseat, and as we pulled away from the apartment she burst into tears. Feeling so awful for me, she cried more than I did, and we tearfully drove to her house. That night, after this long day, I went into my room, closed the door behind me, and scanned what contained the life I shared with him -- all boxed away and surrounding me, the giant cat wondered around the boxes and bags. I felt a wave of relief, what I had been dreading for so long, moving out, was over. It was done. Finally. I sat on the floor, grabbed the cat who was purring over to me and we laid down on the floor in a heap. The life I shared with him, our home, what took 9 years to build, had been completely dismantled and transported in a matter of hours.

In the next month, I slowly started to feel at ease in their house. This took some time, but soon it felt like my own home -- and I really enjoyed it. I read the paper every morning as I drank my tea. At 5pm dad served us cocktails, mom cooked us dinner, we all solved our daily Suduko puzzles together and ate variety of desserts and candies every night (See: The Infamous Candy Drawer). I had a schedule, a routine, and this was so helpful to me then. The more time I spent with them, the better I got to know them too. We talked about their childhoods and mine, and what we all thought of the fact that we've moved 7 times as a family, across the country, since I was 8 until age 18-- it's kind of amazing how many times we did this. But, I learned a lot about them and I think they learned a lot about me as an adult.

This makes me think of honesty. Honesty seems to be something coming out of this break-up. I never told my best friend the extent of what was going on in my relationship; how I felt lost and alone. She assumed I was happy and we were getting along, she assumed this because I didn’t talk about it with her. I just couldn’t bring myself to face it. Same thing goes for my parents; they didn’t know what was truly going on with me. But now, everyone knows, it’s all out in the open, and it feels good to be known in this way.

Soon I’ll be uprooted once again, this time though I'm on my own. I’m nervous and excited, anticipating the independence but also fearing it. So we'll see how this all pans out, but I plan for my new home to be a happy place -- fun, colorful, calm.... full of candy, Soduko, and the newspaper with my morning cup of tea.

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