What do you miss?
[LOCKED FROM CALEB]
I spent twenty-three years of my life under one roof.
Our flat wasn't much; it was always, always mussed. Don't think there were more than perhaps ten days where the thing was ever tidied to the point where I wouldn't've been embarrassed for some important emissary to enter. We'd lived that flat out, tucked things into corners... it wasn't new when we bought it, but it really won't be new when my mum leaves it. When my dad gets back to it. If he does.
I learned so bleeding much in that house. Things about life, about people, about family. My dad was arrested there. I slept in an extra hour on Sundays. I lost -- well. I lost and gained a lot of things there.
I'm tempted, you know, to say that I miss my dad. I really do. I really, truly do miss him. Not a day goes by that I don't miss him. I think, though, that if I weren't so sadly bleeding used to the fact he's not there, I'd list him here. I haven't had my dad around since I was sixteen. Only visited him once in the past... blimey, in the past ten years, it's been. Only saw him once. I've gotten used to that hole.
What I've recently lost -- what I still haven't completely adjusted to -- is a bit more material than a person. It's fairly shallow, I expect. Moving about for me's been exhausting. Even when we manage to land in a place for a long period of time, a hotel room's still a room. It doesn't stay messy. Things you put down in odd places are back in their regular spots. The bed gets made every mid-morning. There are clean towels where dirty ones once were. There isn't any dust.
I miss... I miss stability of place. I miss having an address I could give to my mates, and that I could reliably come back to. I miss taking care of a garden, and having multiple rooms to be in, and carpeting that's worn from my own feet, and being able to go about without trainers because I know the only dirt on my floor is something I've tracked in. I miss having my outer space bedsheets I picked. I miss neighbors, and community, and people you can wave to in the mornings.
I miss having a home.
[/LOCKED]
Japan is like New York: no one ever makes eye contact with you unless they're planning to cause you bodily harm. Or if accidentally by mistake.
I spent twenty-three years of my life under one roof.
Our flat wasn't much; it was always, always mussed. Don't think there were more than perhaps ten days where the thing was ever tidied to the point where I wouldn't've been embarrassed for some important emissary to enter. We'd lived that flat out, tucked things into corners... it wasn't new when we bought it, but it really won't be new when my mum leaves it. When my dad gets back to it. If he does.
I learned so bleeding much in that house. Things about life, about people, about family. My dad was arrested there. I slept in an extra hour on Sundays. I lost -- well. I lost and gained a lot of things there.
I'm tempted, you know, to say that I miss my dad. I really do. I really, truly do miss him. Not a day goes by that I don't miss him. I think, though, that if I weren't so sadly bleeding used to the fact he's not there, I'd list him here. I haven't had my dad around since I was sixteen. Only visited him once in the past... blimey, in the past ten years, it's been. Only saw him once. I've gotten used to that hole.
What I've recently lost -- what I still haven't completely adjusted to -- is a bit more material than a person. It's fairly shallow, I expect. Moving about for me's been exhausting. Even when we manage to land in a place for a long period of time, a hotel room's still a room. It doesn't stay messy. Things you put down in odd places are back in their regular spots. The bed gets made every mid-morning. There are clean towels where dirty ones once were. There isn't any dust.
I miss... I miss stability of place. I miss having an address I could give to my mates, and that I could reliably come back to. I miss taking care of a garden, and having multiple rooms to be in, and carpeting that's worn from my own feet, and being able to go about without trainers because I know the only dirt on my floor is something I've tracked in. I miss having my outer space bedsheets I picked. I miss neighbors, and community, and people you can wave to in the mornings.
I miss having a home.
[/LOCKED]
Japan is like New York: no one ever makes eye contact with you unless they're planning to cause you bodily harm. Or if accidentally by mistake.