Because it’s okay to miss home, and to fall apart a little before you have to stitch yourself back together again.
I realised today, after a bit of a hectic night that I haven’t spent time with myself for a while.
I’m always in a rush: on my way to a lecture or waiting for my work to print, only to power walk to meet my deadlines, rushing to get ready to go out or waiting for the power to come back on so I can get a call for my mother. I can barely keep up with myself. It makes me feel like I’m suffocating in all these commitments and expectations.
I know that this is the life I chose for myself so I need to accept it. It’s just hard sometimes.
I miss home everyday and sometimes speaking to my family makes it worse. I speak about my family all the time because they’re always on my mind.
Today, I spoke about how my older brother went to In…
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Shutterstock / Irina Bg
It will not seem different at first. You will do the things all new couples do: joke and share silly stories. Laugh louder than you ever anticipated. Laugh harder. You get drunk off fingertips and innocent touches, like when she lingers on your shoulder for just a beat longer. She kisses you like you are the first person she has ever kissed, and it will keep you up at night, in the best way possible. Everything is fun and exciting. She will do whatever she can to make sure it is fun. She needs it to be fun. Exciting. Light. She knows darkness already too well.
She will be careful in her words. You notice she never says “parents” and looks away when someone mentions their father. You are consumed with a strange, irrational guilt when you answer a phone call from your dad. It feels…
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Oh yeah, and I got some pretty sweet cat salt and pepper shakers, too. You’re welcome.
I’d never liked antiquing before — my mother half-dragging me around rooms full of musty nonsense that nobody wanted, my feet tired, my nose stinging a little from all that dust and “history.” History in quotes, of course, because much of it seems to be weird plastic crap from the 1970s that got tossed out of someone’s basement and somehow landed in a shop dubbed as an “antique.” But my family took a trip to a little town on the river and found an amazing shop with proper, beautiful antiques. Vases, gorgeous old pipes, well-preserved powder blue suitcases, lamps, a strangely huge collection of salt and pepper shakers and finally…a stack of old letters spanning from 1913 to 1935 chronicling the life of Henrietta, a woman from California whose husband died of influenza in 1918…
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S. K. Nicholas
When I feel low
comes out of nowhere
and makes me feel alive
you should never
to make you happy
but it really
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Everything in my life is in place. Everything is wonderfully perfect…except this.