Home is....
Home is where my parents live. My childhood home where I spent most of my life thus far.
I happen to live in another city in my own apartment but it doesn't feel like home, it feels like a temporary dwelling that will do for now. Much to my parents relief I
Have no intention of ever moving back home but that doesn't mean I don't want it to be where it always was.
My parents have been trying to sell the house on and off for about two years now,and I know this makes me a terrible daughter but I'm glad it's a terrible tone to be trying to sell a house as I'm not site how I'd feel about coming home if or wasn't there and I'm certainly not happy about the thought of strangers living there.
This is the house where I grew up and it might be cold and damp but it holds so
Many memories. My whole childhoods is in there. We no longer have the tumblr dryer I once got stuck in (not recently ,). Back then it was kept in the kitchen with the washing machine and a dingy old couch and a picture of my infamous jam
Ad hung on the kitchen wall.
This house has my brothers old room that I shared With him and my sister for a few years until my parents decided to give me and her our own room. I think I was as relieved as my brother seeing as my sister would nudge me out of bed most nights with the instruction to go hold his nose, his snoring was keeping her awake.
The house Is so old it used to have fireplaces in every room until we boarded them up possibly because on more than one occasion birds fell into our chimneys and we had the delightful surprise of finding a bird in our rooms.
It still has the old fashioned window covers that open out in our old room and you can see the delightful crayon masterpieces myself and my sister decorated them with when you open them out.
The garden has gone through many transformations over the years but I still remember the bush outside the house that you could climb inside and was the best hiding place for hide and seek although I don't think it ever recovered from the time my dad 'pruned it'. Or the many trees that make up our garden all of which we climbed time and time again never noticing the scratches that lined our arms and legs. Or misshapen trees that made a canopy on our lawn, shedding multicoloured leaves every autumn and providing a base for so many games and possibly dangerous acrobatics.
The tyre swing at the end of the garden still remains, probably not the safest swing in the world but I used spend hours
Spinning around on that with my friends or sunbathing on the lawn nearby
And the hill in the garden on the other side where we would kick a ball around or get into sleeping bags and roll
Down the hill.
So many memories lie in this house and even as a adult the thought of strangers intruding on these hallowed grounds doesn't sit well with me.
I don't want people I don't know eating at our dining table or sleeping in the room
That was once mine, I don't want them
To keep the house as it was or to change a single thing. I just want the security I of knowing when I come home on my days off that I have a home to come to. A base to which I can keep returning until there comes a time that I have a real home of my own
I happen to live in another city in my own apartment but it doesn't feel like home, it feels like a temporary dwelling that will do for now. Much to my parents relief I
Have no intention of ever moving back home but that doesn't mean I don't want it to be where it always was.
My parents have been trying to sell the house on and off for about two years now,and I know this makes me a terrible daughter but I'm glad it's a terrible tone to be trying to sell a house as I'm not site how I'd feel about coming home if or wasn't there and I'm certainly not happy about the thought of strangers living there.
This is the house where I grew up and it might be cold and damp but it holds so
Many memories. My whole childhoods is in there. We no longer have the tumblr dryer I once got stuck in (not recently ,). Back then it was kept in the kitchen with the washing machine and a dingy old couch and a picture of my infamous jam
Ad hung on the kitchen wall.
This house has my brothers old room that I shared With him and my sister for a few years until my parents decided to give me and her our own room. I think I was as relieved as my brother seeing as my sister would nudge me out of bed most nights with the instruction to go hold his nose, his snoring was keeping her awake.
The house Is so old it used to have fireplaces in every room until we boarded them up possibly because on more than one occasion birds fell into our chimneys and we had the delightful surprise of finding a bird in our rooms.
It still has the old fashioned window covers that open out in our old room and you can see the delightful crayon masterpieces myself and my sister decorated them with when you open them out.
The garden has gone through many transformations over the years but I still remember the bush outside the house that you could climb inside and was the best hiding place for hide and seek although I don't think it ever recovered from the time my dad 'pruned it'. Or the many trees that make up our garden all of which we climbed time and time again never noticing the scratches that lined our arms and legs. Or misshapen trees that made a canopy on our lawn, shedding multicoloured leaves every autumn and providing a base for so many games and possibly dangerous acrobatics.
The tyre swing at the end of the garden still remains, probably not the safest swing in the world but I used spend hours
Spinning around on that with my friends or sunbathing on the lawn nearby
And the hill in the garden on the other side where we would kick a ball around or get into sleeping bags and roll
Down the hill.
So many memories lie in this house and even as a adult the thought of strangers intruding on these hallowed grounds doesn't sit well with me.
I don't want people I don't know eating at our dining table or sleeping in the room
That was once mine, I don't want them
To keep the house as it was or to change a single thing. I just want the security I of knowing when I come home on my days off that I have a home to come to. A base to which I can keep returning until there comes a time that I have a real home of my own
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