Moving Out

A friend of mine posted on Facebook recently that she doesn’t quite feel at home staying at her parents’ place anymore.  I suppose that might be ‘cos she has moved out with her husband and children for more than 10 years.  I wondered if I would ever feel that way.  Thus, everytime I go back to my parents’ house, I will pop into my bedroom and sometimes lie on my old bed, just to see how I feel.  It still feels like home.  The familiar view of the ceiling, the lights, the hanging dust thread at the corner of the ceiling – it all looks and feels very very familiar. 

This of course, doesn’t mean that that I don’t feel at home at my current flat.  I do too!  I’m comfortable and am quite happy to settle down here with Iceman.  I wonder if the difference between how many friend and I perceive our parents’ homes is due to time (i.e. she has moved out for over a decade), or ‘cos I’ve always considered my parents’ house to be my own. 

For those who don’t know, I am an only child.  I therefore feel that there’s very little difference between my parents’ assets & property (be it simple furniture or utensils or the house itself) and mine.  Although we’ve never spoken about it, there is a tacit understanding that there is no need to draw a line between my parents and me.  My mom is slightly more explicit about it – in recent years, she has stuck to buying mainly jewellery made of white gold because she feels that I will eventually inherit all her jewellery and it’s no point buying yellow gold ‘cos I don’t like it.

Anyhow, I think it’s kind of a blessing to be able to have 2 homes.  That’s 2 places I feel safe at, 2 places that give me warmth.  Double happiness! 😉

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March 2010