The furthest I have ever been from home was when my family
took a trip to Melbourne to visit our relatives. I was five. I remember
sleeping in the same bed as my mum and whispering to her, “I want to go home. I
miss home.” I think about that moment as a look at my now empty bedroom. The
carpet dented with the markings of my dusty vanity. The numerous questionable
stains spotting the room, all with their unique age. The wall stripped of that
lion painting I always told people I painted but never actually did. I could
still see tiny specks of blue tack from when I was going through a celebrity
obsessed stage and had dozens of posters of famous strangers smiling back at
me. I rest my head against the door frame and just took it in one last time.
Thinking that this room will never be the same again. That the last 19 years
will be replaced with new people. New memories.
“Renee! The trucks are heading out, it’s time for us to go!”
I take one last glimpse of my childhood bedroom and run out
to my brother’s car. I squeeze myself in and shut the car door, staring out the
window. As we back out of the driveway, I just can’t help but feel guilty. I
guess I expected more from this farewell. I didn’t feel like crying. Sure, I
felt a bit of a loss. But it just seemed too easy to say goodbye. It felt odd.
I felt like I owed that house more of a fanfare.
Two hours later, we start pulling into our new home. Wait,
or should I say house? Does it even qualify as a home yet? Okay, pulling into
our new house you could just see that
it was pure chaos. There was a massive truck parked on the side, filled with
our heaviest of belongings. All carried into the house by the biggest of men. The
garage was already filling up with things we refused to get rid of but didn’t
want crowding the house. My dad was shouting out orders on where all the
furniture would be. My mum scurrying behind him disagreeing with most of his
decisions and screaming out opposing orders. I had a quick look around to get a
gauge on the whole situation and with no potential crisis present, I was able
to sneak into my new room.
It was white, like my old room.
Except this one had tiles. Having had carpet all my life I found this a
blessing. No need to worry about anything soaking in if I happened to spill it.
I hadn’t thought about where everything would go yet. It didn’t really worry
me, which was weird. Shouldn't I be worried about how my new room was going to be arranged? It was going to be my oasis for an unforeseeable amount of time. Things like this usually bother me but today it just didn't.
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