My brother just texted me to let me know that the house in Ottawa felt quiet again, now that I had left to come back to California. It's a strange moment when I'm standing in the airport. I cry because I'm sad to leave these people I love so much, yet there's a feeling of home awaiting me on the other side of my journey. Sad to leave home to go home. And I think of the home I live in here. It's quiet, I rarely play music and tend to sit on the internet for far too long, chatting and just, looking. When in Ottawa we all have time to sit and chat, and watch movies, and play games, and make houses into homes.
I'm at work, and I'm 29 years old, and I'm sitting at a desk wearing a striped purple long sleeved shirt under a t-shirt that has a picture of a cartoon robot. I wonder if that's what past me envisioned as future me? I doubt it. Thinking of this version of me, paired with the comfort I got from going home this past Christmas, I remind myself that you can only go home for so long before you have to come back and face the day to day routine that is, as Prince put it, "this thing called 'life.'" I don't like it much, sometimes, being a grownup, and that's probably why I'm wearing a shirt that has a picture of a cartoon robot on it. And sometimes I don't understand what this whole "growing up" thing even means. But it's happening and accepting it is too. I understand that everyone does it differently, but that one day it's just that. You look around, and you and your relatives, the people you've seen pass through time, all have grey hairs, and hard lines, and that's it: You're a grown up.
I think I'm going to wear a dress with polka dots on it for NYE this year, and maybe some pink tights.