When you start to appreciate

Do you love your family?

You probably do. Because, you know, it’s your family. You kinda have to love them. They’re the people you can’t avoid, so it’s better to accept them and like them.

But lately, I’ve noticed that I really love my family. Like, I am really happy to go home, to talk with them, to see them again. Not just because I have to, but because these are the people who know best how my mind works and why. In the end they’re the ones who had the biggest influence on me, so we are often so alike that well, other people will never understand it the same way as they do. It’s a bit weird though – this feeling really crept upon me a while ago to never let me  go again. I’ve always liked my family (offend them and you offend me – that kind of thing), but since a while I am conscious of that fact. I appreciate them more than ever.

Why? How?

Why do I want people to text me when they’re home? Why am I so worried about everyone? Am I becoming an emotional, caring and worrying creature?

I don’t want to make it sound as if I used to be a heartless little prick, but I guess I just wasn’t aware of how lucky one can be and how easily something can go wrong. Mostly people get all worried when they’ve been confronted with sitataions such as an accident or something. Then they suddenly ‘start to appreciate the small things, appreciate the people ‘ and so on. But I haven’t been in such a situation yet and still I’m appreciating everything, including people, more and I start worrying and everything.

There’s only one possible reason.

I’m growing up.

More of this here.

I guess it was inevitable. As soon as this academic year started I felt something had changed. Like, it became boring and I became one of the people saying ‘no, I shouldn’t go out, I have to work for school’. If that isn’t a sign of an upcoming boring adult life, I don’t know. And I guess a big part of that kind of life is that you start to realize what can go wrong (that’s like everything) and start to worry. Which isn’t all too bad, when you appreciate people and family more, but on the other hand is exhausting to worry all the time.

Maybe I just need to go find some swings again.

Swiiiiings! Source

Who’s that girl living here?

Who’s that girl who lived here? Who’s that girl who bought those books and read them – over and over? Much like the magazines? They’re piled up in a corner of the room. Does she still read them? And there. Who’s the girl who collected those things? The gems (woaw, pretty) and the little stuff, figurines, stones, shells. Who’s that person with the pink curtains and that bed? Let alone that writing desk? Did she write these diaries and poems? Truly?

What kind of person is that?

And those CD’s, those clothes, even the wall paper. What am I supposed to think when I see this? Is this really representative for her character? Imagine the person living here. With a family. Being at ease in this place, being herself here. Knowing this room all too well and liking everything in it. The jewels she’s much attached to. Carefully chosen and bought, often worn. The pictures on the wall. They’re nice, yes. I admit that. The sheets on the bed. Just everything. I walk around here and wonder who she is. What she thinks. Would I like her?

I open the door, the door she has to know so very well. I walk down stairs. The carpet she’s seen since she were born and came to live here. The steps. The lamps. I open the door to the kitchen, something she must have done a thousand times already. Her family is seated there. One empty chair.

And I walk straight to it, going the same way since ever, and sit down on that chair.  I sit there, as always, eat together with my family, looking outside to the sight I’ve always seen.

And I wonder how much I’ve changed in such a short period of time…