Yesterday I was an emotional mess. The type of mess where I lay on my bed with my face in my pillow, listening to sad songs, curled up in the smallest ball I could become.
The reason? I am thinking about leaving home. I’ve been thinking about it for weeks and I think I have to do it. And it scares me.
But isn’t this what I always wanted to do? Didn’t I always want to jump on a plane and see the world? To run down a green hill in Ireland and read a book under the Eiffel tower? Maybe they are only just dreams that I am too scared to realize.
Because I love my home. I love the way the floors creak and how the dust falls on the pianos. I love how I can see a crow sitting on my neighbour’s roof when I’m sitting at my desk. I love the dandelions on our lawn that we can never get rid of and the cracks on our driveway that resemble a map of Canada.
I love the constant stream of singing, and the ticking of the clock when I’m trying to sleep, and the sound of my dad making dinner. I love how the last thing I see when I leave for work or school is my mom waving at me from her office window. How we dance in front of the tv and drink coffee after Sunday dinner. Being sprawled on the couch, cuddled with a blanket, watching a movie and arguing about who has to bring the ice-cream back down to the freezer.
I love the initials I wrote on my bedroom door and the smell of my mom’s cookies. I love the roots that hurt you’re back when you’re lying on the grass tanning. I love hearing everybody singing in the shower and I love how even a burning fire can’t get rid of the draft.
I love every stone and brick that built this house because I know that they built me more than anything else in the world. This big, blue house at the end of the street is home. The place where I feel loved and safe and the place I run to when I’ve had a bad day at work or school. It may not be the biggest or the prettiest but it’s the place where I lost my first tooth, learned to play the piano, buried Peter Rabbit, and laughed harder than I’ve ever laughed in my life.
How can I leave it? How can I just pack up my bags and fly away to Europe for four months or more? One of the biggest fears I have is missing out on everything that happens while I’m away. But deep down, that little voice is telling me that it’s time to leave the tower.
“Look at the world, so close, and I’m halfway to it!
Look at it, so big! Do I even dare?
Look at me! There at last, I just have to do it.
HERE I GO.”
Yes, I just have to do it. Even though it makes me cry and even though it scares me half to death. The world is waiting for me. I think though, that home will always have an incomparable charm that not amount of bright lights or pretty sights can beat. I’m the type of person who will always run back with open arms and look over my shoulder every now and again to make sure the ones I love are still there. But I think it’s time, I really think it’s time, to have my own adventures instead of just reading about them. Don’t you?