Since arriving home to my parents’ house today for the first time in about 8 months, I’ve noticed something rather odd. This house feels… small. Well, maybe small is the wrong word. I feel taller for some reason. I’m not sure if it’s because the sink is just lower than at my house, or if it’s because my mom and older sister are so much shorter than I am. Or maybe it’s because being in this house reminds me of growing up and my awkward, angsty teen years. I feel like a giant as I walk around. Perhaps I’m holding my head higher, my shoulders back. Maybe I’ve just come to terms with myself in a way that I never felt while living here. And yet it all somehow makes me feel very small.
There’s space where I never noticed before. The room feels wider than usual, my bed feels narrower than I remember. The posters on my walls are slowly sagging as they give in to gravity. A thin coat of dust coats my favourite toys. I remember this house, but it isn’t the same. It’s unnerving how everything is just as I’ve left them. It’s like this room has been waiting for me to come home. “Home”, whatever that means. Surely home isn’t a place where you feel like you’re the piece of the puzzle that doesn’t belong. Living far away on my own has made this transition really difficult. I don’t know why it feels so weird to be here, it just does.
I guess I just don’t fit here anymore.