A Piece Of Home
Now that I only see my parents about every 8 months, there isn’t much that I hang on to from home. I’m used to living on my own, cooking for myself, taking care of myself. This is the adult life. And I thought I was well adjusted and quite far removed from my family when one day, I decided to buy a sewing machine.
I’m not an arts and crafts kind of person because nothing I draw or create looks as pretty as I’d hoped. Still, when I was about 16, my mother taught me how to sew. She helped me to make a giant pillow. I still lie on that big pillow. It’s covered in teddy bears, and I know it’s silly and childish, but it’s cute. A year later, I decided to make myself an apron before I moved away. At home, I always used my mom’s apron that had a big brown “W” on the front, which is the first initial of her first name. When we were at the fabric store, I told her I was going to make a “W” apron just like hers. I ended up making one that was uniquely me. Red roses and a black lace trim.
After that I left the sewing world. I wasn’t bad at it, I’m just easily frustrated and had better things to do with my time. Then one day after Christmas, I bought a sewing machine from a lady in my city for only $30. I don’t even know what made me do it, I just decided I wanted one. It took a lot of struggling, practicing and swearing, but I ended up making myself a huge pillow shaped like Sonic the Hedgehog’s face. I’m really proud of it.
I don’t know what made me do this. Maybe there was a small part of me that craved the comfort of doing something my mom loved doing. Maybe I just needed a reminder of home. Now I know that home is a part of me, somewhere deep inside, and I’ll never be able to get rid of it no matter how far I run or how long I go.
Maybe that’s a good thing.