Received at irregular moments.
Pondering questions floating
Aimlessly around my mind.
Who are you?
Imagined voices in my ears,
The same person, signed
Please, who are you?
‘I would love a pen pal’
‘I would also love a pen pal’
Is this you?
Presenting a parcel at the tip of my toes.
Restless hands tear it apart.
A letter, from you?
I lack skill in the memory department, so trying to reminisce about growing up is proving to be quite a challenge.
Family is the word I am struggling to avoid, most likely because they are the people who have managed to shape the person that I have become. Family are the people that guided me through my first steps, praised me as I mumbled over my first word and wiped my mouth as I, persistently, kept attempting to demolish my first birthday cake. I loved nothing more than wasting each minute with my family, laughing about things that not many others would find worthy of a crooked smile.
I remember the memories we created with my grandparents in their caravan, just past Newcastle. We would spend weekends, Easter breaks and every moment of summer together in this compact container. I feel myself almost holding my breath as I think about the sleeping arrangements, with beds so compressed that I’m lucky to stay put throughout the night. I spent nights attempting to sleep with the constant bleats of noise in the field beyond my bed. The local clan of teenagers, clearly seeking something to rid them of their boredom, often enjoyed setting the whin buses alight. There would be sirens and havoc amongst the insignificant village within minutes. I recall every incident as if it were yesterday.
As everyone knows, schooling affects the development of a person whether it’s for the better, or for worse. I adored school, I loved to learn new things. I was always baffled by how much there was to learn about. Whereas, socially, I struggled. Oblivious, and wanting a mutual friendship, I always found myself grasping hold of those that I could never truly trust. On the idea that I was destined to have no friends, I restricted the time I spent with other people. To my surprise, I would later meet some people that would make me feel accepted in who I am, and the encouragement to grow as a person.
Growing up is perpetual. Despite that we grow physically as a child, we still continue to grow and learn new things every day of our lives that affect who we are.
Home used to be a place. It was a house situated within many, many others. Assembled in a city that is inevitably growing. Due to the increase of children within our minuscule household, we receded to a more remote environment. Now, our house is fixed in a rustic, peaceful community. I adore how each morning, the picturesque scenery lives softly outside my window, as the sun pierces through the darkness to wake up the earth another day. While miles, and miles, of endless space permits children to explore from early hours of the morning until last thing at night. The smell of country roads and fresh grass perfuming the air encourages me to walk for hours and take in every little detail that the world has to offer.
Despite that my house is somewhere I can go to create memories and be with my family. The word home, for me, is seen as more of a feeling than a place. Home is the feeling I get when I am at ease. It is the lift in my shoulders when my thoughts endeavour to weigh me down. It can be the familiar, like the outbreak of laughter that leaves cheeks gleaming with tears. Home is security, when I am held hostage in my own mind, I think of home and I am free.
It is more than just a building, or a group of loved ones. Home is the structure, the strength and the ability to pull together as one.