Leaving Home #2

It is suddenly getting so close, a little more than a month to go and I will no longer enjoy the sun like I do now, no longer cycle through these crooked and tangled streets. Slowly things are being packed and full boxes appear everywhere. My room is not packed yet, it is a little too early for that and besides, I am not supposed to move along with my parents. The plan has been and still is that me and my sister find out own place before the 25th of April, but I don't see that happening any time soon.

Never thought I would miss this place as I don't seem to have any friends around here. That is just not the part that is bothering me, everybody keeps telling me that it is much easier to move when you don't have ties with people that live there, but I got ties with this place. I've gotten so used to this house, to this street, to this town, to the roads that lead you back to where you came from or go into a completely different direction than you anticipated. It's the small things that made me get attached to where I live.

Every time the sun shines bright I get cooked in my room, cooked in the garden and have the loveliest shade at the front of the house where everything is overshadowed by the trees of the neighbours and the flats across the street. I will miss the smell of the sea that you can smell when there is enough wind, the warm sun and the wind that ruins the touch of the sun but is usually so welcome. I will miss the quick trips to the beach, just getting my bike out of the shed and cycling there. No beach will be like the one I go to, Scheveningen is just not the same, it is much bigger, much more crowded and is really aimed at entertaining tourist. I prefer the semi quietness of Katwijk or Noordwijk, the touch of history that has been left behind by the generations of fishermen and their still quite religious ways.

Not only will I miss the small things that I grew up with, it is just strange to leave something that has shaped you. This is the place where I gained friends and lost them all together. Perhaps there are not a lot of fond memories, but they are memories and these memories are linked to this house, the neighbourhood, this place on the global map. This is also the house where I kissed the first girl, where I got my first girlfriend after having a boyfriend who just wasn't right for me. There is still a painting on the wall from that friend, which will only live on in the pictures I have taken of it, together with her. Even the writings on the wall, dedicated to me. Lyrics from one of my favourite books and films originating from Sweden.

Du varg, du varg
kom inte hit,
ungen min får du aldrig.

Moving means memories will fade, like everything fades. I used to clearly remember things from when I was little, remember the places I went the things we did there. I no longer visit those places and the memories begin to fade away. The places fade away for I no longer remember what they look like, it's a shame. The same will happen now, in a few years time I will no longer remember what the garden really looked like, what my room looked like and how my wall looked like. 

On the other hand, this will be a completely new adventure, what will I find on my path? Who will I meet. Perhaps I will find my place on the other side of the glove and maybe, maybe, I will leave home and start being a full time hippie/gypsy, forever on the road, forever enjoying life, forever being one with nature and my music.