journal entry

 August 7, 12:44pm. 

It's a beautiful slow afternoon in my parent's house.

I woke up, did a slow mindful skincare routine, made myself an iced coffee, opened my book to start reading, and realized something's missing.. it was the candle, I melted it yesterday and lost the vicar so I couldn't light it. It didn't really matter because the day was bright and sunny today, I started reading a chapter from the book, I couldn't concentrate because of the kids playing on the third floor.. they seemed happy and careless, I cannot remember the last time I felt that, So distracted by that I began to reminisce about my childhood

How I always felt like the outsider, in my house, growing up, between friends and family, I always felt like I don't belong here. I would always daydream, dissociate, even when I was playing in a group of friends. I remember dreaming about being married a lot, I was obsessed with the idea of being married for some reason, being married meant freedom, it meant growing up, it meant doing whatever you can, it meant safety and certainty.. growing up with a narcissistic parent, no wonder I dreamt of those things and it stuck with me. I still dream of the same things.. not a marriage of course because I realized you don't really need to be married to be free, it's quite the opposite. I sit in my corner next to the window most days, decorated with a small fake plant (I can't really be trusted with a real one), a tiny vanilla scented candle, a book, and a diary, a bottle of water, and a pen. Just this corner out of the whole house feels like it is mine, it feels like home, this is where I feel most comfortable, this is where I survive and daydream.. dream of freedom and living, living fully and thriving. It feels closer with each passing day and I cannot wait. I cannot wait to be in a house that is mine and mine only. A house where I can be myself and exist unapologetically, a house that doesn't hold traumatic memories, one that doesn't feel like jail. One that has a flower vase, keys and coins in a shell next to the door on a table, decorated with art and paintings of my own, with candles and plants.. with china in the kitchen and a tiny bookshelf. A coffee table with magazines, a comfortable couch, rugs, and bean bags. Bed with a comfortable mattress, linen, and lots of bedding and pillows. A bedside table with a lamp, candles, and skincare and a book, of course, a journal too, and a bottle and glass of water. Long windows that go up to the ceiling, white lace curtains that play with wind and light every morning and evening. A kitchen filled with light and love, with beautiful handpicked china, homegrown herbs, assorted handpicked cutlery. A tiny mandir with a tiny Ganesh idol, a diya, and flowers. A balcony, with lots of plants, canoe with cushions, lamps, and lighters, lights. 

One day, I'll be free and thriving. One day, very soon, and I'll wait for it eagerly. Until then, I'm happy and grateful for this afternoon. For times like this in the house I have grown up in.