Time warp

I’ve been staying with my parents for two weeks. Well, not entirely two weeks, as I don’t think I nor they would survive that. But nearly two weeks, with three nights in the lovely Black Forrest.

Being ‘home’ is a strange feeling. The other day while on a business trip, somebody asked me when I was going home. I was a little surprised that he would know about my plans about going back to my parents... Turns out that he meant my ‘home’ in London.

My parents have left my room pretty much untouched. I used to share a room with my brother until the age of about 11 or 12. When I then got my own room in the basement (it has a big window overlooking the garden – so, it’s not the typical basement). I had always been scared going into the cellar, thinking that intruders would be waiting for me underneath the stairs. But the excitement of getting new furniture (being the middle child, I always got stuff handed down to me; primarily clothes) was greater than my fears! (and I took precautions: I would sometimes lock my wardrobe, so that anyone who had sneaked inside, would not be able to escape. God, I was a clever child!)

Even though the furniture is now about 20 years old, it still looks in good shape. Every time I come home, I think to myself that I should really go through all my stuff and get rid of some of it. And I usually do a little bit of tidying, but not very much.

The good thing about being home is that my ‘real’ life seems to be in another dimension. Especially work is far away. The bad thing is that my ‘real’ life seems unreal. I seem to get sucked into just being a daughter again. And it’s too easy to get drawn into petty arguments – just like back in the days.