I got home last night. Nothing to eat, so got out and got some food. Found Teapot on a bike, stayed to chat and gossip for a while, but then I got home (again) and what a glorious feeling. Being in my own place, it is pretty spectacular. I curled up in the couch with a cup of tea and just enjoyed being home last night. I unpacked part of my stuff, but then I got no further.
I loved being in the big apple, saying hello to mum, watching the cherry blossoms in the park with friends, sitting in the sun and drinking tea with another, it is a good life. But at the same time, I missed my flat where I’ve got my stuff where I like them. Where I can run around a whole day in pyjama. Where I can sit and read in the couch for how long as I want to without my sister waking up and deciding to watch the telly. I love how my flat actually doesn’t get up to 30 degrees because it’s sunny outside. Mom loves the heat, and the house is designed around that. Which makes me sweat just thinking about it.
I love my mothers garden where some new treasure may always be found. I love the chaos that comes with a mom who got a million things on her mind, a husband who loves technology, three siblings and a dog. Things never stop happening. And there is always something going on, something giving of sounds, something moving. The kitchen turns into a mess with a five minute window, Mom’s cooking leaves me breathless, and I just sit there soaking in the love that surrounds the whole house. But I kind of like my own space as well. I love having a quite corner where I can sit and read without anyone disturbing, my own bed, at mom’s place I’ve got a couch.
I don’t think I’m complaining, but rather, I try to show that love both styles of life. Both the hectic chaotic life of family that never stands still. And the simple, slow life of a librarian who loves to spend evenings in the sofa with a book and a cup of tea.
Ying and Yang. Balance. *Bows deep*
My slice of heaven 