Moving out. Moving on

As if in a dream,she wandered around the house in which she became the woman she was today.

Walking through the fog, all the memories came to life before her very eyes.

She walked into the living room where she spent so many evenings binge-watching TV with her mother, where she heard her parents quarrelling, with her hands over her ears and tears rolling down her innocent eyes.

Down to the dining table where she shared delicious meals with beloved relatives she didn't know she was seeing for the last time.

In the kitchen, she saw herself and her mother laughing, failing miserably at following recipes, or herself sitting at the table, drawing, with her mother secretly peeping over her shoulder at that little devil of a child.

Then, she moved into the hallway where her dad mischievously helped her unleash her inner ninja by climbing up the walls and- as expected- hilariously falling.

She turned left to the bathroom where her mother lovingly braided her messy hair, and herself spent hours upon hours beautifying and perfecting -unsuccessfully most times- the reflection before her.

Afterwards, she entered her parents' bedroom where she cried with her mom when a friend of hers passed away, where she ran to after terrifying nightmares and where she lay with her mom whenever life was getting too much.

Right next to that was her brother's bedroom, where they played basketball, him letting her win just to see the joy in her silly face. She saw herself burning the midnight oil over and over again in that room until she managed to get into the university of her dreams. Pale, sleep-deprived, crying, fed up.

Lastly, the girl entered her old bedroom. Through the fog she saw her younger self playing with her dollies, struggling to play the piano, reading book after book after book and crying over heartbreaks, heartaches, mistakes and regrets.

With her feet trembling beneath her, she walked towards the dusty cracked mirror struggling to recognise herself. She was now grown up, her eyes wet, swollen and red from all the painful and nostalgic memories. All of them kept running through her mind, each more vivid than the other. 

She could not leave that little girl standing beside her. She could not leave the laughs and giggles of the relatives she lost. She could not leave the happy times with her family.

It scared her that strangers would now live where she once laughed, cried, loved, hurt, hoped, shared, missed, lived.

It felt like they were invading her childhood.

Tearing her memories apart, replacing them with their own. 

Stripping away her sense of stability, safety, belonging. 

Ravaging her shelter.

She would never see those rooms again, walk those floors, touch those walls.

Yet, all her life and most valuable memories were carved onto them and would stay there forever, regardless of the fresh coats of paint covering them.

//optimistic pessimist//