Tag: home

044b – three weeks of living at my parents’ house 

Man, it’s been tough. In the last year or so, I’ve spent a lot of time at my parents’ house. And though it always does come with its share of hardships (I call them “red dots”), it’s been a little harder this time. Primarily because everyone thinks that because I’m more “free” (ie because I don’t have a job), they are entitled to more of my time. Or well, maybe not everyone, but my grandmother definitely seems to think so. 

My sister was around for the last couple weeks so that was relatively nicer, since I absolutely love having her around (and so does everyone else). But now that she’s left, my grandmother thinks that she doesn’t “have anyone”. 

Okay maybe this is going to be a grandmother rant more than anything else. She’s 83, and doesn’t really have a good relationship with anyone. She hasn’t treated her kids (one of them is my dad) very well throughout her life and is now (I think) suffering the consequences of her actions. Old age is of course difficult for most people (I guess), but I don’t know, it feels really difficult to take care of her. 

Overall, I’ve been questioning some things as well. ie how much suffering can I see in front of me? How much of myself can I actually sacrifice just to attempt to ease her suffering a bit, though any of this sacrifice or charity (of my time, for example) doesn’t actually make her feel better on a deep level, which then makes me wonder whether there’s any point to my sacrifice at all. 

I think I just need to set some boundaries. ie know my boundaries. I will always get frustrated when she wakes me up in the morning or noon or asks me to have meals with her, so that’s something I can allow myself to feel. But what I can do is spend some time (around 20-30 minutes) once in a couple days talking to her, and then even if that isn’t enough for that is eventually not my problem.  

Had some small arguments with my mother as well, but I think they’re small in the grand scheme of things. My parents have overall been quite understanding of me, my preferences, etc. So that’s really nice of them and I appreciate it. (I probably need to tell them that, since I know one of their complaints is that I don’t appreciate them enough)

However I know that living here isn’t very sustainable, so I definitely need to move by July, latest. 

Some things are nice though. It’s nice to have regular food, and two nice balconies, and most things smoothly running. It’ll obviously take some time to get that all once I move, wherever I move. And obviously it’s nice to save a bit of money as well. 

I’m slowly trying to find time and solitude to engage in mini creative activities which has been really fulfilling. Also finished reading “Steal Like An Artist” (really short book, highly recommend for anyone) and started working on some the recommended things mentioned in that and that feels really good too. 

So anyway, that’s what’s been up. Write soon! 

015a – a rainy summer San Francisco afternoon

It’s a rainy afternoon. She looks out the window towards the buildings and the skyline she’s been seeing for over a year now. She can’t help but think of how it’s only been a few months since she’s started associating them with the feeling of “home”. For the first time in months today, she sees them from a different angle. For the first time in months, they catch her eye and invoke that feeling of newness, the feeling she thinks one can only get in hotel rooms in new cities. The feeling one can get if they were to look out of windows of such hotel rooms. It’s mysterious, adventurous, inviting, all in a single frame. She thinks the mystery comes from what she’s looking at, not from where she is. It’s mysterious because she’s not there, because she can only look at it. There’s a part of her that feels anxious about stepping out of the house. She might have wanted to walk towards the buildings otherwise. 

There’s one in particular that stands out among the others. Brick red in a sea of beige and grey. As the sun steps out to test the waters, her feelings fade away a little. Almost as if they don’t want to be examined in good lighting. Almost as if they’re afraid of being seen. She thinks they faded since the former gloominess had reminded her of a certain few days in Italy. A certain few days with her parents a couple years ago. It was the last time she remembers being awed by the newness of a place.

Things had changed quite a bit a few months later. She’d started feeling much more anxious much more often. She would almost always feel less present in situations. Less focused on the things around her, since a big part of her attention would almost always be on herself. It was the result of what her anxiety was centered around. Or so she thinks. 

It’s still beautiful outside, yet she notices herself coming back into her own thoughts. There’s been no visible change, but she’s transitioned to a different person in a single moment. A moment ago she was fully consumed by the beauty of everything outside of herself. Now she’s only interested in everything related to herself.

She notices how her window (that she’d earlier propped fully open to capture of a picture of the said view) is now stuck and doesn’t close. She notices how she’s wishing for some food to make the observing experience better. She notices how her room’s cluttered and suddenly she’s disillusioned. Or as some would say, re-illusioned. 

She feels lost in thoughts. She doesn’t feel like there’s a point to what she’s seeing or doing. She knows the feelings that had come up were precious to her, and there’s a part of her that wanted to stay in them, understand them, and maybe even share them. She wishes she could make someone else feel the same way. She thinks that’s crazy, she doesn’t think she has the skills to make that happen. But there’s something that’s not letting her move on to the next block of the day. She’s trying to write and she doesn’t want to stop, she doesn’t want to get up and order food or whatever. She wants to stay here. She wants to go back thirty minutes in time and feel all of this all over again. 

She’s grateful for the circumstances that have allowed her to stay home this week. She’s grateful that her anxiety didn’t come up everyday for a whole seven days, she thinks that’s what allowed these feelings to come up at all, and for her to notice them, and for her to be able to stay with them. She’s amazed by how she’s been overwhelmed by a “positive” emotion after ages. She knows this was happiness, though she also knows that it’s gone, at least for the time-being.

She almost wishes the sky would be gloomy again.