My Place & Yours: Through The Front Door
Ask me about my dream house, my future house, my future front door and I could go on and on and on. Ask me about what is through my front door, right now, and I have to stop and think. I have mixed feelings about what is through the front door. On one hand, it represents security and family and comfort. It represents my dad, who I love dearly and who I know doesn’t want to live on his own. On the other, it is not actually my front door. Despite having lived back home for almost 3 years now, it is still my parents door, or just my dads now. And I would very much like one of my own.
Dad is working his way up to selling the house (although, knowing him, this could take years). I’ve been trying to fix it up, bit by bit and whenever I have a free day I do a bit more. It needs it. It has been neglected, partly due to everyone working full-time and then mum’s cancer. If you’ve ever lived with someone who is chronically ill you’ll know what I mean when I say that it took all our attention and energy for the six and a half years that she battled it, even when she was doing relatively well, and when I moved out of home, it still absorbed us completely.
When I walk through the front door I see the long hallway. I just finished painting it last week and then I put a coat of white on the front door which made me look at it properly. And then my dad looked at it and before I knew it we were at doors plus. He’s like that – he’ll go for years not acting on something that could be easily fixed – he’s a master procrastinator, but then, snap. Decision made. So next week the front door will be replaced by one that is shiny and new – the scratched glass and bad paintwork will be but a memory. I think it will look good.
When I walk through the front door I see the doorway to my room just to the left.
My room is quite small but it’s jam-packed with stuff, an Aladdin’s cave of pictures, clothes, paper hats, souvenirs, cds, dvds, kitchen equipment, most of the house stuff I didn’t sell when I moved back. There’s so much I often can’t find what I’m looking for (like the box with all my art supplies – where is it?) but I know it’s in there. There’s lots of books too, two or three rows deep. Of all my things, they are what I need to have out in order to feel at home.
I am thinking about travelling next year. Travelling and working and stretching and breathing. Maybe for a few months. Maybe longer. Then, when I am back, I will get my own place and I will have my own front door.