Building a my own life

Today I went for a walk in my parents yard. I laid on the trampoline and listened as the birds sang around me, it became a soundtrack to my thoughts. As I peered around the yard snapshots of my childhood came to me. I remember planting the bushes with my mom and pulling weeds on the front yard when were just growing the grass. Looking around I realized all that had been build over the years and how little we started out with. Then it hit me that this wasn’t my life, the yard had a sandbox and a trampoline, no longer a basketball hoop or the volleyball net I dream of. It was grandma’s yard; my parents, not mine. Then it hit me that I haven’t really lived here for two years.
During exams I’d break out in joyful song every time I heard the Michael boobley “I want to go home” song. I’m here but it’s not quite the same as I imagined it to be. I’m a guest, one well loved, but not where I belong. It’s crazy to image that the last time I really felt home was in the eyes of seemingly a stranger. At the age of 18 I didn’t understand the true desire I had for such a feeling. The idea of feeling home with someone else seems to startle me, but has a familiar sensation.
I want to build my own life, pull my weeds and plant my baby trees. I want to have my own family and to again be able to look into another’s eyes and know that this is home. I want to take care of myself and learn to stand on my own feet. I think I’ve started this, wobbly and sometimes falling I’m learning to stand alone. It’s time to embark on a journey of my own, to embrace my past, but stand up and create a future I can strongly call my own.