A House is Not a Home, But At Least I Want My Own

I’ve always wanted to have my own house. Painted with bright warm colors, big windows, wooden floorings topped with fluffy rugs, and ideally situated somewhere cold — and definitely will have air conditioning system installed. I would have a kitchen with uniformed-colored utensils, complete with an oven. There will be a long dining table nearby the kitchen island.

The color palette will be dominated by monochromatic colors with a little blue and yellow accents in some random spots. I’ll have a separate playroom decorated my favorite paintings and posters, a corner dedicated to my toy collections, a library filled with my collection of books and comics. Scattered around the room will be little souvenirs I got from my travels. I imagine my fridge displaying reminders and letters from loved ones and be full with my favorite food and drinks, and maybe I’ll have a specific counter for snacks.

Maybe not specifically a house. Maybe an apartment, a condo, a mansion, a palace, a gazebo. Maybe one room with my own personal bathroom is enough — even one without bath tubs, I can (compensate to) dream of.

Maybe all I want is to get out of the place I refer to as ‘home’ now.

Maybe all I want is a chance for solitude and get out of my shell at times I want.

Maybe all I want is independence. Since the 1st grade of elementary school. Funny, how one little girl can dream of leaving home that early. Funny, how that is the one dream that has always been constant.

I just don’t want to wake up to be wishing not to ever wake up again.

I just wish I can start my day positive, despite the negative things I have to accept everytime I wake up.

Maybe so that I will be accepted for my personality, not merely habits I have while I am unconscious.

Or maybe that it’s better just to stay asleep.

For I have been called a bastard, a demon-borne, an ungrateful kid — all for turning out to be the unideal homemaker.

And for it had been compensated with “love”, “care”, and money. But all of it no longer seems enough to hold me now.

I want to get out.

I want to have an ideal home. My dream home.

Or should I just turn into a demon?


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