My sister painting in the sunlight, I’m writing something bigger than life and for a moment there’s peace in our home. I live for these moments when everything seems so simple. My cousin R visits us. She tells stories from a school where she doesn’t fit in with the younger ones. Mum brings our dog to spend the day with me but that makes writing impossible – we just lay down doing nothing for hours.
I live for these days between the bad ones. Or maybe now the bad ones are between these days almost perfect?
M-L is visiting my grandpa. We have conversations about my school starting in a month. We drink Pommac from crystal glasses. I can still remember the days when it made me almost puke, now I drink my glass without complaining. Have I been part of too many awkward gatherings in this living room trying to act like a perfect child? When did I learn to drink drinks I hate and eat foods I despise?
Grandpa seems to be proud of me starting creative writing studies. Don’t know should I be happy or not. Everyone is being so supportive but it just feels wrong. They know I want to write, but in reality, they don’t know anything. They can’t see me dreaming of books I will write someday or smiling by myself after coming up with an excellent poem. My grandpa sees me as a good creative writing teacher, mum wants me to be a journalist and my friends never put me above the freelancer status.
I want to write books, tell stories, make people feel things they otherwise wouldn’t.
My sister comes back from work. We drink wine and eat cheese. M-L asks about my sister’s life who tells stories from art school. Grandpa seems tired. Do I like these moments? I’m not sure. Having small talk comes naturally for me these days. Telling stories from my travels, talking about books I have read, asking just the right questions from others.
It’s time to go to sleep. Tomorrow my sister will drive me to the bus station. I’m going to Helsinki again. We will see the new Spider-Man with my other cousin S.