When home isn’t home anymore

I’ve got some days off so I decided to come to my parents home. Since I’ve started to work and rented my own apartment in Lisbon doing such a thing is getting dificult. So I’ve been here for a day now and I’m already counting the seconds to get back. And now I’m wondering, is it possible that in less than two years, home isn’t home anymore?

I mean this is the house where I spent my childhood and teenage years, but I look around and I don’t fit anymore, just like the old clothes that have been left behind. My room is not my room, it’s not my nest.

I feel good to come here, relax in the country, get away from the stress in the city, but there’s something missing. Maybe I’m already a grown up and this is what you feel when you have your own space, or maybe I’m just so used to be surronded by all that turmoil (the noises from the city, the cars, trains, shopping, people) that I need some time to adjust to this dynamic, the quiet and contemplative life of the country (how poetic!).

One thing I know, this place makes me meditative as hell! Must be all the oxygen from the trees! I bet when I get back to the city I’ll erase this post in a heartbeat!

Did you ever felt the same?