2006 was the shittiest year since 1996. Both years involved two deaths each. Both years involved a shit load of just living an unhappy ass life. But 2007. Ahh. 2007 is a great year. 2007 is a punch to the face of emotional overload. In just one year, I graduated, was awarded best portfolio, moved back home after three years, got engaged, witnessed my parents silver wedding, landed a full-time graphic design gig and now I am moving to San Francisco. That’s the equivlanet of sprouting your first pube, getting your first french kiss, losing your virginity, and being appointed captain of the 8th grade basketball team in one year. Well, maybe not. But still. This is like Ultimate Puberty.
All jokes aside, I saw this happening but all these changes feel like a vioelent whiplash, like being snapped back into reality, but a reality I’m not quite familiar with. It’s a reality I’m not familiar with but it seems like I’ve been trained all my life to handle the build-up to this moment. I am engaged, working, living off salary and I am moving out, again, perhaps for good. What if this is the last time I ever live at home. It sounds over-dramatic but I have a good feeling that it’s true. I don’t think I can ever call another place home.
After my dad heard the news today, he sent me an e-mail to congratulate me. It was also a tearjerker. It was a sentimental message and I instantly thought of the extra effort my parents have been pushing to make me as happy as possible with the shitty commute I faced everyday. My mom would still insist on giving me allowance and I would have to apologetically decline. My does my laundry, makes me breakfast everyday, warms up my car. There’s food on the table. I see my family everyday. Every morning and every night I give my parents a kiss and hug. I’m watching my brother complete his last year before college. I love home. As much as the commute distresses me, I love home. I have it made here. But I can’t milk it for too long. I wasn’t milking it to begin with. I’m extremely blessed.
Yet, I know it’s the right thing to move. I can’t pinpoint exactly why but it just feels right. I know. Just a month ago I was bitching about how much I hate my commute. But now that the days are closing in on living at home, after 4 months of what feels like a vacation, I am counting my blessings and acknowledging all the big and small things my family does for me. San Francisco isn’t far from Milpitas and Kate and I are more than down to come on random days for dinner but this is it. I’m a fully-fledged, fuckin’ adult. I can only reserve a portion of me to stay a child. There’s no room to be a full-time child forever. God, change is so depressing, yet exciting. Here comes the bad anxiety, part 2.
My parents are seriously the coolest.