Family.

Coming from a family of seven, it’s mind-blowing just thinking how we managed to live peacefully under the same roof for 18 years, and not kill each other yet.

Not a punch on another’s face.

Maybe a slap. or two.

And some foul languages.

Of course, there were times I really wanted to runaway from them, having the ‘fly and breakwaway’ spirit of 17 years old. It was noisy back then.

I open the front door, and I’ll see two guys sitting down at the computer desks, a man reading the newspaper, a lady shouting away from the other corner of the hall; and two girls, one much older than the other teaching the younger one art or music.

 

I would hug each one of them and tell them how much I loved them being there, even if they weren’t talking to me, that their shouts were music to my ears, that by them obstructing the hallway is yet another reminder of their presence in my life.

And now all I can do is just wish I did so.

 

Now I open the front door, I see a lady sitting at the computer desk because she has no one to shout at, a little girl watching television because she has no one to teach her art or music, and a man sleeping because it’s actually quiet enough to make him fall asleep.

 

I miss the times where I see two big guys running around like little kids because one pinched the other guy’s nipples.

I miss the where I had to squeeze my way to get a comfortable seat at the dining table because there’s just too many of us.

I miss the times where I could choose who to falsely accuse for forgetting to switch off the lights downstairs.

I miss the times, whether good or bad.

 

And soon enough, I’ll be closing the front door and not open it as often as I would want to.

For the times have past, and all I can do is treasure what’s left.

You should too.