September 12, 2012

My dearest,

In my room, I used to have a sanctuary, a place of my own. Parents couldn’t enter, nor my sister (and later, when she got married, her kids). No teachers here, no classmates, no bullies, no examination results, no expectations and no disappointments.

Just me.

Things change, of course.

Now we have several rooms of our own in our apartment. The kitchen where we share cooking and dish-washing duties. The dining hall where we dine on our latest culinary experiments. The living room where we would curl up in our respective couches and read. The bathroom, for showering together. And the bedroom for “Goodnight, dear” every night.

But I no longer have a room of my own.

It’s fine. These rooms are our rooms now, and you, my dear, are my home.

Yours, ever and always.