There was a moment on Tuesday night, as I looked out into the dark evening from an unfamiliar bus driving down familiar streets that I realised no one knew where I was. The friend I had just left could have speculated as to my whereabouts, be it waiting for the bus or somewhere along its route through town but she could not have known for sure. Neither could my boyfriend who was at work or my family who were —I suspect—at home. An overwhelming sense of freedom and independence washed over me as I came to this strange realisation. I smiled.
I have always wanted to be further, better, older, ahead of the game, and have written about it before. I have always craved the independence and nonchalance of doing my own thing. The frivolous fact that no one knew where I was made me a little bit excited…like I could go anywhere or do anything and no one would ever know. Truth be told I went home (to my brother’s, where I am house-sitting with Richard) and hung up the washing and watched TV and went to bed. Is that boring? Maybe. But it makes me feel like a real person. A person who cooks and cleans and looks after herself and is content with or without company.
At the moment I feel as if I am only pretending to be a real person. This make-believe life I am living is only a mere glimpse of things to come. Of course without bills or mortgages or taxes to pay this playing-house is more than a little bit rose-tinted. Yet still, I cannot let go of the romantic notion of creating a life as opposed to living in someone else’s.
*double exposure of me by Richard.