the last stroke

Here is a little insight to my life this week and well my life in general.

I have been so busy with paint and green tape that I really have forgotten about jobs, bills, some friends and just going outside. (I have only been painting for three days now).

But, that aside, this paint job in our house might be the last. We might move. I say might for a few reasons. My dad has been saying he was going to sell the house for about 20 years now so this could just be another year of all talk.

But this year, it sounds a bit convincing and who knows…we might be moving.

Why is moving such a big deal? I am sure people move many times in their lives, Ms. Torres over here has lived all over the world, but as much as I would love to live like that, I actually never moved–and kind of like it. (Okay I lied, I did move before I was one into this house but that doesn’t count because I was like zero).

Not to say I don’t like change or moving places or visiting them, I am all about the travelling, it is just the settling I am afraid of.

Currently I live in the Junction Triangle, I guess I will only say that much, one day I might have a stalker…no probably not, but you know, like any other hood, you grow to love it as your own, but sometimes, just sometimes, you want change in your life. But never too much change. Maybe some new furniture, the paint in your room, or heck one time I got air conditioning installed in my bedroom and it was the best day ever.

But jokes aside, I actually am afraid to be in a new surrounding. I have grown up to LOVE, like real LOVE, this neighbourhood and every piece of not just my house, but neighbours and stores and people and malls and I can go on forever because that is what I love to do, it just means too much to really start new. I am not trying to say I will never leave my parents house, that is a matter of independence, and another blog post.

I remember walking down the street to go to school, my first school, and yeah I walked alone. While my dad followed me down the street in his car, quite creepy I know but parents have to worry. My best friends, whom I have reconnected with recently, except for my hood rat Michelle who has been my neighbour since, well forever. (side note I remember her waving at me when I used to come home from afternoon kindergarten and I would get freaked out). those girls really helped me in the understanding of friendship, the Spice Girls, shopping and um awkward boys.

I actually broke my thumb when I was about 3-years-old in this house, broke my front tooth on my steps, decided one day to drop nail polish remover all over my mom’s dresser and even got ready for prom in my basement washroom with Samantha, because I couldn’t afford Faces, not even MAC.

And I also have a case of Suburb-phobia, it really exists, in Arti’s world at least, yes I am terrified of living in the burbs. The lack of people, noise, TTC buses available all night, trees, that is just torture, and my worst enemy right now–the lack of driving, well, you might as well ship me off to another country because everything will be foreign to me. No I am over exaggerating, I have survived in like Mississauga for a few weeks. I might have to reconsider a year or something.

You know when I hear students running drunk around 3 a.m. on my street or wake up to the sound of loud construction in the morning, I feel comfort—and at home.

So even if I end up in Markham or North York or any of these GTA spots, whatever, I will adapt and who knows maybe I will get a walk in closet and my own bathroom. Yeah, probably not happening either.

But remember, you can take the girl out of the city, but you can never take the city out of the girl.

future blogs about a move perhaps? Goodnight.



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s