Stranger in my own home

I am blogging right now in my old room, my very first own room when I was still single. In my childhood years, I always shared a room with my siblings. So when I heard that our family was moving into our own house with my own room, I decorated this room, my theme was baby blue, silver and nature. Yup, nature but not in green colors, but blue and silver. So I bought any item that fits the description. I put a wall clock, shaped like a sun but colored silver and baby blue, above my painted glass window. Below the window, I placed mini candles, shaped like seashells, in hues of blue and white. I also bought a standing silver candle holder, with the face of the sun on it. I also put a beaded curtain in my window and door, again in baby blue. Not to mention that I was strict with my linens, if I had to change the bedsheet with the skies design, the color of the bedsheet and pillow cases have to be baby blue. So I felt I fused skies and oceans in my room. It was my little haven.

But now, seeing this room, I feel like a stranger in my own room, in our family’s home. The sun wall clock is still there, where I left it. But everything changed already. Gone are the beaded curtains, gone are the candle seashells. Since this is the only room at the living room, it has been the favorite room of everybody who’s too tired to go to the second floor. Now, there are green curtains, hangers with different clothes at the back of the door, colorful linens, and lots of bags, from paper bags to handbags to luggage, everywhere.

Apart from the obvious change I see in my room, I feel like a stranger in my own home. Right now, I couldn’t tell exactly why. They always welcome my presence here, especially when I’m with hubby. But maybe, the warm welcome is exactly what makes me feel alienated. Ironic, but it’s just the way it is, it makes me feel I no longer live here because I have to be welcomed. Or maybe it’s the fact that I really feel I no longer live here. My home now is the place which my husband and I chose to live. It’s not big like this house, it’s not even our own house because we are just renting it. But it’s our place which we decorated, put love on it, made love within it, hehe. That now, even though I am in my family’s house, even though it’s comfortable here since I don’t have to do any household work and just leave everything to the maids, I am dying to go back to me and my husband’s place. This isn’t my home now. My home is where my new family is. Though we don’t have kids yet, my new family is my husband. I wonder, do other married women feel the same? Or is it just me?

Anyway, there’s a consolation. I realized that though I feel like a stranger in my own home, I will always choose to stay here, in my old room, whenever I am here. Though there are two more vacant rooms upstairs, I always choose to stay in my very first own room. I remember that it was a bit weird when I first slept here as a married woman. My mom, forgetting that I was married already, instructed my husband to sleep in the other room. I forgot how I reminded her that we’re already married and it’s okay to sleep with him now. But then, it sank to her that yeah, I got married already, and I just got back for a visit. It was the first time of my husband to sleep in my own room, and I know, we both felt awkward, hehe. But after awhile, after feeling the soft but sturdy mattress against a heavy-duty narra bed frame, which we compared with our own bed, we both relaxed… And then, at that moment, I felt, I’m home again, but this time, with my new family.