On Friday night, I threw open the front door of my eccentric green house for the first time in five weeks. I ran up the stairs, past the cowbell that decorates the wall of our entryway, past the bowl of heritage lemon cucumbers in the kitchen, and into my old bedroom.
During my absence, my mother and sister had packed away my clothes and re-arranged the furniture in my room. My little sister, as she greeted me, was wearing a shirt that she’d collected from my closet. At first, I felt replaced, that my space in my house and my family had been filled during my time away. However, over the course of the last two days, I’ve settled easily back into my old life and routine.
For Thanksgiving dinner, my sister, mother and I had our usual meal extravaganza at the house of family friends. We spend the day cooking and the evening eating, enjoying a feast of sweet potato casserole (my contribution), cranberry sauce, stuffing, turkey, brussel sprouts, wild rice, apple pie, and pumpkin pie. We laughed and talked, played board games, walked around the local park, and watched Thor (in honour of the three Scandinavians I brought home with me from Pearson).
Today, while my three guests from Pearson explored Vancouver, I had a tea party with friends, picked beans with my mother, and chatted with my little sister. I discovered that, despite the shifted arrangement of my room, the deeper structures of my home – the connections between me and my friends and family – have stayed the same. I can still argue and laugh with my mother, be goofy with my friends, and laze on the couch with my little sister (after she scored two goals during her soccer game).
Before, I worried that as I began to belong at Pearson, Port Moody would feel less like home. I was wrong. It is comforting for me to know that, no matter, what, there is one place in the world that is mine. There is a room in a bright green house in the suburbs of Vancouver that I can count on to welcome me home.