“There’s no place like home.”
- Dorothy, The Wizard of Oz
There’s a fire surrounding my childhood home/my parents’ house in La Canada. All I can think about is how badly I want to go home right now and how scared I am for my parents, my house, and all physical souvenirs of priceless memories.
Here are some photos of my street earlier today, and the fire apparently is less-contained than it was when these photos were taken:
I grew up in my house, you know? I got my heart broken while living at 778 Forest Green Drive. I met my best friend while living there, studied for midterms, applied to college. I mapped all ways to sneak out of the house without being caught. My worst fights with my parents occured in its premises, and some of my best hugs with them have happened in the den. That kitchen has been the site of countless parties and laughter. And now it might all go up in smoke.
This isn’t about a relationship, but it’s the best I can do for the time being. Some people have mentioned this journal comes off as “too personal,” and today I had hoped to write something impersonal. But right now, fuck it, I can’t. I’m upset, I’m scared, and I want to go home.
