As stated in the title part of this blog, these thoughts are
my own, so I can only draw on my own experiences.
I write from a National Express coach on a return journey
from Gothenburg, Sweden, where I spent the most part of my two week holiday
with Moony. I have to go back to school tomorrow, but that isn’t something I
want to be thinking about right now.
The time I spent in Gothenburg was the best succession of
days I’ve ever experienced. Every single day was perfect and I wouldn’t have
changed anything except for longer days and more time.
But it taught me something about how different my family is,
and I know I prefer my parents-in-law to the ones I’m related to, however sad
that may be.
Moony lives in a flat with her parents and shares a room
with her younger brother by three years, whenever he isn’t staying at his
school up North. The space isn’t plentiful, but the atmosphere is lovely.
The kitchen is big enough to dance in, as we discovered, and
the views are magnificent given how beautiful the old architecture is. The bath
is also a Jacuzzi and comfortably fits two people, and the shower is powerful
but nice. There is mood lighting in the bedrooms and bathroom at least, a
balcony that’s slightly higher than surrounding buildings, and a constant
feeling that you’re incredibly safe and able to be yourself, no matter what
that may entail.
But that’s just the space itself. The family is even better.
Moony’s brother is adorable, and I want to protect him all the time, even
though he’s older and taller than me. He’s really kind and funny, and spent
time with us yesterday singing a duet of Whole New World from Aladdin with
Moony, even though he had work to be doing. He chose to come and lay on our bed
and talk to us, and genuinely seemed like he liked being there.
Moony’s parents work odd shifts, so they’re not around in
the day, but they are on weekends. Her dad is incredibly camp, to the point of
taking dance aerobic classes, and his voice is kind of high, but he’s one of
those people that you feel calm around, like they all are. Sure, he has his bad
sides, but he also has considerate sides. He hung out with us when we watched
the latest Doctor Who last night, and looked upset when we went to be and left
him in the living room.
And that’s not to forget Moony’s mum, who told me I’m always
welcome with them, and told me I’m family now. We hung out a bit when Moony had
an exam on Friday, and she helped me work out what to do with the flowers I’d
spent that last of my money on.
Everybody gets on with everyone else, and they’re always in
shared space that anybody can get to, to talk. It made me see how different my
house is. My mum stays in the living room, sure, but everyone else is in their
room all the time. I only emerge for food or tea, dad doesn’t even do that
since he has a kettle in his room.
It’s tragic, and horrible, but I just don’t want to spend
time with them that much. I become stressed and dysphoric, and forced to
discuss things I don’t want to.
I was told fairly recently that I had to spend at least an
hour most evenings downstairs so my parents can see me more, but my final exams
are next month, and I’m terrified that I won’t get what I need to attend the
University that gets me away from here, so I really need to stop being scared
about it and start doing revision seriously, but I can’t do any of that
downstairs with the TV on and everybody talking.
I feel like my life-related struggles may become a post of
it’s own, so I’ll leave that there.
But here’s what I believe it comes down to. Some people are
lucky enough to have a family dynamic that works very well, like Hermione
Granger, the Weasleys, Harry (if his parents weren’t killed), but then there
are families like the Malfoys, who just don’t really have the loving air that
the others do. Or the Blacks, and how Sirius felt about them, how he ended up
not living with them at all.
Be that as it may, we still have the ability to create the
family we love and are loved by. You love your family sometimes because you’re
forced to rather than genuine feelings, but non-blood family is something that
grows and is chosen with care.
For instance, I consider my friend in America, Ivan, to be
like my big brother, the one I can share sex-stories with (and other things of
course) and go to for advice about things, and there’s a family friend who’s
like a brother or cousin to me, who shows me really cool things.
I have a mate in Reading who is like a sister, and although
we’ve never met, Mark Gatiss is like that cool Uncle that you hang out with on
bank holidays and watch films with.
And then there’s my main family, Moony’s family.
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