As renovations of the halls begin to end in our building, I sigh. Here we are beginning to start packing: we’re moving in a week or so, I haven’t kept count. 

The halls look wonderful, clean and sterile, the atmosphere of the hospital I visit everyday is reminded to me. I laugh; what irony, I work in one do I have to really live in one too. But these are just the hallways, not the inside of my home. Welcome is here, love is here, comfort is here. Its not a palace by any means. But there is the essence of our past in every dust bunny, every scuff mark. I’m not painting a pretty picture here.

But does it matter, I love this place. It faces the soutwest and the evening sun sets like a bonfire during an ecilpse. Often at times believeing I can take a photo of this, have I stood with our non-digital 24 roller. At 12 that seemed plausible, the sun should look perfect in this. I was misled. The photos were all smears of colour with dark spots everywhere. The parental unit scolded for what it was worth.

Now digging up those wishes to capture the western sun startle me. I look over it and wonder where I was to be standing here. The window is here, the western sun still sets ablaze the periphery of the earth, but sadly or unsadly I have changed. Isn’t that the honest truth? I will miss this place. It has seen all my greatest joys and failures. I have spent close to 12 years growing up here. I have changed as a person, but my essence still exists.

So wherever the sun exists, I will look up to it and imagine those colourful photos, me and my home.