notes to my mother

As a child, I always dreamt of getting away to some wild place, where I would live free, unsupervised, unfettered.
Years later, in a faraway town, away from you, I long for the familiar touch, the conversations, the chidings and everything else that I resisted.
When I wake up, it is not because I want to. It is because the sun is up in the sky, it is almost noon, and I have to be at work. As I drag my weary feet to the little kitchenette to prepare tea, I miss you and all that was home so many years ago. I remember how you gave me tea in the morning, how we woke up my brother, and how we sat under the quilt, sipping tea, chatting away.
Those were priceless moments.
It is indeed difficult living here. On my own, I sometimes pass the hours on the couch waiting for nothing, looking forward to nothing.
And it is in these moments, I realize what's home.
And I want to go back forever to an idyllic life. Whether it is possible, I don't know. But the hours don't pass here.
I want to live my life again in the same way by your side, doing nothing, aspiring for no greatness, no love of money, no seeking independence.
In my lonely hours here, I miss the simplicity of life that was. Little joys as a favorite movie at 9 p.m. or you cooking my favorite egg curry seem so precious in this exile.
I crave no more an adventurous life. I want to come back.