Sírë

The word sírë means river, or flood. Flowing like life itself, I guess.

I should have written here many times during the last days. Had quite a lot to say. But we plugged out Friday or something, and that evening I went home to family.
Where I promptly forgot the "nod and smile" part, and ended up "screaming and crying" instead. Which could have been disastrous but turned out all right, because we had time to finish it.
And in the end I felt it was about time I let go of a few old thorns and started behaving like myself toward my parents as well. Of course the guilt-trip wasn't entirely justified but, I think I'll admit mother managed to put it ways that made me think "...yep, definitely, screw that, it's way in the past anyway". And she actually told me she's proud of me. Of my way with languages and strange stuff that's completely jibberish or strange to her. She and father said things that made me feel kind of loved, and pretty okay. Father did stay in the kitchen most of the time, not all of the time, but most of it. Especially after a jab from mother.

Somehow, we got into the whole making-mistakes-bit, and after a while, into my boyfriends. And eventually, I coughed up a sentence that went something along the line of me only really being a bit wistfully regretful about not having had a girlfriend before wolf, since we're kind of really really together and all, to which mother said something like oh, indeed? (She did once see the label "bisexual" on a community when looking over my shoulder when I was surfing, but probably thought it was... a teenage thing). So... have you been in love with any girls? To which I could reply yes, I had, and I won't mention either of them here. I figured out rather late that I did love them, or had a crush, and in one case, it was really really serious. She never knew and never will, and I'm fairly certain she'll never be anything but straight. Anyway. Mother, again: So, how do you know it was the same thing and not just... liking a lot? And I replied that, well, it was the same thing - feeling such an affection, wanting to meet, wanting to touch, the butterfly stomach... And that was that, kind of. Nothing more, nothing less, I guess, and she didn't make any fuss.

It might be because I never dragged a girlfriedn home, but it felt good nevertheless. A sort of unconditional acceptance.


The packing went all right, the cleaning as well, the leaving keys to renter Azman in the end, and travelling well. I wore over six kilograms of clothes on the plane. I like my stuff.
Talket to grandmother before leaving. She sounds... both tired and a bit confused, yet completely clear and chipper. Will I see her again?
And except that wolf forgot my beloved, beloved Pashmina scarf on the bus, we're now in Edinburgh, at Cowgate hostel, safe and sound and pretty well. I'm afraid I'm having mental problems again, though. Bah.
It's a great city, Dun Eidyn or whatever. So many strange streets, wynds, closes, alleys and... levels. Different levels of the city! Like home, but less clean, larger and more people. LOTS of tourists but I wouldn't choose Glasgow over this for anything. CASTLES! Old houses! And friends. Faun!

Well. Tomorrow it's serious again, studying and looking for apartment. Let's make this work.

But my mind hasn't caught up at all. Where's all the kanji? Where's the little foxden? And something I can't really articulate. "It's not the arrival that counts... it's where we are right now."