幫我神

this house that i’m in right now is where it all began. it’s where i was brought as a newborn and it is where i like to think i developed. despite moving too many times for me to recall, from share-houses with musicians and artists to sleep-outs in houses dressed in moon calendars and astrology books to proper home-sweet-home cottages with a backyard, this is still the closest thing i would consider home. i don’t even have a room here anymore. instead it’s been turned into a dumping ground for old toys and my uncle’s dirty washing. nevertheless, the clothes line with too many pegs, the loquat tree with overripe fruit, the carpet i used to play line games on, the games room that is more so filled with books than with games, the blown glass from a distant uncle, the filled sketch books from years of art school, the philosophy essays hidden in cabinets that i knew how to open from a young age, the carpet with various stains from the years, the towel cupboard i still don’t know how to open adequately, the wardrobe with dresses from both my mother and i as children, my uncle’s lighter collection taped to his wall, the camp-stretcher i would sleep on next to my grandparents bed when i was first diagnosed with depression, the toilet with too many spiders, the bathtub where i can first remember choking on tears, the mattress i would cuddle bears too big for me on before falling asleep, the framed photos, the endless art and the myriad of paint brushes all contribute to this house i feel both comfortable and uncomfortable in these days. this is the house that jack built.