Sense of home

I spent half hour re-organising the bedlinen draw tonight. There is that immense feeling of love, care and home in the whole exercise. I always dream of how I would arrange and re-arrange my linen cupboard at home, but there is no need to, I already have both: the home and (if not linen cupboard at least) linen draw in our divan bed.

Tonight is one of the nights, when Mr. Moon is out and I can enjoy my own company. There is a lot of room for thought when one is on their own, which gets smaller in company, almost as if another human being's company is too distracting to create that personal space. That is when sentimental outburst happen. Outburst which do not improve my image of myself to myself. I do not consider myself sentimental, but deep down I know, I am. Just like folding those sheets and pillowcases moments ago was so soothing that feeling of being a woman, a grown-up, a person who makes their own decisions.

I still have a small pile to fold a pile that just a little while ago came out of the tumble dryer and are too hot to fold. One day my bedding will smell of wind, and rain, and sunshine. Not just some false lavender or whatever it may be.

Over the last few weeks I have comprised a list of objects I own that have the Union Jack on them. Even today I added the 20th item to my collection as I spotted it in a sale, a notebook from Emma Bridgewater collection at Staples. It was on offer and whilst the amount of un-filled notebooks is growing in my home I could not possibly resist. Especially as today is the day of the wages.

1. Handbag
2. Purse
3. Shopping bag
4. Mugs
5. Cup and saucer
6. Teapot
7. Clock
8. Cushion square
9. Cushion round
10. Bedding set
11. Picture frame
12. Doggy bank
13. Diary
14. Scarf
15. T-shirt
16. File
17. Mouse
18. Lighter
19. Ashtray
20. Notebook

I listed the items as I could remember them. In no particular order. And even if 20 items is not a lot its not that easy to keep track of all those things that are scattered around me, in my home, in my life... Before writing this out I was wondering about the symbolism of me collecting items with Union Jacks and English Dictionaries amongst other things. I do not give in easily into fashions and I have loved the flag itself for a long while. I have loved England even longer. I am an anglophile for a reason. And yes I know the flag of England is different to that of the United Kingdom. I do read books, you know real books, not just lovely novels. But I came to a conclusion that this little obsession of mine which of course has been lightly fuelled by the availability of all those different things is like a craving. A craving to belong, to feel at home, to love. I have never felt at home where I was born. It is nobody's fault. It is the way things work out. I do not belong there. I don't really belong here in England. My accent betrays me every time. Deep down I know, even if I will know a million copies of different English dictionaries, cover my life in Union Jacks and gain an English degree that will not make me any more English that I am today. Then why do I try so hard?

It has been a hard week for me. Many thoughts crawling in my little tired head. I have delivered my last assignment, which I know is by no means magnificent, but it is better than nothing. Now I have to focus on my exams which are not that far away. I have to stay calm, turn my head into a massive piece of storage, and hope for the best.

Funny observation: I always had a problem with confusing peace with piece. The only way I can actually remember which is which is by intervention of the French language. Whenever I mean piece, my Brain does not distinguish spelling it knows what it means but the only way of remembering how to write it is by recalling the French word pièce. That way I distinguish the two. I suppose I am not such a good anglophile after all.

Yet I want to belong so much. Whilst folding the clean sheets. When answering the phone. When walking down the street.When chatting to the hairdresser. When saying 'I love you' to Mr. Moon.