Clipping the Wings of an Errant Bird

I need this. I need to start writing again.

Since I moved to Oregon, my life has been one big blob. In the beginning, there was the beauty of it, that thrill of moving someplace new, of starting a whole new life. It’s painful just to write about this now. To say that it was everything I had expected it to be would be a fantasy. It’s so much easier to throw this out into the online world than with the people I see everyday. That is not to say that those friends I have made by writing online aren’t considered real friends, on the contrary—lately, they seem to be the only people I have to support me. They’ve been there, the only constant in this ever stagnant series of days that now is becoming my life.

It would be easier if they were not the way they were.

I never thought my aunt and uncle would be so protective of me. Back home, it was all so easy. My parents knew me to be a bird that they could never cage. Now that I am here, I feel as if my wings have been clipped off. One cannot possibly imagine how hard it is for a person like me to be confined to the house and not allowed to drive out whenever I want to, wherever I want to. The reason behind their rules is clear—they have assumed responsibility over my well-being, and they just want to make certain that nothing happens to me while I am in their care.

But the fact is that my parents trusted me enough to let me live thousands of miles away from home. Why can they not see that?

From being a social butterfly, I have been reduced to knowing only a few people. But despite the sudden loss of a social life, since I met him, the loss does not so much matter now. It’s so easy to put aside the thought that everything I am going through right now is anything but pleasant when we talk, and yet at the same time, it’s so hard to forget about it when all I want to do is to be able to hang out with him, and realising that I am a prisoner in this house.

That he understands my predicament, and does not tire of me (at this point) is to my great fortune.

But I need to break free from this monotony.

I cannot allow myself to be trapped in this life where everything has been set in stone. Where every waking moment has been planned, and every single day is a repetition of the last.

I need more than this. I need to start living again.