I think one of the greatest things I’ve learnt in the past year and a bit of being with this strange, often-grumpy and always-tall boy, and not travelling much further than a few kilometres to our favourite restaurants (with the occasional sojourn in my home city, or a trip to the Indian Ocean) , is that comfort doesn’t always breed discontent.
We were so happy, spending our Sundays in a sunny familiar room, and listening to him play guitar in his messy childhood bedroom is something I treasure, along with the nights I’ve gotten lost on cobbled roads somewhere I couldn’t read the street signs.
And yes, we decided to change everything and move somewhere new, and frankly terrifying. It’s exciting as hell and I’ve become someone who marks off the days on a calendar. The next part of this adventure is going to be phenomenal and inspiring, and I’ll probably have infinitely more Instagrammable moments than I did before. But the part that went before, the way we imagined up new lives and ate Indian from the same place every weekend and re-watched all our favourite movies together and let ourselves dream big from someplace that was comfortable, was as big, and important, as stepping down somewhere you don’t know the word for goodbye.
Whatever happens next will change everything and that’s good and shiny and right. But I’m going to miss the old way too, and maybe that’s the best way to start something new.