Nothing is constant except change.

I've always liked that part of The Lord of the Rings where the Lady of the Woods (whose real name I can't recall at the moment - oh, it's Galadriel, as Google says) speaks:


The world is changed. I feel it in the water. I feel it in the earth. I smell it in the air.
Much that once was is lost, for none now live who remember it.


Both scary and epic, it's made me hit the pause button and ponder upon it so many times. It's fiction (or maybe not), but it has so much in common with 'the real world'. How much of it is true, how much of it can be related to our own lives, history, civilization, future?


Will we remember yesterday the day after tomorrow? Will anyone? Is there a point to it? Many say it's important to remember where we came from and what we're part of. Sometimes I wonder why...


Do I really want to get stuck (both physically and mentally) in this environment I don't really like? Where I have to look for bright spots in order to get up every day. Where one has to cross the street to avoid potential conflict and choose the path one takes in order to save oneself some nerves. Is that life?


I'm not sure it's much better elsewhere, but I surely am up for a bit of change. Some get lulled into the feeling of coziness, safety and togetherness - those are the ones who will get  run over by the changing world. Or not touched by it at all. There are others who get run over by the feelings the others cherish. Sometimes even choked by them. By the society, by norms, rules and regulations, by the daily dullness, public transportation and queuing wherever you turn.


Who am I to say what or who is wrong? But who are the others to say I'm wrong?

Here the little, naïve me, ages ago...

Moving out, moving on...

So, I've been kicked out of my flat. By my father. Yes.


It's (obviously) been too long since we first started irritating the hell out of each other. It's only been this little game we play, about who would flip out the first and ruin all the fun for the other one.


Had the situation permitted sooner, I would've been out of this place ten years ago. The plan to live in separate flats in the same house obviously didn't have any positive future aspirations.


Not it's funny and I'm not sure whether to be laughing or bumming out.


It's been ages since I've been a bad son, but it's been way longer since he's been a lousy father. I won't start with the stories of my life and the words I've heard come out of his mouth during it either. But for the observer, we're a nice little cozy happy family. Picket fences and all. Everyone knows it's not like that, but everyone believes it.


Being a good boy since I was a kid didn't bring much happiness to me, it seems. Always grounded, always having to apologize, always missing out on all the fun. Never happy.


And now, instead of being awarded, I'm doomed to suffer the rest of my life, choking on this invisible leash I've been remote-controlled by my whole life.


Almost thirty, no flat, no proper job. And now I manage to break my father's heart. Well, he broke mine, but that doesn't count, it seems.


What I know is I'm glad it's finally started rolling - it was obviously bound to happen and if it needed to be done in a not-so-nice way, so be it.


My side of the story will be looking for a flat and a shit job to pay for the rent, struggling at these hard times and trying to make it work without bank loans and all the crap that's making or lives even more miserable. The other side of the story will show me as a horrible, ungrateful son who left his parents when it was the hardest.


Well, yeah, people. Not bitching about stuff doesn't mean it's all peachy and bushy tails.


And we'll see how it goes. I've always wondered how it was not talking to dad. Like that's new.