Here I am, in Paris. In the end I left London only this morning (it's a long story, but it's mostly due to me being very thick), and ended up in a carriage full of 8 years-old. How nice.
I am so tired that I just got high on a cigarette... *lol*
Anyway, I was looking at those kids in the train (I am a real observer - I love to look at people and try to understand what they think - they probably think I am mad, but well) and I started to think... When did I go from the status of a careless, happy child like to what I am now? I have opinions, my own life without my family around, I am complicated, often depressed (without any apparent reason), I need love, I need my friends and... I am a real person. I don't know if I can say that I am an adult, but I am not a child anymore. I am a person, an entity, different from everyone else and who can think with her own head... It's a bit scary. Actually, very scary.
What else? Oh yeah, I started sobbing earlier on because my mum moved my clothes to the back of the wardrobe. I don't feel like this is really my home anymore, and at the same time I cannot consider my room in London like my home because I am going to leave in a couple of months. Maybe the flat I am going to get next year with Sophie and Kirsty will be my home?
I cannot believe that just a year ago I spent all my days in this room. It's... Different now. It's not "mine", because I am here only for a couple of days every month.
I am losing every root I have, and I don't know whether it's a good thing or not.