As I turn 18.

As I turn 18 being away from home, what it feels like is quite strenuous to put in words. After all, emptiness and enactment are never to be mixed.

As I turn 18 being away from home, the responsibility of saving the chips and desire to be an occasional spendthrift collides. And colliding bodies have equal momentum after the act, don’t they?

As I turn 18 being away from home, the childlike expectancy of gifts and knowledge of their material futility fights with each other. Ever tasted salt and sugar together?

As I turn 18 being away from home, the love for my folks multiplies manifolds while love for that one girl pulls me towards her more and more. Standing in the swash zone of the beach, making you feel like slipping as the waves wash away the sand beneath, not much different than that chore it is. 

As I turn 18 being away from home, I start learning to make an house, a home. The walls are the same, even colors as well, what adds up, is the policy of conditionality.

As I turn 18 being away from home, whenever I see people without the barter policy, I express my love for them, not within me but right up to them, pulling them out of conditions of the give and take. 

And as I turn 18 being away from home, I feel and realise the major missing; home. And I realise it’s elucidation.