My Ex Next Door (Sequel to Camping Fling)

"Let us Begin..... Again"

If you had asked the 18-year-old me if I saw myself moving back into my parents' house in my mid-twenties, I would have confidently said the word "no". However, the 18-year-old me was a lot smarter and oblivious when it came to the real world. There were a lot of things that I didn't know and, I wasn't prepared to enter the real world. Once the four concrete walls, that my parents had built, went down I felt exposed and fragile. The only thing "younger-me" had to worry about was whether or not I was going to get into the university I applied to. That, and where her boyfriend was taking her on their next date.

Jake Winstones. The first guy whom I said "I love you" to.

The guy who made me believe that the whole experience was filled with unicorns and rainbow. The first guy I let inside my world. I let him see me bare and expose. No matter how high and thick I made those four walls, he was still able to paint a window and let his light penetrate the darkness that was growing in me. From scars and bruises to laughter and smiles, he witnessed it all. However, just like every single love stories, I've heard from my friends, ours too was no different.

With all the many first he claimed from me, he was also the first guy who broke my heart. No, not broken. Shattered. He shattered it into pieces, like broken glass. Once a whole now turned into a million pieces.

My friends? Well, they were right. You never truly know what true pain and suffering are until you, yourself, have experienced it. A loss is so strong that it almost rips you apart. Knowing that no matter how incomplete you feel, you know you must move on and keep going. I've come to a realization that everyone is a little broken inside yet, slowly we learn to live without those missing pieces in us. We go back to our mundane life, numbed from the pain of the past, and still, look forward to the future.

I am staring at the exterior of my childhood home. A little paint job on the window sill, but everything looks the same. Of course, having a gardener for a mother the landscaping of our house-made the other houses turn green with envy, and I am not talking about their lawn. My mother believes that a way to impress your guest is to have an amazing curb-appeal and nothing says curb appeals like fresh, cut grass and blossoming flowers framing the walkway. Walking through those gates flooded me with so many fond memories. I made my way up the same creaky steps and rang the doorbell of the front door. My parents had changed the glass part of the door from colorful stained glass to an opaque plain one. The constructor said it gives the door a more contemporary feel. Whatever he means by that.

"I'm coming!" My dad grumbled as he made his way to the door. I pressed the doorbell a couple more times just to annoy him. He's always hated, impatient guests.

"Calm down out there!" He yelled just before opening the door.

"Surprise!" I screamed, not giving him a chance to lecture me of two things. Number 1: no surprises. Especially in his age, 57, but who's counting? Number 2: he could have picked me up from the airport instead of me taking a taxi. Just think of the money I could have saved.

"Marissa!" My dad quickly came in for a hug. I felt my feet come off the ground for a good couple of centimeters. At his age, my dad is still as tough as a bull.

"Why didn't tell us you were coming home?" My dad looked at me in amazement.

"Well dad, that's the whole point of surprises." I pointed out the obvious and all he could do was laugh at me.

"Well, let me help you bring in your bags." Noticing my luggage behind me. He grabbed the two suitcases that had their handles out already. "Quite a stuff you brought for a visit." He added as he struggled through our tiny foyer that he and mum had built.

"Actually dad," I said nervously. My palms began to sweat profusely. I know gross but, I did not properly prepare myself for this. Somewhere in all the planning, I kinda forgot the most important thing and, that is to tell my parents that I had quit my job, sold my apartment, and possibly bunking back with them on a more permanent basis.