So I slept with my bedroom door locked yesterday.
I realized last evening, much to my anguish (while watching 'Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day' in bed) that I had never spent a night alone in a house before.
I must be the only twenty-six year old woman I know in this country with that dubious honor, which thankfully lives no more after yesterday.
And despite a night of checking the front door lock multiple times, jumping at every creek from the apartment upstairs, and avoiding leaving the bedroom to go to the restroom until daylight had fully peeked, I think I can do it again. In fact, I'd like to do it again.
My shame knew no limits when a character from a show I'd been watching all evening told her boyfriend that since she had always lived alone, she couldn't get used to someone actually being around her at night anymore. It will take her some time getting used to co-habitation, she informed him. And as I glanced sideways at my bolted door, I understood that it will take me some time too, to ever get used to not having someone around me all the time if it were to happen. But it should be something I should at least always be prepared for, because as I suspect, the best part of being at peace with yourself must be that you can be at peace when you're alone. And being alone, and being lonely or scared, should always be mutually exclusive. Wherever you're from, whoever you are.
This one's for my dear Asnia, who has taught--and continues to teach me--much about living with oneself...peacefully:).