memories

236 Sarsons Drive: an essay on Home

~ JP Marshman ~ 1 Comment

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I am poor at conveying verbally how I’m feeling. Stoic is a good word to describe me, I think, when it comes to emotions. If hormones are high—if people are crying, especially—I have a tendency to tense up and be unable to communicate. I don’t share how I’m feeling aloud. I can’t share how I’m feeling aloud. I think that’s one of the reasons I have such a hard time telling people I love them.

So let me write it, instead.

Despite all the hardships I have endured—and trust me, there are plenty—over the course of my twenty short years, I have only experienced heartfelt loss twice. Circumstances forced me to grow up faster than I wanted to, but even that couldn’t prepare me for the blow of loss. Continue reading →

Moving is not for the faint of heart

~ JP Marshman ~ Leave a comment

I’ve lived in one place my entire life. And no, I don’t mean the same city or province or what-have-you – I mean the same house, the same room, for the past 20 years. I’ve never moved.

As part of my parents’ divorce settlement, we have to sell the house. It’s going on the market next week. So in order to get prepared, we have to clean everything.

And I mean everything.

My room is nine by eleven, I believe – the size of a prison cell. I’ve had to make do my entire life. But I never realized just how much shit I fit into it until I had to take it all out.

Continue reading →