My poor mom.

For the first years of my life, on a daily basis, she looked forward to the day she would finally be able to kick me out of the nest. Towards my thirteenth year, she nearly succeeded in accomplishing that by pushing me out of the nest and sending me to boarding school.

After a year and a semester out of the nest, my desperation to return to my mom was so great, I managed to sneak my way back up the tree and into the nest.

My mom relented, and so for the remainder of my high school and college years, I held the title envied by thousands of boarding school students the world over: that of ‘Day Scholar.’

Every day, upon our release from classes, the boarders were sent back to the dark corridors of chilly, inhospitable hostels, where they were held captive by strictly regimented increments of time enforced by an army of prefects, the most unpleasant and frustrated teachers and the shrill scream of a bell: Fifteen minutes for lunch... BELL! Fifteen minutes rest and relaxat... BELL! Three hours for homework....... BELL! Fifteen minutes to shower... BELL! Fifteen minutes for dinner... BELL! Four hours of homework...... BELL! Lights out... BELL!

Whereas I, who happened to for once in my life be a part of the crème de la crème, the elite, the most revered and envied DAY SCHOLARS, were picked up by boyfriends or parents (or in my case, the city bus) and then we made our different ways through the tree-lined suburban streets back to the comforts and coziness of our mothers’ nests.

In my third year of college, at the dawn of my turbulent twenties, followed by a rather firm push on my backside by my mom, I was sent fluttering out of the nest yet again. One would think I would’ve gotten the message then, yes? But nooooo. Not me.

For, after not even a year out in the wild, in my own chaotic little rented nest in which I was a very bewildered dweller, I managed to claw my way back up the tree and into the safe haven of my mom’s nest yet again.

However, before I could even scratch out a comfortable corner for myself, my mom gave what she thought would be the final push. In a moment of brilliance and ingenuity, she decided that since I was clearly never going to leave, SHE would. Not only that, but she’d sell the nest out from under me so that I would have no CHOICE but to leave as well.

That’s how I ended up in that petrol-scented nest I wrote about here.

And my mom’s plan worked, because after leaving THAT rental nest, I finally and quite literally flew. All the way to the United States.

Here it is a decade later, and what do you know? I have yet again found my way back to my mom’s cozy nest.

I’m rather interested to see how she is going to try and get rid of me this time, but just in case she mistakes my curiosity for a challenge – a challenge she’ll readily accept, I should add – I’m not going to tell HER that!