and now that I'm back...home

I was in Asia for two months this summer and I just came back today. Back in Fremont for four more days, and then back to school. Our house is in the process of renovation and it looks entirely different from what I remembered from childhood, apart from one corner of wood paneling that I forced my father to keep. I'm tearing down all my posters and redoing my room, entirely, for the first time in six years or so. Everything from high school and my life in Fremont that I ever remembered, it's going away.

Why is it that I'm always so empty when I come home? Despite everything I've done to change myself for the better, each time I step back into Fremont, I'm absolutely overwhelmed with how much I've changed, how fast things are changing. I suppose this is a childish, I'm-growing-up sentiment -- wait fuck, I don't know what kind of sentiment this is. I was just sitting outside in the backyard in a lawn chair (who moved these here?) smoking a cigarette, and the sky wasn't the deep blue and stars that I remembered. It had a tint of orange from light pollution (was that there before?) and the temperature was chilly (when was it ever cold in July?) And I could see my room from where I was sitting, in the process of dismantling, and the outer shell of our walls was a skeleton of what it used to be. I can't even begin to describe how different everything is in my childhood home now, but I suppose that may be a symptom of me having not written in ages.

Isn't this what I wanted? I hated growing up here, I hated everything, so why do I feel so conflicted about this change? Time and time again, I tell myself of how much I live for changes, but

fuck

I'm tired.