the fence

I'm 31 years old and I still hide things from my parents.
I have a good relationship with them, I always have. I just think they know me on one dimension.
They know me as the daughter they raised. The younger, more sensitive and emotional one. I was the cry baby. This was my job, being the younger sister and all.
And because I was the youngest my parents often hid things from me, things they believed were unimportant for me to know or understand. And in this protection, they thought they knew me.
But I don't think they did, or they do.
I haven't lived at home since I was 19. I haven't asked for permission to do anything since I was 15.
But it still matters what my parents will think of me- it always will.
I don't think they understand me or believe how perceptive I have always been. I don't think they understand my wants and needs to be more, more than just what I do now.
And that's O.K.
I'm not mad at them at all
I am the sensitive one. I am the sweet one. I am the youngest one- even at 31. I will always be those things to them.

Maybe it's my fault. Perhaps it's my job to inform my parents of just what it is that really interests me. Maybe I just assume they won't understand.
Maybe it does not matter. Maybe it should only matter to me.
Maybe our parents don't really know us inside and out, and maybe that's for a reason.

I'm taking a trip at the end of this month to do something I have fallen in love with. And all I can think about is what I will actually tell them, instead of the actual truth.
Because if I told them the truth, they'd probably think I was crazy.

I hate lying.
I must be getting older if I can't lie to my parents anymore.
What the Hell is up with that?!