Where “Normal” Never Existed

I’ve always had two sides — one that is open and affectionate, and another that tends to create distance. Even now, I don’t think that balance has changed much.

Because of that, most of the people I became close to were older than me.
There was only one exception — my very first and closest friend.

When I was seven, I met a girl who was two years younger than me. She was the same age as my little sister.
I can’t explain why, but from that day on, she was always by my side.

Normally, children grow up within their own circles.
But between us, there was never that kind of “normal structure.”

Our families never treated it as something unusual.
We spent most weekends at each other’s homes, growing up and eventually becoming adults while staying closely connected.
There was no questioning — only quiet acceptance.

We often went up to the roof or stepped onto the balcony and talked for hours while looking at the sky.
We followed the shapes of clouds, watched the colors of the sky slowly change, and felt the wind or light rain directly on our skin.

On days when we couldn’t go outside, I would count the seconds between lightning and thunder with my mother.
We would say the numbers out loud together.
Sometimes my friend would join in, laughing as we counted, and my mother would naturally become part of it.

Both my mother and my friend’s mother accepted our relationship in a way that never needed explanation.

There is one memory that stands out.

We called it “flashy dressing.”

Whenever we were at one of our homes, we would pull out as many of our mothers’ clothes as possible, layer them on, wrap them around ourselves, cover our heads, and walk through the neighborhood like that.
We never looked in a mirror. Just pure freedom.

Looking back, it was a strange kind of play. But neither mother ever stopped us.
They would stand at the door, laugh, and say, “Have fun.”

Those moments were never treated as something special.
They simply existed as part of everyday life.

My friend Y and I shaped parts of each other’s personalities in subtle ways, sharing many memories along the way.
That slightly strange childhood — always somewhere between reality and imagination — feels, even now, like something made possible by both of us, and by the gentle way our mothers allowed it to exist.

I grew up as the middle child of three sisters. I was never forced into a single idea of what “normal” should be, nor was my different sense of things ever rejected.

All of these layers quietly shaped the way I see the world today.

Looking back,
perhaps this is why the idea of “this is how things are supposed to be” never fully took root in me.