There’s this strange quality to being in and out of home every couple of months. Seems like everything/everyone around you is changing except you. Or maybe you’re the one changing, just that you think you’re not.

Strange habit: picking out all the changes at home, outside — everywhere basically.

Then there’s the first two days of “re-assimilating”, and the “how-are-you’s” (even from you parents which I find strangely disconcerting ’cause those are the kinda stuff parents don’t ever ask), going up and about finding the stuff you love to do that you can’t do elsewhere etc. Then feeling like you’re home again. After that, there’s the whole “I-don’t-ever-wanna-leave” phase before actually leaving.

Sigh.

2 thoughts on “

  1. i feel you sister. I've been yearning for home from the moment i set foot in that hell hole. The sad irony is i used to wish i wasn't at home just so i could escape the nagging and drama, but now that i'm so far away from home, i'd have to cling onto little things that seemed meaningless to people just to get the “homey” feel… =/

  2. it's a vicious cycle…=/ the yearning, the pure happiness of BEING back, the imminent departure, then loop all over again =x then again, we wouldn't really ever appreciate “home” or realise how much it actually means to us if we never went through this cycle…

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