It is when you look down from your apartment window, you realise you are in a completely different place.

The familiarity isn’t there.

You no longer see the lights from your neighbour’s backyard.

Your view isn’t a storey high;

Your view now makes every car that passes by the highway the size of your fingernail.

You look at your table and what once lay the huge stash of coloured pens, markers and fancy stationery are now dull pens and pencils that are just sufficient for everyday use.

The comfort isn’t there.

The midnight McD supper moments with people you grew up with have turned into lone nights in your room staring at polaroids you stuck on your wall to help you feel more at home, but in the end make homesickness worse instead.

I hated this city at first.

I hated how everything I did, everywhere I went, would be unsafe, but I found myself learning to be alert and vigilant.

I hated the never ending noisy traffic throughout the night, but I found myself appreciating the quiet nights back home.

I hated the feeling of being sick and not having my dad there, but that made me cherish him more.

I hated the fact that I had to carry my heavy groceries back to my accommodation, but that made me thankful for the rides i had since young.

I missed home (I still do), and I hated feeling that way, but in the midst of grunting and being in my own mess, I look back and realised I’ve learned, I’ve grown, I’ve gotten the hang of what it means to be independent.



I wanted to continue this post by mentioning how I feel my heart will be torn into two after I leave, but I guess I’ll leave it for another day. I don’t quite have the words to express them yet.

’Til next time.