I used to count the days after I left home - for the first time ever in my whole life. Counting the days to come back for good. I overcame the fear and adapted to a new independent life, and too quickly years flew by.
At times, when I’m comfortable with my life I think it’s alright to be slightly farther away from home, from the familiar sense of belonging, and from the closeness of family and friends. However, when there are so many people that I used to know when I first came here leaving one by one, and more new people coming in - I can’t help but to wonder, when’s my turn to leave? Aren’t my turn gonna come eventhough I’ve been waiting quietly?
I’m not exactly sad, and prolly’ not ready to leave this comfortable place which I already call my second home, but real home is where the heart is.
Though there’s this tiny squeeze of heart felt, I know people do come and go, and that’s life.
