I'm guessing that, since all of you reading this are longtime readers and friends of mine, you know already that I am not a fan of expressing my feelings. A lot of me is buried deep in the bubbly packaging that I let most people to see (Yes, I have met people who called me "bubbly" as if being described the same way as a bottle of champagne is a compliment)
A quick catch up with what I've been doing since I last wrote that teary post about someone remarkable:
I came back home. The home that I have left for only one year and yet felt so foreign already. How did I survive 24 years in this city? Everyone is so rude and hateful and weird. I always knew that I love this city; this country. But it does feel like the kind of love in which I was the only lover in the relationship because I got nothing. And yet, somehow, I just keep loving it anyway.
Perhaps it is true what they said: at the touch of love, everyone becomes an idiot.
If there is one thing that I realized about coming home, it is that being away did not really change me. I have always been like this. I have always felt this way about these people. These situations. Being away only made me romanticized it for a whole year. Right when I got back to it, there is nothing so romantic about it.
Work is hard. Friends are lovely. Families are complicated; tricky, but warm. Weekends start at Friday night and are the best times to vent: about the things you could not say, about the bitterness you thought you should not feel. Brain is still your frenemy. Heart is still fickle. Love is nonexistent. Dating is unthinkable. Where do people find the energy for that anyway?
I know I'm only 25--I just feel like I'm so exhausted to carry on with life and all of its dramas all the time.
Feelings are complicated. Can't I just turn it off for once?
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