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A friend said about me, that when I come to her mind, she could not seperate sweet and sarcastic. How could one be both and maintain some form of sanity?
How about a realist and a romantic? Can one be both? Was there ever an in-between?

I try not to be too much of either. But like a wise saint once wrote, sometimes its the very thing we do not want to do, that we find ourselves doing. And The Good Book says this very thing is part of our being and what, as humans, we should struggle against.

And if you've been through enough in life, you would know, the things in life worth doing, the decisions worth making, are usually the hardest. And sometimes I'm not sure if I have the courage for that.

he haunts me.

I remember the time when he played that song. So cliche to sing about leaving on jetplanes but it still pulled at heartstrings. 

I am still in the very house I grew up in. Somewhere I won't be able to spend as much time in anymore. Somewhere that might change the next time I'm back, who knows? 

My final destination would be another sort of home. Somewhere I found myself in. And maybe lose a bit of myself in the process. Somewhere I feel I have to go back to, because where I found myself, I found love and friendship and learning that growing up is a hard thing to do. And I have a lot more to learn. 

I'm a mess of mixed feelings. Not the typical sort, the kind always connected to leaving and farewells. The kind where the thing on my mind is the very thing I'm forbidden from. 

I think I need time. 

The journey begins.

I don't know if this will make much sense to anyone at all, but even in a place that has never known four seasons.. I can feel autumn in my bones.

Next week I'll be off and I'm painfully aware of the clock ticking away. As much as the past months have been less than kind on me, I've been content with enduring everything. Because that was all I could do. And now I have to pick up the mess I am in, piece everything together and somehow in the middle of the tears, walk ahead with my head held high. And I'm not sure if I have the strength for that.

I know I'll miss being in this place I grew up in. But there's a sense of regret in me that my time had to be filled the way it was, with restrictions and careful decisions and "playing it safe". I had such hopes. Knowing I won't be able to spend such time anymore, with the future plans I've made. I knew that the next time I'll be back.. Things will be different. But maybe things have changed already. And I'm just the one who has not realized that.   

All the expectations piled up on me. And I'm struggling to come to terms with things. The sacrifices. 

Everything seems quieter now. 

Part of me just wants to get it over and done with. 
To somehow dam up those emotions and keep the tears in and do what I have to. 
To go back there and just lose myself in everything. 

To let those long walks settle the restlessness in me. 

To let the pictures I take, be carefully composed by the feelings I find difficult to express. 

To let the songs I sing, echo the uncertainties. 

To let the friends I surround myself with, reach out to me. 

And maybe, just maybe, I'll pick myself up and learn from this and you will too.