i was bored in class and decided that i'd rummage through my coat pocket. To my surprise, i found a Cashbox Coupon from back in December when we finally did our little karaoke field trip. It was instant nostalgia. Staring at the already expired coupon, I decided that I would further torment myself in listing all the things I miss back home: I miss my family and my friends, miss being able to go out and have fun with people who actually cares and knows you, miss my queen-size bed, miss my little pillow which had been worn down to literally a thin sheet of cloth through the years and decades that it has kept me company especially in nights when I suffered from childish, but nonetheless freaky, nightmares, I miss my guitar and my violin, miss the coolness of the marbles in my living room, miss being able to mindlessly flick through all one hundred and twenty something channels on cable and watch all the crap on TV till I pass out on the couch, miss being able to go downstairs for a slurpee or a popsicle and buy a pack of my favorite junk food for one sixth of what I would be charged here for a bag of chips, I miss the sun and the rain, and people who actually use umbrellas and sunglasses, I miss home-cooking, miss street/night market food, miss the sound of my mom's slippers down the hall, miss being able to text you or call you up without worrying 'bout going bankrupt, and being able to see you in the next 5 min. after our conversation should we choose to.
I think this un-called-for sudden attack of homesickness, which subsided as steathily as it overswept me, is due to the fact that for once I finally realized that these petty and seemingly minute moments that have aggregated to become what is defined as my life, is not something that comes in a continuous and overflowing supply, that contrary to popular belief, there does exist a certain quota and it's unnerving to discover that I am nearing the very end of my share and there's no refuel station whatsoever as far as the i-can-see.
I've always considered myself to be someone who has been able to cope with realities with the kind of nonchalance and ease as unseen in youths my age. To now find myself just as horror-struck as the average of my peers at the mere thought of change and growing-up and leaving-home and moving-on is embarrassing if not disappointing to say the least. It's no mystery that I've always held myself to a higher standard, that I've always had to put up a tough act, as translated in sly techniques that ultimately transcended to what the world perceives as confidence, as charisma, and sometimes, ambition and arrogance. To communicate fears and anxiety, by definition is to divulge vulnerability, and that is of course unacceptible in my opinion. But here I am, just another adolescent (if i can still pass for one), young and naive, both excited and absolutely freaked out about what tomorrow has instore for me.
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