This is the sunset right outside our home.

I am so good on doing nothing, wasting my time.

By the start of the year, I tried to tell myself that I will blog more often, create more ukulele covers to see how much I have improved, start a "real" journal, work out more, write more creatively. But I did not. I was afraid on committing myself into these things. Because part of me knows that I will just disappoint myself. Part of me knows that I would somehow fail. And I think, I did.

Now, we're on the third month of the year, my birth month, and nothing have really changed. I am still the best procrastinator that I am. Maybe writing this post would force me into actually achieving these goals, and put myself away from all the negative thinking. Maybe, or maybe not.

The first two months of 2018 were unquestionably eventful. I went back home for the New Year festivities for a week. After that, it was an immense load of work (even on weekends which left my mind on a haywire and so much stress). I told my friends, I need a big change in my life. I needed some diversion. I needed something new. Whilst transferring to a new house was not an option that time, I did something that I have been wanting to do for a long time: I cut my own hair into a full bangs. Yes. I have always been hesitant because I have a wavy hair. For me, as little as cutting my own hair was already a big change. It was like a metaphor of, you'll never know unless you try. And up until now, I have no regrets on doing it. I loved it. Although, maintaining it is a commitment itself. At least, I had something I committed myself into and succeeding, so far.

Bringing back my childhood hair do.

Early February, my Kuya went back home after being away  from family for two years. So I also went home for almost two weeks to spend time with them. (Although, I squeezed in a 3-day trip to Bacolod in between which I will write about soon, hopefully.) That vacation made me realised how lucky I am to be working in Singapore; to be working only 5-hours away from home; to be working in a place where/when I don't need to wait two years to be on a vacation. No, that's not right. Let me correct that. I am blessed. I am so blessed that I can go home at least twice a year.

But leaving home each time has never gotten any easier, it was at every turn, unfailingly heavy. In my mind, I have this idea of what if this is the last time I'm ever gonna see them; what if this is really good bye and not see you later. So I always prolong the time I have with them. And as much as possible, I see to it that I said good bye to them and ending it on a pleasant note. But, you see, that's the hardest part there is–saying good bye. I am always on the verge of crying, and I don't want them to see me like that. I don't want them to worry about me. I don't want them to see me in my vulnerability. So I cry alone, be brave, pray and look forward to the next time I'm seeing them.

We always say, "back to reality" after being away from a vacation. But isn't being on a vacation also a reality? Isn't being home the true reality? After months of hard work, for a time being, you got to ignore all your responsibilities and relax a bit. That overwhelming, satisfying feeling you get. I miss that.

But probably, I just miss home, very much so.



I like cities; I like discovering and exploring new places. But my heart, conceivably, would always belong to the province, to my little hometown to which not many people knows of; to that place where I grew up wanting to leave and grow old wanting to get back.

PS : I should really write more often.