I want to write… but I don’t know what to write about… so here I am typing away without direction, without any plans of making sense. I’m home alone… listening to the whirling of the laundry machine… whenever it stops, god, the momentary silence is too loud for me… Lately… I’m in this mood for being alone… just me and my laptop and my thoughts… if I had the means I would have been in a cafe right now… I’m waiting for something… that takes so long to come… and I need it now… I can’t wait any longer… I feel paralyzed and that piece of paper is my only antidote… I finally have a list of what to do on my mind… plans that are still plans… I can’t wait to make them happen… yet again, I’m going back to waiting for that little piece… that piece that will finally end this phase of me… what else will I write?

I’m turning 21 soon… for everyone it must be a big celebration. Parang, 21 means freedom… freedom from what I ask at the top of my mind. It’s the first time I’m going to celebrate it away from home… then again… is this place my new home? should I be saying, “This will be my first birthday at our new home?”

What do I really want?

I want to go away… I want to go home… I want to rearrange my room, my thoughts, my life… I want to go out with my friends… have fun… dine out… talk.. talk incessantly… catch up… I want to start making things happen already… I want to clear my mind… I want answers… I want to start anew… I want to explore the part of myself that is unknown… I want to try out new things without hesitations… and I want to do all these back at home… right now… I just want to be alone. So I write… and write… and write…