It sucks, but I'm used to it. Growing to be immune of my surrounding where people started to leave one by one, carrying their heavy loaded bags with a big groan stick to their face, I'm going home!!
Just perfect, just what I need every time I'm battling here with the horrendous exam, passing rooms with packed luggage ready to run once the bell rung.
Not like me, someone who hasn't gone home since I got my ass landed in this shabby old room that I've grown to like.
Not like me, being one out of two courses in first years that had papers all the way through the third exam week that I've no choice but accept.
You listen to people around you complaining that they wanted so much to go home, despite having gone home two bloody weeks ago. You listen to their annoying rants of exam that ends late and how unlucky they are.
People who say they really can't stand the emotional challenge of looking at others going home one by one, earlier than they are, the happy spirit with no exam pressure but only the pleasure of eating home cooked meal and the security of your long awaiting bed. And fuzzy little teddy bear.
Longing for that am I.? I knew this day would come the day I fill in my application with some universities away from home. But I still chose this route.
The nature of the rebellious running in my blood that itches me to leave home and learn to be independent, or simply to be far away from the stressful eyes of dear old parents.?
Yet, I do miss home. Not only those house luxuries of unlimited and unbarred Internet, the good old TV with Astro that's tempting me with CSI, the comfort of my creaky bed, the familiarity of my room, not to mention the food that awaits me back home. Even the idea of having a fridge and hot water shower sends little smiles to my long face.
I would leave my family out of these scribbles. It is not something that can be described with bold words alone, nor a picture, but the feeling it paints inside my little heart. Yes, I do have feelings and emotion. In fact, I have a lot of them. Expressing them in words is different from showing funny or sulky faces.
There are certain things that a writer can't put him or herself to write. Leave alone me, a wistful blogger. Whether it's a self deceiving act or simply an act of modesty towards what I truly felt, I dare not care too much.
I no longer ask why, I've learn I need no to. Yet.
Hmmmm, the rainy weather, exam traumas, homesick feeling and a warmer brain with fever does contribute do the melancholy me that had emerged. Again.