I’m at home.
After all those stupid unfortunate events, I could reach my home afterall.
Home where I spent most of my time as a high-schooler.
Home where my parent and my littler brother is.
Home sweet home.
Some say that “home is where the (figurative) heart is”.
I agree. As a college student who lived not-so faraway from a place where he spent most of his time as a high-schooler, I agree.
But then, time changes.
(Sometimes) I feel weird. Feel weird to this place, to this so-called home.
At my home, I miss my that-place-where-I-stay-in-not-so-faraway-place.
At that place, I miss my home.
Funny. But that’s what I feel.
Then, what’s home for me?
Some place that I’ll miss but couldn’t live in it?
Am I overexaggerating this thing?
Maybe. I guess.
So... home, eh?