Here I am, counting the last few days that I will be spending in Apartment 8-2-6.
It's a pretty chill Friday afternoon. My balcony which overlooks trees and sky rise buildings, is softly pelted with rain.
I'm sitting in front of my laptop with my warm cup of coffee and cake, Secret Recipe leftover from my lunch date with girls I'd known for 17 years.
It feels surreal that I am leaving again.
Somehow, a part of me is not surprised.
Why? Is medicine that bad here? Common questions I get.
To be honest, I always knew that I am the sort of woman who thinks of life as a literal journey. I can't imagine myself staying rooted in one place. That is not a bad thing either. Every great big trees started off as a seedling that stayed its ground for many many years. I suppose I never was a tree sort-of-person. I am more water. If it stays stagnant for too long, it gets murky.
To be honest I'm not sure what life has in store for me.
I had left the warm seat at home to venture into something unconventional.
Am I nervous? Sometimes in a fleeting moment, of course I do.
But my solace is in the fact that I've followed what is most instinctual for me, and at least, I shall have peace with myself for that.
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