Wednesday, March 04, 2015


This is an old note on my personal Facebook.

"Three months flew by in one second. The departure flight seemed faster than the arrival, and my life after internship has been as hectic. There is always something new every day, either a new book to read or a new (and boring) assignment to finish; I keep myself busy (and simultaneously procrastinate) with the hopes that I can drag my mind away from the little city where I have left a quarter or one-third of my heart. Though I am neither mentally broken down nor filled with disappointment, a corner of my brain is still longing for an immediate return, because there remains words I have not said, hugs I have not given, and people I have not talked to as much as I wish I had done. 

It does not hurt me, definitely. I can adapt quickly to different circumstances, furthermore, there is nothing more painful than university coursework. But the distance has slowly burnt my heart, like a lit cigarette poked through a small piece of paper, left a little hole, and scattered tiny bits of ashes. I am bad with expressions, apparently.

I was always complaining about my room in Columbia Lake Village for being a tiny Sahara, my office for being Antarctica, and my new room for not having a proper bed. I guess we never know what we have got until it is gone, I never know what I have got until I am here, writing this stupid note at 2 am, slightly sleepy, but missing everything and everyone to the point that I cannot sleep. I am willing to trade everything to be back for just an hour to take the buses, get hit by an office-mate's pen, laugh at another office-mate's buttchair, munch on chicken fingers with another office-mate, share random thoughts and stories with my roommates in both Columbia Lake Village and 628 Salzburg Drive, and walk around on campus while complaining about the unpredictable weather and sipping coffee. 

If I am too indulged in something, by the time it ends, my whole life will be torn down in front of my eyes. Afterwards, I will silently collect all the crushed pieces and try to glue them back together and pretend that I am fine - when in fact, I am partially destroyed. I knew I would feel the same after this internship, therefore I forced myself to prepare for the end when there were still six weeks left. I am just an emotional sponge and I am too affectionate, I write sappy letters and I breathe cheesy words, and I can be too attached to a place that somehow the place is not merely a place anymore. 

It has become my second home. Waterloo has become my second home."

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