I miss home.
I used to think that Singapore was home, but what they say is true. Home is where the heart is.
And my heart is broken because my home is going through some hard times. All I can do is skype home and cry. Count down the days to when I can hold the two broken pillars of my home, and tell them how much I love them.
I feel terribly guilty though. It seems that I only remember them when I’m having a hard time. But they love me, and I am so, so grateful.
It’s a vicious cycle though. All they want is for me to be happy, which is why I’m here. But I’m not happy here. Most definitely not. And them seeing me not happy is making them unhappy. This goes on, and on, and on.
As we see pixelated tears on dusty screens, we remember the good old times. Can we ever go back? Or are we damaged goods, non-refundable, a burden to everyone around us.