These past few months I feel so disencouraged to get a camera out and capture a thing. I also feel so disencouraged to write other than some writing works that I have to do. I don't think it's a bad thing. Maybe sometimes we just need to be here, in the now. Sometimes I feel like I'm not really enjoy the moment I'm in, as my mind and my eyes wandering around, observing people.
These past few months, I've had so many flights and so many trips, I lost the count. And even between that, I got friends visiting more than I've ever had before in a year. It's been fun, adventurous, but also took some energy - as expected. I've gone to the beaches more often than I had in years last month. I've had laughed a lot, and of course there were so many sleepless nights - of works and hanging out with friends.
And after those many trips and flight, I just came to realise that now I always go back to the same place. A place that is mine. A home that I chose to have. Another home, of course. I used to live in my parents house for 18 years of my life. And now that I've thought about it, it's been seven years and a few months for me to not live under the same roof with parents and it's been six months and a day since I've got my self a place where I put my things under the same roof, and not moving around as a nomad. I don't know how long I will stay in this place, or this city.
But I like the idea of how I've built my home here, in this place,
with every morning coffee that I brew in my kitchen.
It whistles home - or so I like to think.