Day after day, I have dragged myself to reach the penultimate goal of a dormer: a brief respite at the comforts of their own home. Meaning only becomes apparent only once it's gone. Like how my dog looks at me right now with a stain on his muzzle and a grain of rice resting on his black nose. Like how I ate to my heart's content this afternoon after navigating a simple pathway from my seat in front of the tube to the cupboard. And like how my mother, who's off to a well-deserved trip, never failed to remember her children and cooked viands in advance for them. These are just but a few of the things I am slowly missing as I drown from the toxicity that is college.
Day by day, I spend it over a concoction of feelings more potent than any poison that I slowly slip away from the little things that made me happy when I was a little kid in our quaint home in the suburbs of Laguna. I am here right now but it feels that I am NOT here. The feeling that a feeling of crescendo wells inside you as weekdays come and go and it reaches its crest when you're on your bus ride home, only to be disconcerted with a sudden trough of the symphony. You feel like only dragging two to three days of the weekend at home for the sake of going home. Period. I lost the giddy feeling of going home to see my parents who are as happy as I am to see me, to see my dog wagging his tail as he welcomes me from an exhausting week at school, to enjoy the beauty of things outside and many more naïveté feelings that accompany my sojourn home.
I wish to have them back. Please. Give them back. I never signed up for this part of the bargain. I never wanted to lose the little things in life that make me happy. Never. Ever.
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