As my departure draws nearer, I’m steadily filled with increasing amounts of trepidation and reluctance; i don’t want to leave my bed that houses exactly 1 bolster, 2 pillows, the large teddy bear and me.
I wake up at 9.45 every morning on cue and i marvel at my own ability to be my own alarm clock- the human body is truly awe inspiring, with all of it’s intricacies and nuances. This makes me acutely aware of the ability of adaptation that we’re born with, but, I think, with more than just a little apprehension, what if I can’t adapt to a completely new life? It’s just 3 months and I’ll be back to azure blue skies (pardon the composition quote) and balmy evenings that hum with the closing of a Singapore day.
What if, I continue, in the soliloquy of my racing mind, those 3 months are filled with me wishing I were back to the comfort of fast buses and metros and shopping and parents and home and you?
urgh, i answer, so annoyed with my own whining, shut the fuck up and deal. Opportunities don’t come knocking so MAKE THE FUCK OUT OF IT OK. OK.