It started in the middle of the mildly humid June.
A feeling that I needed to go home.
I ignored it.
The feeling reeled in again the ever so humid and busy July.
Nagging at the back of my head during the first week.
But my schedule was crazy; I kept running around campus and tried to figure out life in graduate school.
So I ignored it.
It didn't get any better during the second week.
So some friends said I might be homesick.
I said I was not.
I didn't want to go home; I wanted to do as much work as possible, be it for school or part time job.
I didn't have time for being homesick. My heart knew I was not homesick.
So I ignored it.
Third week of July, I started to worry.
As time passed, the feeling only got stronger; hitting more often, more wildly.
But it was just the start of summer.
So I tried to ignore it.
I ignored it.
It was either the third or fourth week of August.
I was walking down the middle of the city center when suddenly I started to tear up.
It was not funny anymore.
I couldn't ignore it anymore.
I booked a flight home.
It was the last two weeks of September.
I went back to my home town and spent whatever vacation I had left.
I went to see you.
I brought you your favorite strawberry cake. The ones with soft, moist, spongy layer filled with light and fragrant strawberry jam. I should've brought you a red envelope too but all I could give was some red notes. It was nothing much but you smiled like I just presented you the world's biggest diamond. You had never mind; whatever I brought for you—be it your favorite cake I need to buy in a rush at the airport or simply some shiny spare change worth less than a dollar (I know you collect them so yeah)—you accept them with a huge smile and kind, proud eyes.
But life was not forgiving, time was not forgiving, myself was not forgiving.
I should've seen what was coming because you weren't quite yourself.
Yet soon already I was on my way back to the place I was living in.
I wonder if I actually had any other option.
Because above all, myself is not forgiving.
This time, I tried to ignore everything and I ended up forgetting.
It was a cool night in the second week of October.
I just finished a class when I received a call.
I stood alone at the crossing near my campus, suddenly feeling hollow.
I went home and sat beside my bed, unable to move.
I tried, but I couldn't.
Because what I already knew would happen, happened.
Thank you for waiting until I got home.
Thank you for smiling although I couldn't provide much.
Thank you for hugging me, kissing me, and loving me.
Thank you for giving me your time.
I love you.
A friend whom I promised to cook for showed up and was startled to see me crying.
Another friend wanted to book me a flight home.
Two other friends showed up and tried to cheer me up.
That first friend stayed with me for a few days and I was grateful for that.
What goes around comes around, so I think you can be proud of me (and you don't need to worry);
I'm surrounded by good people.