i hate leaving. it's always such a pain to pack when it's time to leave, but never a pain to pack when it's time to go. sometimes i get these delusions of just living here, and only going back to manila once in a while. i wouldn't mind being alone there. as long as my dad's with me and i have my computer and my dvd collection. i could just spend the whole day reading and sitting in the water and working on my computer. i could invest in a laptop so that i could work right by the beach. i'd never have to wear shoes, never have to change out of my sarongs, never have to worry about my clothes matching my bag, check my cel phone only once every two days. but then i get back to manila, and then i so easily slip back into complaining that i can't use my sun cel, going to the mall for a cup of coffee or juice, calling for deliveries, buying things from the convenience store, braving traffic just to see friends that you have absolutely nothing to talk to about anymore, using concealer, shopping for things that i'll probably regret buying 5 minutes after i pay, getting a manicure and hot oil at the salon. it's almost as if i never left. i feel like a zombie when i'm here. sure, sometimes i'm happy here. that's not even the point. it's just that the demarkation between happy and content is so grey, it's no wonder so many people don't know what they want.
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