Saturday, 1 June 2013


Everything is different here. Things smell weird, look weird, taste weird. The bread is too sweet. The icy-poles not sweet enough. The ham in the supermarket doesn't look right. The jeepneys are like clowns on roller skates, zooming past, honking and laughing at me. I'm terrified of offending people, of getting hit by a car, of running out of money, of not finding a place to live, of not making friends, of being attacked. I'm terrified in general.

Everybody stares at me. I came here trying to piece together the other side of myself, but I feel just as out of place here that I did back home. The only difference is I haven't known this place my entire life.

My life at home wasn't really working for me, so I thought I'd try this. I don't know what's worse: staying here with this constant fear, or going home to regret and frustration.

If all else fails, I can book a flight home and escape. Then I can return to my safe life of waiting tables and paying the rent, while seething inside and yearning for something more. 

Or, I could keep trying to find something better.

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