home

Lying down on my bed with my head propped up against a pillow, sipping green tea, unchanged from the clothes that I wore to school, has become a new routine; one which I often find comfort in. Too much comfort perhaps. That sense of familiarity, comfort, and how I call 25 Gerald 'home' scares me. It scares me because, it actually isn't my home. Or is it? To think that I need to go back to Malaysia in 2 months breaks my heart. To leave all that I hold dear behind. The people that I've met, the city I've come to love, the school I've come to be proud of, the house that gives me rest and refuge when I so desperately need it.

And now, as I'm once again lying on the bed, this time with my laptop propped up at an awkward angle on my lap, I contemplate on how things will be like back in Malaysia. How different. How foreign. And I wonder if things will ever be the same again. 
The US used to be a dream. It didn't matter which school I attended, as long as I could study in the States. But that dream has become a realization, and it's no longer enough to just treat it as a memory, a dream that was realized. While I'm aware that it's been an opportunity that many don't get, it's not enough for me. I've experienced it. 
I want more.So much more. 
It makes me sound selfish. Or maybe I really am selfish. I often wonder, where my heart lies. With the States? Malaysia? The people I've come to know here? Or the people back home? It seemed as though I was so ready to leave Malaysia 4 months ago. Going home has never been harder. 
Going home has never felt like leaving home. 
People might tell me that I don't need to choose, that I can love both at the same time. That I can love the US and Malaysia, and love the people here and back home all at the same time.
But that's not true. 
Because ultimately, you can't love everyone, or everything, the same. One takes precedence over the other. One becomes a priority, while the other is sidelined. 
I often imagine the night I arrive in Malaysia, when I'm back in my single bed at home, staring at the ceiling, inhaling the familiar scent of home, that I would think of my time in the States as a dream. A fantastic dream which sadly, had to come to an end. Like the time when you dreamed about getting married to that amazing guy, but you never knew the ending because your alarm clock rang. 
Maybe, coming back to the States is another dream. Maybe coming back to BC is another dream. Dreams that I hold close to my heart, and hope to realize one day.