Home

I feel guilty whenever I slip and call the apartment where I'm staying at as "home". Like when I accidentaly say, "I'm going home" or "I'm on my way home". So as much as I could I pick up the Singaporean way of saying "I'm going back." They use back to pertain to either where you live or the office. When you say, "I'm going back on Saturday," it could either mean you're working overtime on Saturday or you're flying to your home country.

It's a bit confusing but you get used to it.

I treat my apartment or just the room I'm renting just like one would treat a dorm room. Temporary. I regularly scan my stuff for what I could bring back with me when I fly home to Manila. I minimize everything. I store food according to the amount of time I'm in Singapore before I fly home again. I don't have any form of decoration in my room. But it's a mess. Really. Ingrid might have noticed I hardly show her my room and I always make sure I close the door behind me. What can I say? I'm an artist. Hahahaha. Let's just call it an organized mess. I usually know where everything is.

But I'm used to it all. That's why I've given up looking for another place to rent. I guess there's just the sense of territoriality now. And I guess the familiarity helps me from longing too much for home.

If I can just keep it up for the next year and so.