February Twenty Fifth

I have approximately 10 more minutes to finish this up.

My feet are cold. I set the temperature three degree colder than the normal days. I don't know why. Or I know. I just want an excuse to wear my fluffy pink robes I bought for £2 at a charity shop in England. I'd pretend I have to wear socks, which in the morning it would be mysteriously taken off by my sleeping-self because honestly, it isn't that cold.

I also promise myself, among so many other things, to have an eight hour sleep every night because otherwise, my brain is going mad. That's why I only have 10 minutes, and now 7 or less. It is closer to midnight. And I have got a long list of errands to do tomorrow and by thinking of it, makes me sick. I have not had a quiet, lazy weekend in a while.

Even though when I have one, I know I wouldn't appreciate it as much. I'd probably waste it all away for binge watching stupid TV shows, and claiming on Monday that I hadn't had a proper weekend. I am way too human in that perspective.

I want to read all day. I realised I have bought too many books that would be more than enough to read for the whole Summer. Except, I don't have Summer. Indonesia does not have Summer. It is always Summer. Therefore, Summer is not Summer. It has lost its beauty and meaning. Because it does not have Fall nor Winter. And also, office doesn't do Summer. There is no Summer anymore.

I thought my worst fear was darkness, or weird smelly insects, or reverse-culture shock. But what scares me the most now is I am so afraid of losing myself.

Because it feels like I am.

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