Hello guys. I’ve been on a blogging break for weeks. It’s hard to get in sync with personal writing when you’ve been away for so long. Don’t ask what I’ve been up to. The better question would be what have I not been up to?
Anyway, so much has happened. Let’s see. In a quick nutshell, I finished my internship at the digital magazine last Monday, got my hair recolored (I’ll be sticking in the Red camp for quite a while), went on several eating sprees around the city, met some really cool people… and tonight I just looked up flight tickets out of New York City.
I’m basically on an international student visa, which drastically limits my already limited time in the States. That sucks, because as much as I miss my family and friends back in Malaysia, I’d love to have the option of returning to New York in the near future. I’ve grown so attached this metropolis. I’ll always be very thankful for the jobs and internships I’ve landed, the people I’ve met, the amazing food I’ve eaten, the divey bars I’ve checked out and the whole 14-month experience. But I need to come to terms with reality… I’m leaving.
Leaving New York, and leaving America.
I don’t even know if I’ve come to terms with it yet.
Four years ago, I sat in my little apartment back in Malaysia and packed my life into two bulky canvas suitcases. A million emotions were surging through me at that moment, just sitting there staring at the walls of my living room and trying to soak in every fragment of nostalgia that would keep me anchored to home: the color of the walls, the position of the furniture, the feel of the cold marble floor that I grew up on, the sofa that I used to sink into to watch hours of TV, the wooden dining table that I’d eat mommy’s home cooked meals at. And then I walked into my room and stared sadly at the bed in which I’d slept in, my cocoon of comfort. Beneath those blankets was my very own nest of safety, where I’d retreat to when things got tough or when I just needed to crash without a care in the world.
That was the house I grew up in. It was there that I learned how to stand on my own little feet.
I could write a really long entry about how I felt, why I left, what drove me to go to the States, what I’ve learned and accomplished here, what I’ve learned about myself, etc. I could go on and on about it because it’s been 3.5 long but amazing years. My family and best friends have been the strongest pillars of support. And God, of course.
These are years I’ll always remember. These are years I’ll never want to forget. These are years that shaped me out of my shell and toughened me up around the edges. Being away from home and the comfort of everything and everyone familiar wasn’t an easy adjustment, especially when I had to move halfway across the globe to a country I’d never even set foot in. I’m not totally ready to say goodbye to the people I’ve met and the lifestyle I’ve learned to love, but that’s how it is.
It’s time to embrace the changes all over again.
So I’ve decided to document my remaining month in New York City. Maybe I’ll come back, maybe I won’t. But I want to have something solid to reflect upon, so on days when my heart yearns to be back in this mad town, I’ll always remember this city like it was just yesterday.