In my mind, I could still hear their voice, and how they address me with my full name, "Samantha". I could make out their accent, and the usual stories and reminders they tell me.
I could feel the coldness of my bed, how I wake up at 7:30 AM to go down for breakfast, only to go back to sleep and make it a second before 8:30.
The clatters at the dining hall, the wooden tables littered with rice.
The after work hours left to myself, with no definite plans and waiting for chance to do its job. The empty weekends when I plan or just wander around. The time alone that allowed me to explore.
Friends who call me to come over, two buses away. Floors cluttered with clothes and warm baths. Spicy street food, walking around the neighborhood. Being a stranger in a strange land and loving how different you are.
I realized that my life full of responsibilities pales in comparison to the life I lived there.
My Saturdays are practically tight. My Sundays are sacrifices. Monday to Friday are routines with a couple of differences in the nights. Only, I do not even go out of my neighborhood. Commuting two rides away seemed a burden.
I feel trapped by routine. And now it's time to rethink how I live.
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