It’s a strange, funny thing, this blogosphere. I’m sitting here reading (non Vietnamese) people’s blogs about their life and adventures in Vietnam. One link after another. Click. Back. Ctrl-Click. Subscribe.
I’m yearning to be home and yet undecisive as to when. If ever. Now? In two years? Five years? After I’m married? Now when I’m unattached? Maybe when I have kids? Before then? Would there ever be a right time for anything? Maybe not. Maybe you just keep doing what you do, until one day you wake up and think that’s it!, and proceed to jump ship in a moment’s notice. Maybe you need a big push, something dramatic. Like a break-up. Which is kind of hard when there’s nothing to break. Up or down.
And then there’s that ever present question, one I’ve repeated so much it’s starting to bore even myself. But still it goes, round and round in endless circles, as if my head’s a tiny cage and the thought an agonised tiger, helplessly lashing out at the walls — Where is home? Why does it get so much harder, having choices? Not just A choice. But plural.
Sometimes I can’t stand this cynic in me. Hey you! Stop busting my chops, ok?