Home is

Walking used to be one of my favorite hobbies, but even then, I still liked being home -- making art or using general time-wasters, it’s comfortable. I like home because I hate change and unpredictability, and a great way to know what you’re going to get is by going nowhere. When I was a little boy, I had a hard time entertaining myself; I had two bigger sisters, after all. But one day, we stopped playing, and I had to learn to keep myself busy, and after that, even while living with my family, I spent most of my time alone. But I was rarely lonely -- so seldom I can tell you each time it happened; once during New Year’s Eve, through my window I saw the parties of my neighbours. Parties I would’ve hated attending, but I felt lonely nevertheless. I would’ve grown old like that, but I was curious to fall in love. So I did. And my girlfriend doesn’t allow me to be boring anymore, which is probably good for me. I always wished I could see more of the world. But it takes a lot of energy, so I don’t do it (often). Now she wants to go places, and I want to be with her, so I come along. Then, one day, family issues arose, and she had to go back to Thailand. I didn’t want her to be lonely (and didn’t want to miss her), so I crossed the world, going further than I’d ever been. For a month, we lived in a claustrophobic, hot, one-room apartment. I didn’t love it, but it was fine, and felt normal -- my feelings are mostly normal, it’s the thoughts that can drive me crazy. Home was still home, but it felt okay to be so far.