I remember typing this at 2:00 o'clock in the morning as tears were running down my cheeks. I remember how I ran out of tissues and how I added them to my grocery lists I didn't even know when I would buy them.
This was the day you told me I had a choice and chose this kind of life. You told me things you knew would hurt my pride and my insides. You told me these even after I have already come to terms with the fact that rest is a luxury for the eldest daughter like me, and responsibilities always come first regardless.
You questioned all the plane tickets in my drawer. You hated the idea that my friends call this the "it's-getting-heavy-again" habit.
You hated it when I realized the relaxation it gives me from running away temporarily to a place where no one knows me and I'm far away from my job and obligations, I kind of got addicted to it. It became a habit of mine to travel, to have a night out somewhere else.
I'm sorry if I can't be here. Anywhere but here. Anywhere but home.