I shall be leaving the United States later today. It is suffice to say that this leave is far from a permanent one, as I shall be coming back no later than fifteen days. Regardless, the troubles that I had to go through just to properly do so certainly made it seem far heavier than it is. I do not have much to say about this place that I had not already stated a thousand times. There is a very slight chance I will not be able to make it back, but variance and all that. It is life, and I can deal with it. Still, I suppose how it makes me feel is far more relevant than the amount of effort exerted in this whole ordeal.
I honestly did not expect to be departing so soon after arrival, at least not in this form. However, broken plans and people’s incompetence, including my own of course, led to this. Thus, I am having some surprise visits one way or another. I am going back to my home country for a bit, and I truthfully do look forward to it. The place is riddled with pollution and people I cannot stand, but only so much criticism can be said about where I spent my entire childhood in, not that there was much of it. It is the place where all of my stories and secrets are buried, so I have a certain ulterior sentiment towards it. A giant reminder it is, of a life I left behind.
Surely, I do not refer that of my family, who I am very much in touch with, and has relatively fine relationships with. I do not even infer my friends or acquaintances, whose scores with me I have settled fairly; whom I will be spending most of my times with during the trip back. Neither do I wish to bring in the women who used to profess their love to me, which I gladly did the same for them. I am, however, simply talking about the past. All of those I have mentioned have all changed, and so have I. Memories, whether sweet or sorrow, are never to be basked in again. They are only there as catalyst for nostalgia, reminding of the feelings of the old days. It is entirely about the sentiment, those no longer exist or are accessible.
I keep telling myself that. I know fully well that I am correct, but unfortunately there is nothing logic and reasoning can do for sentimental value. There is a reason I do not usually keep keepsakes, take pictures or even accept non-functional gifts. This is purely because I never wanted to be tied down by the baggage accompanying these things. They are all glimpses of the past, and do nothing otherwise. If I somehow lost them, that would serve nothing but throw me into an emotional spiral, possibly. They are a weakness, one that many share. I wish I could say that I am better than that. Alas, I am but human. There is only so much self-control can accomplish.
I write this, sitting here with a postcard in my hand. This was sent by one of my friends up north, through mail. It is simply rude and extreme to reject such a thing, even though I would rather not have been given it. I admire her dedication, of course, as she is nothing less than a great friend. It has never been about those who wish to express their feelings, but about me. I fear for myself, more than anything else. I cannot bring myself to get rid of it, even though I know I should. If I lost it tomorrow from the luggage, who knows how I will feel.
It is far too late now.