making sense

A few Starbucks sessions ago, I told Leni that my elevated social activity for the past couple of moths was a manifestation of my paranoia over getting older and feeling the time ticking away the last precious moments of my youthful life. I felt like I was clamoring for the last remaining worry-free years of my life; that is, until I get some sense knocked into my head and start thinking (not to mention, doing something) about the future.

Now I realize that I had another reason, as little as it was. It was not just about fighting for that last bus ride to youth and carefree-ness--it also had something to do with the desire to restore normalcy (and possibly, sanity) in my life.

Then again, it could just be a pathetic attempt at excusing my social behavior for the past couple of months. Or, finally coming to terms with the idea that I, since coming back, suddenly found it hard to enjoy being in my own house.

Nowadays, I really honestly don't like being at home. It's not even home to me anymore, it's just a house. Home was a happy place, with children chasing each other around, happy dogs barking, light pouring in from the open terrace into the dining room where a family shared stories and laughter over a warm meal. Today, home is anything but happy--the children have grown into tired, jaded adults; the dogs angry and ferocious, ready to strike at the smallest sense of disturbance; a concrete wall stands where the huge sliding doors of the terrace once was; the dining room dark and empty, with both the terrace and the family gone. Mealtimes together are rare, and when there are, they are devoid of talk and laughter.

People say that home was where the heart is--but I don't know if I'm that ready to surrender my heart to heartbreak.