Now, I am sitting on a small love sofa made of ratten in the air conditioned living room. My dog is lying comfortably beside me and about to snore. A young announcer who I-have-never-seen-before-but-pretty-well-known-for-others is talking about baseball excitingly on the TV. My mother is brushing her teeth and somehow starting to clean not only her teeth but also the bathroom she is in at this late night. The electric mosquite-catch is running 24/7 these days but never really worked.
This is the life I have been used to. This is the life I have grown up with. This is the life made me as "myself".
At the same time I feel comfortable and safe, I feel unconfortable and out of place. And what's more, I miss my San Francisco so much even though when I was there, there was not much things, family and friends to spend time with. Here, in my home country, I have evevrything; family who spoils me, friends who I share nights and days, laughs and tears with, pets who make me happy just being there, food that I don't mind putting 5 pounds as a result of eating, shoes, clothes, bags....but doesn't make me satidfied. Since when I became such a complainer? Since when I start feeling comfortable being in the US which I tell everyone that I don't like? Since when I reject accepting everything as it is?
It is very weird. I have no idea what I like and don't. Is this what suppose to happen to people who stay in other countries for a while? Or is it just me who cares too much?