Just want to scrap a few words when I still have time to make it. Came back to my apartment today to take the key and pick up the letters. It was such a warm, familiar scent that came to me when I entered the door. It was very much similar to the feeling I had when I walked into my sister’s apartment in Berlin, or when I walked into my house in Hanoi. A ‘home’ scent. Sitting on the dining table next to my big, bright window, watching the generous sunlight of Spring painting the front yard, a cheery, joyous feeling filled up my chest. This was my very first apartment I moved in after I graduated from college. My very own, first place that I got for myself, paid for it, decorated it, not sharing it with anyone else. In my lowest time, this tiny apartment was the cuckoo nest protecting me from everything I was running away from. It has been a loyal, quiet friend. I took care of it, and it took care of me. The day I got to know that my application for this apartment was accepted, I climbed up and sat on the loft bed, looking down the street. There was no light bulb, no linen on the bed. It got dark quickly outside. Inside I was sitting in the dark, knowing that I’m alone, but in my own place, a new place. I knew at that moment I was starting over, and things would get better, and they did get better.
Today is the middle of March. Another Spring is coming.