the foreigner
My future boss asked me if I'm happy to be back. "You seem different. Are you tired? You lost weight since the last time I saw you." I guess I'm tired, yeah. Of moving. Of changing places. In three years, I moved four times. Three countries. Now, I'm moving for a fifth time to a town that I outgrew a long time ago. To a house that is too big for one person. I almost don't want to live there. I'm scared. I was scared of coming back. Unhappy as I was there, it was convenient: running away from my dysfunctional family, running away from my past. Scared of the reality that all my problems, I have to deal with alone. I'm scared of dragging people into my crap. I've only been here a week and half. And mentally, I'm having a hard time adjusting. I can't just disassociate and catch a flight back there in a few days. And, the cold hard reality is that I am not the same person here. I, really, am not. I feel so detached from this island life. I f...