The Nomad

Home. A place which gives you comfort and shelter, safe from everything else outside.

Room. Where you rest and relax in your own comfort zone, away from all your troubles.

I had neither here now. You don't know how hard it is to live a nomad life. To keep moving every few weeks and so. Staying over at people's places.

Yes, these people are very kind and offered me a place to stay with I couldn't be more grateful for. But afterall, it is still not my place. I am given a room to stay in now, but I feel shameful to even call it "my room" everytime I refer to it when I talk to other people.

Sept 16 seems so far away. It might be a few days. But it is a torture. No, they did not mistreat me or anything like that. In fact, it was just the opposite. They are more than nice to me.

But it is still depressing, when my own mother personally asked me to go stay with other people, and couldn't care more about it. All she care about is I should never say I want to marry an old rich guy and all that crap, even if it's only for fun.

What?!

I want to run away. Far far away. What difference does it makes? I am all over the place now. Don't come looking for me when I am gone.