A week of withdrawal

The 18-hour flight going back to the Philippines was a torture due to the fact that I was being carried away from the country I called home for 3 months and a week.  During the two flights, I secretly cried in my seat, hiding it from my fellow passengers. It was such an overwhelming feeling. I was crying when I was saying my goodbyes to my mum and Dave. I couldn't help it. Even inside the holding area, while talking to my mum on the mobile, I was crying really hard. I really didn't care if people stared at me. 

I even cried when I saw the Makati skyline not because I missed it, it is because I was wishing that I was back in the UK, not here.

The first week back was the hardest. I cried during the first 3 days of being here in the house. I was so unhappy. To top up my unhappiness, I started reminiscing everything that has happened to me for the past 3 months and a week. I wanted to get out of the house. Thank god, one of my bff invited me to accompany her to her work and an instant sleepover happened. But the loneliness  

Slowly, I was letting Philippines, my home, in again. It was so hard to say goodbye to the hospitality of every Filipino and English I met there that I seriously wanted to live right there and there. Well, because my mum was there too. And this person I met.

Happy to tell you that I have not been crying. Deep in my heart, I know that my trip that lasted for 3 months and a week is the not last trip I am ever going to make. I will definitely be back. <3