home

I had to fill in a form for work today, and it asked me for my residential addresses from the past 7 years. That means from February 2012. Believe it or not, that’s actually 6 residential addresses back in time. I had to dig up old letters and Google forgotten street names.

My room in Oxford

As I typed out the once-familiar addresses, repeating the block numbers and postal codes in my head, careful not to make any mistakes, I recall the people I lived with. I remember getting caught for having N stay over at the dormitory (we were trying to catch shooting stars) right after I sent her off. I remember going on house tours with E and Y and subsequently moving in together, the regular hotpot dinners we have during winter. I remember having a posh experience in the accommodation I was assigned to in the UK – daily housekeeping, y’all! I remember the friendly housekeeper. I remember then moving into the most havoc place I will ever live in, a sharehouse in Tokyo filled with the most interesting characters and also, raging hormones (LOL). It seems like it is true what they mean by home is actually a person – or in my case, people.

But we aren’t supposed to keep looking backward. I hope the person I’m going to find a forever home in, is not too far away from today.

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