I want to write about my recent trip back home to my province, my mother’s birthday, she is turning 50, the bag we bought for her, how the weather did not cooperate, how I managed to travel with only two hours of sleep from a graveyard shift when I made my first ever incident report, how I felt so cold after forgetting to bring my jacket.
I wanted to write about my upcoming birthday, how happy I am I’m still alive, how simple and unexciting my celebration would be.
I wanted to write about that stunning girl I saw on the ship going back to the city. How our toes touched as we lay on our bunkers, how model-ish type she walked down the ship, how she looked like a stewardess with her rolling bag.
I wanted to write more about the people in my age bracket getting pregnant or impregnating someone, how casually the topic of sex has been discussed, and how many kids I am now being the god parent.
I wanted to write about how alone I feel in my room with my sister gone. How each meal has been heavier, my grocery supplies slowly dwindling.
I wanted to write about how reluctant I am to enroll and get my master’s degree; my worries if I can handle it with my busy and fixed schedule.
I wanted to write about how I am gaining my weight back, whom I think is bringing back the appetite I lost.