02:48.

Some part of me feels like I should feel guilty that I still sigh or cry when I think of leaving.

Despite looking forward to being at home again, despite wanting to spend Chinese New Year with my family and wanting to live and spend time and be with mom, dad and brother, despite looking forward to being in church, seeing faces I have not for so long, liking the thought of sitting around the kitchen table again eating home-cooked food, taking bus 900 from the interchange.

Despite knowing that things will be more than okay. That I am forever held in the arms of Him who loves me more than life even as I love Him more than life. Or being so sure of the goodness of His plans for me and that I am safe in Him always.

Despite all that I know, I can't stop the tears that are flowing now. Or that numb pain in my heart.

Creature comforts are not measuring points for where my heart lies. I don't care if I sleep on a second hand mattress on the floor, or have a 14-inch television or a plastic couch here compared to air-conditioned furnished room, cable television and all such stuff back home, I call both here and there home. Maybe that's why I cry.

Despite some part of me actually wanting to leave because I (probably) want to run away from the emotional taxation of all of these. Despite a job offer back home.

Despite every thing logical and not, in the heart or head, in Sg or Melb, despite every thing.

I can't stop how I feel.

So I sit at my dining table at 2:59am on Australia Day, on the last 10th day of my time in Melb for now. And the balmy summer night air blowing through the crack in the window can't dry my tear stained cheeks. And because I am home alone, I allow myself to sob out loud.

How did I fall this in love with a place and people?

How did I come to call this place home too?

I feel foolish that it's so hard for me to leave, I feel foolish for acting and feeling the way I do, I feel foolish.

I grab a tissue from that Home Brand white tissue box that our household always scribbles on. My right T-shirt sleeve is too wet for me to keep using as a tear-cloth.

I don't want to whine or cling or talk about me, me, me so I keep quiet. I don't want to look even more foolish so I keep my composure. I insecurely think maybe it would be wrong or more painful if I allow my time left here with people to be spent in emo-land so I don't speak unless I am asked. I know that asking some questions may simply be futile when I know the answers or when the answers are already revealed so I don't ask.

But I don't understand why I am acting this way and I keep crying.

And I so desperately need You, Lord, to just hold me and let me hold You.