This morning was a haphazard one. With my getting out of bed later than usual, and the entire family rushing out the door to get to daycare/work on time and us totally forgetting my bag - which had everything important in it such as my debit card, my transport card, my car and house keys.

So K handed me his card and suggested I get breakfast and catch an Uber home. If we had gotten to daycare any earlier than we did, if I didn't forget my bag, or if I didn't get breakfast, I wouldn't have gotten into this particular car.

As soon as the Uber driver said, "Hi, good morning!" I felt it - a little piece of home. I smiled and immediately asked if he was Singaporean. He's actually Kiwi now - he had given up his right to return to Singapore because of a woman he used to love, and their kids. He had told me about how he grew up in Bedok and how his father was buried somewhere in the Philippines. 

In the half hour it took me to return home, we knew each other's life stories. We shared our problems about parenting, about missing the food, about how boring Auckland was. I felt a connection to someone, a stranger even, that I haven't felt with the people closest to me in a very long time. 

I realized how selfish it is to pick someone up and move them and shove |this is your home now| down their throats. How people with broken and blended families don't grow up broken and confused. A parent's capacity to sacrifice for their kids. 

I've been having an internal struggle for years now. I haven't been very good to myself. I guess a very huge part of that is proving to myself that I am capable to committing to something. That I don't have attachment issues. That I can love something more than myself. 

But why does it feel so wrong?

Just because nothing's wrong doesn't mean everything's alright.

I stay where I am because it is comfortable. Because I can be happy here. Because it fucking scares me to have to start all over again. But is that the lesson I want to teach my daughter? Is it really alright to sacrifice your mental well being for the sake of someone else? Because I'm scared of what other people might say about me?

I read somewhere the other day, that it is better to be the one hurting than to be the reason behind someone else's pain. And I agreed with that when I read it. But I'm beginning to question it now. 

Maybe I'm just homesick, and I have been for six years now. How many more would I have to endure for a consensus to tell me; "alright, you have served your time. You can go now." Why did I just compare my life to a prison, haha.