In exactly a week, I will be 24. It is supposed to be a huge milestone. I should be in the workforce now, joining the crowd of people who mourn their Mondays and rejoice in their Saturdays. I should be giving monthly allowances to my parents. I should be doing something with my life at this point.
No. I am still waiting for a letter that has yet to come. A letter that I anticipate with dread and also equal measure of excitement. All my friends are leaving me, one by one, either for the working society or the universities. And I still stay at home, commuting weekly between KL and TI, neither here nor there. I am always travelling and yet I stay in exactly the same place.
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