The warungs and eateries of my childhood. The faces of my parents. Their familiar faces and voices. The cats around the house, and how my father feeds them every morning, noon and night. My mother with her pained knees walking around the kitchen, always toiling at something. Always nagging about how I wake up too late.
The familiar faces are also at my former workplace. Those I had breakfast with, those I had Nescafe tarik with, those I went out for assignments with. How we laughed, and stressed out by pressure for work.
Those I knew outside of work, One in particular. How we used to go for movies, karaoke, dinners, supper, and sleepovers. How we'd go to the sauna and massage parlour for rest and relaxation. How we used to travel far and wide. How I learned to love travelling again because of him.
Those familiar streets, those routes, those buildings and places. It is home. Even after 6 months of being displaced from it, it is still very much home.
I only have to close my eyes to go back to the places and faces that I love. I carry home in my heart. Do I want to return home?