I'm sitting back at my old desk, in my new apartment. The french doors are open onto my deck and I can hear the ducks on the canal cackling in the distance. Billie Holiday on the stereo, the alternate tastes of black coffee and fresh orange juice linger in my mouth. Waking up in the morning here, I know exactly where I am, shivering and snug under my quilt, inhaling the cool salt air through the window by the bed. Right now, I can hear my neighbors all around opening their windows and patio doors to the morning. I hear coffee percolating, newspapers scraped off of cement, laughter and sighs.

I have already disappeared into my new life.

I moved in on Tuesday. My incredible friends, once again, helping me to lug boxes and bookshelves, dressers and books, books, books. I have not been back to my Dad's since Wednesday. The newspapers are piling up outside his front door, there are dirty dishes in the sink. I can only lean back in my chair and breathe in deeply, looking out across rooftops and little white bridges. I have too many emails to respond to, too many cards on my desk for which I must express gratitude, I have loan payments, mortgage negotiations, hour long phone calls to find time for. I am happy.

In two weeks I'm going to Macao. I'll be going for one week for my job. One week after I return from Macao, I will turn around and go to the Philippines for another week.

I am 25. I live in Los Angeles. My whole life is about to change.
10:24:00 AM     comment []