I missed going into the forest again. I am sorry the dancing class had ended and I am fully certain I am going to miss it sorely. I missed dozens of my books, sleeping by to the sight of them stacked unruly on the study desk, and waking up to the towering bookcase at the end of my feet and staring blissfully at the neatly structured ones, yet to be read, yet to be acquainted, yet to be discovered.
I missed my little nieces, a piercing shriek of one and a calm smile of another. I missed the smell of my dad and my brothers, a subtle waft of their clove-smelling cologne. I missed driving through the small streets of Kuala Terengganu, stopping by at the isolated Petronas service station and saying hi in Trengganu speak to the locals.
I missed the idea of a home, a family to return to. I missed the idea of a life, a splendid lived one.
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