Home

Yes, where is home, Constance?

Whenever I line up for a blue bird at Cengkareng or see the old neons of Ngurah Rai runway or press my right thumb to the sensor at the Changi immigration for clearance, I often ask myself: is this home? I sometimes still think Paris or even Besancon as home too. Oh, and of course Balikpapan.

All that I can think of now is to rest at home. I've got one and a half months to kill and I don't feel like traveling anymore. My luggage looks unattractive. The rack of lonely planets doesn't call my soul anymore. I stop writing my itineraries for the next few weeks or months. I start to feel like.. settling down for a while. And stop running.

Traveler's high is such an insanity sometimes.