hung out with an old timer. both of us have been away from home for a good while. sitting next to each other we talked about north east south west, as if we were not apart for too long.

we went to lit class together back then, both of us have once written, and yet not back home.

it is sad to realise, the room for imagination, room to think, room for reflection has been killed back home. as if I step back to the concrete and can't affort to daydream anymore. i scream for a rescue, an escape...

at home, i have many roles to play and i have to be the big sister everybody look up to... i am back to monotone, colourless...

and daydream is me. and i can't do that anymore at home... i can't be myself!? or can i do something about it?