So… it has come. I’ve got another job and I’m about to move to a place I’ve wanted to move to for the past few months. Why am I not excited then? Like I was in my dreams when I was imagining it all? Suddenly, choosing furniture and paintings on the walls seems to be like obligation, not pleasure.

I finally broke out of the place that, I thought, had been suffocating me. I expected to walk out with no regrets, stepping into a new life lived on my own rules. Instead, everything is wrong. Since I left a place where everyting was familiar. Since I left people who, I didn’t realize, were like family to me. Since I couldn’t stop crying for five days.

In such haste, I forgot to give it a second thought. Where was the point to relocate to very much the same job but in a different place? In a huge nameless company where no one remembers your name. Where you’re just a number on a paper wall. Where you cannot really progress and grow your skills. Where you are assigned to a position created by your past, not by your interests. Where you cannot really show your creativity and ability.

Am I living delusions again?

The truth is, only you know yourself, only you know who you really are. All the new people that you meet, they know nothing about you. They just look at your face and either like it or not. They judge your expression and the level of disability read from your resume.

How long will I survive?

Will the fear go away? Will I feel safe in the place, where I expect to find a home?

Oh, God… I’m such a bad blogger. Forgive me.