Today, I am supposed to be in Ho Chi Minh, Vietnam. My flight was scheduled just before midnight yesterday. The boy and I planned on traveling together up to Siem Reap, Cambodia. I have been looking forward to it for a long time, but here I am, flightless, in many ways.
The boy put it casually cruel, saying, “I do not feel like leaving,” a couple of days after I returned from Bangkok. I said sure, it is fine. I am a fucking liar. I never brought the trip up again and just took a domestic beach holiday the very next day after his rejection. I am still here, on the second week now.
I contemplated going solo to Ho Chi Minh, but I did not have the heart for it. My baggage seems too heavy to lug around in a foreign country. Funny how the butterflies in your tummy suddenly weigh heavier when they are dead, no?
For now, my passport has a hole the size of the world meant for Vietnam and Cambodia. For now, my heart has a hole meant for I don’t know anymore. The traveling is easy to fix; the other, sometimes there is nothing you can do. Frankly, I feel like I am quite done and all I want is to grab all the chicken nuggets and run.