I'm homesick.

Yeah, I am. I do like my home, and I want to go back really, really badly.

I don't know what to think about my home stay. The food is similar yet different, my host doesn't act at all like my mother (I can't decide whether she's exceptionally bright or not), and everything's just so confusing. I hate thinking out my budget. It hurts my brain to think in numbers.

It's cold yet not, and I have to wait endlessly for buses that seem to be late whenever I'm riding one. I also have the luxury of having my own room and toilet, but a spring bed that's killing my back. I'll have to find a way around that little quandary soon or develop permanent back pains.

I miss my pets. Even the mean dog who likes to bite me. And my Bobs have perished thanks to an unknown kitty culprit as reported by my mother.

Talking to my mother every day is relieving, yet saddening all at the same time. It's like a perpetual sore that's scratched when itchy but leaves a feeling of pain after.

And I feel so lost. All the damn time, I feel so lost. And alone.

God, I really want to go home.