It's been a week since I arrived, and this is the longest I've been in Manila. Sometimes I still think I'm on an extended vacation, but then I enter my room and see my things laid out-- on the bed, inside my closet, or arranged in the organizers I've bought. They're not anymore recklessly crammed inside my luggage. This, I think, is the clearest indication that I'll be staying here for a long time. And the fact that I've already bought a Beep card (thanks, Fiel!).

I'm still trying to get used to everything around here. I'm living with six other people (or more in the next few days, but hopefully not). They're mostly in the BPO industry so their shifting schedules would often leave me alone at night. I don't really mind.

The urban noise keeps me company. I like falling asleep and waking up to it, honesty. There's too much quiet back home. And here, I realize it's oddly comforting to listen to the otherwise chaotic sounds of the city: cars honking and speeding through wet asphalt, the occasional distant sirens, the blaring horn of the PNR train as it passes by.

What I like most about being on the eleventh floor is that I get to look out into the cityscape (especially at night, or at dawn). It's something I've always dreamed about! I zone out a lot when I'm by the window. It's by far my favorite space to clear my head.

So this is me now-- a small girl in a big city. Who would've thought I'd have the guts to leave the familiar comfort of my province. I've been called brave for doing it, and I would like to believe that I am, but deep inside I'm still shaking. 

I'm constantly overwhelmed by the enormity of everything around me, by how little space I seem to take up. The recurring thought is this: I'm just another passing stranger in a sea of millions.

It's hard trying to make a home out of a space shared with strangers. Well, living with strangers isn't really ideal, to begin with, so. Maybe it just takes time getting used to.

It's not like I'm totally unhappy with my current situation. I've always longed for my own space, to live somewhere far from where I grew up, and try to get by on my own. And while my own space for now is just the top bunk of a double deck, I think I'm doing fine. Things turned out way better than I expected, actually.

Still, homesickness has become like a fever I'm trying to ignore. And it shows-- in many different ways, in varying intensities.