I have to be at the airport in less than 4 hours and I'm still packing... what possessed me to book an ungodly 8.10am flight?! Oh right. There weren't many options.
As a closure to summer, I say: Here's to glorious, languid days of catching up with loved ones and the joy of comfort in doing absolutely nothing together; to exploring new places with my eyes wide open and revisiting old sites with newfound perspectives; to meeting interesting people with the conscious knowledge that its getting harder and harder to sustain new relationships as we grow with age; to returning and still loving this sunny island I call home.
I'm really excited, but it's a little harder to leave than I'd expected. Why are goodbyes harder the second time around? Have been mulling over this for a while, but it's still hard to pinpoint an exact answer.
What's meant to be, will be. I've a feeling I forgot to pack something really important, but bring it on - I'm ready for SAS.
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