Comfort Zone

“…I don’t know, Karina. How do I leave my comfort zone?”
“Well, just look at me – seven thousand miles away from home. Away from my comfort zone.”
“Yeah, but you’ve made another comfort zone, didn’t you.”

Untitled

This is my room. My sanctuary. The place to rest. The place I can be sane. Away from people: friends or strangers. Away from all the stress-inducing linguistic problems. No one to please, nothing to fear. Yes, this might be the ‘other comfort zone’ as aforementioned. (Thanks Snorlax.) I didn’t realise that this room – once was as foreign to me as bagged milk is to non-Canadians – had transitioned so smoothly that I didn’t get to notice, to my second comfort zone. Has anyone told you that one can have so many, only if we want to?

Only if we stop longing for the ones we’ve left behind?

Only if you take time to realise that your old comfort zone is no longer there.

I kept on looking around this space. I wonder if it’s time for me to leave.

“…I mean, what are you going to do if you’re going back home, anyway? What are you going to do here? I swear to God, if you do it, in the span of you staying here for what–6 months–I will most certainly not see you. At all.”

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