Something is horribly wrong if I feel stifled halfway across the globe. If once a week phone calls are enough to trigger this outpour of angst then I honestly don’t see how this could ever work out. It’s only been a month and it may be extremely premature to say this but I really don’t want to go back. It’s not that I’m in love with the people here or with the country itself. It’s just that anything at all will be better than what I’ve left behind. And I detest it so much that I’d pick the unknown evil out of the two.
But choice is an illusion.
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