Unwelcome guest...

Hookay...who let this guy in....?

Okay, like, I opened my window on this sweltering summer night for just a sec, and an entire branch of the insect family just happned to barge in and made themselves at home...this ugly bugger came crawling too near the innards of my beloved Scipio, and earned himself a nasty no-thank-you-off-you-go-sir farewell into the velvet darkness just outside my window. Hopes he makes a safe landing though, he's got wings flapping and stuff... oh, well...

Silent grounds...

The soft blue buzz of the parking lot light is the only sound...

Dead crickets litter the walkway, death by summer heat...

Is this the home that I knew...?

This place is full of ghosts; everywhere I turn, I can hear the laughter and sense the smiles of friends that have left hardly a month ago. For those wishing that they were back in IUJ, know this: this is not the place they left behind. No, not really. Setty and Channa are no longer around to sit around a bonfire and play Uno with. Valerie's no longer reachable by a yell from the parking lot, which would be greeted by Chad sticking out his bearded face from the neighbouring window. Mike is no longer grabbing a beer with his girlfriend(s?), ready to terrorize the campus guard with some firecrackers. Samantha is no longer scheming one of her pranks, and Eiei no longer secretly munching Meidy's food while the latter is busy chatting on the laptop with her soon-to-be husband. Trang, Pema and Jip are no longer seriously discussing various strategies in their forays into the realm of internet shopping, and Farzana is no longer running away from her generous homestay family who are determined to make her eat every last morsel of sushi since she politely told them that it was delicious (Farzana's been accepted to do her PhD. in Malaysia, btw, congratulations). Yulia is no longer plotting to scribble a variety of abstract patterns unto the face of Uno losers, bless her soul. Jorge is no longer jamming acoustic on his guitar, Rey is no longer working hard to maintain his serious image (or maybe he still is?), and Boris, dear Boris, is no longer hanging about with me to endure my wailings, ready to make me laugh, ready to make me smile, and still planning to set up a partnership in Leyte with the words "owned by a Malaysian" on the signboard.

And my Pangga is no longer here.

This place is full of ghosts. And I love them all.