I realise I owe this blog an update. Many updates, in fact. I’m at home now, have been for almost two weeks, probably more. I was going to write a post about my Spain and Portugal trip, and then consecutively my trip to Ho Chi Minh with my parents that I just got back from last Saturday, but right here right now I am just going to plain outright admit that I don’t know when that will happen, or if I will end up even writing them at all. This sounds dramatic. I probably will eventually for posterity’s sake (lmao) but as of now I can’t find the heart to do any of that. Neither can I find Heart, my dog, for the past few days. He’s been missing speculatively since Wednesday and I implore everyone to keep an eye out for him, especially my friends and family in Alor Setar, because it breaks my heart everytime I come back home expecting to see Heart running around excitedly to greet us and be welcomed by an empty house instead. It breaks my heart everytime I instinctively and habitually start to call out “Heart” only to stop myself in time because the little fella won’t emerge from his favourite spot under the settee, little bell round his collar to announce his approach. It breaks my heart to hear my mum say that she thought the silhouette of a pair of slippers in place of where Heart usually waits for her behind the kitchen door was actually him, and it also breaks my heart when my dad went outside at 4AM when there was a thunderstorm to check if he was back and hiding under the car because he’s afraid of thunder. He’s been with us for six years that his absence feels like a glaring phantom limb for such a tiny canine. I can’t bear to think of how scared he must be, and I hope he is at least okay, wherever he is. Not a day goes by when we don’t miss you, little buddy.
They say home is where the heart is, so please bring Heart home. Please.