Islington, November 2025

I keep waiting for a chime from my barely ringing phone, other than notifications from the mail app. But this pocket-sized device reminds me that sometimes at the end of the day, we’re on our own. 

I often find myself scrolling through my WhatsApp, wondering who I can talk to. Unconsciously, it usually stops at your name, and I would start typing. Sometimes, it’s a simple “How have you been?”, and sometimes it’s a raw and unfiltered emotion like “Lately you’ve been living rent-free in my head, it hurts”. 

Sometimes I delete it and put my phone down. Trying to understand that this small device shouldn’t control my life; I should focus on real life. Sometimes I have the nerve to click ‘send,’ and feel like a mess afterwards. Like I’ve lost for the n-th time, because I know that raw text means nothing to you. And inside, I also understand that all of this means nothing to me. I suppose I just miss ‘home,’ and I've come to mistake you for it.