I always wonder, or used to wonder to be exact, what living alone feels like. No parents, no boyfriend, no close friends, no roomate, my own home,  a good job, a good thought, beautiful city, good surroundings, good gadgets... and everything you’ve ever wanted.

But in the real world, nothing is that perfect.  Everything seems evil, cruel, bad...

Living alone isn’t that simple. It’s rather tiring.

Your boss is a pain in the ass, friends are nowhere to be found, lover is out of the town, paperworks keep pilling up, your home is a mess, and you’re too tired to fix things up. You are away from the people you love.

You can call them, tell them how bad your day was, how you hate your life and want to get back to your initial life no matter how lame it was, but still, they’re not there. No hugs, no sweet kisses, no pat in the back, no hands to hold, no shoulder no cry on, there’s not enough face to see.  How could this be? How could this loneliness and freedom euphoria be so much phony?

If you think that living alone is such a great idea, you’re right. But unlike love which is (bitter) sweet from near and afar, it’s a fatamorgana. It’s fantasy.