"A ship in harbor is safe. But that is not what ships are built for."
- William Shedd

There's a picture of a lone sailboat in my room. I hang it across the bed so it's one of the last things I see before drifting off. The image always reminds me of that Shedd quote. And that is what I always try to remember when the going gets tough.

My good friends (all two of them) keep me strong. Ashley's been feeding me like the witch in Hansel & Gretel (Darling, fattening me up will just depress me more) and Jason's been taking me to different places in the city, so it'll feel more like home to me. I love them both. I really do.

Do I love myself enough to keep this up though? Ugh, I'm going emo on myself. Must throw out all ice cream in the freezer.

I think I'll stay "in harbor" just a little bit more. When I feel like my sail can take the wind, I'll definitely start sailing again. I promise. I shall sail again!

What do you do when you're homesick? There's one lady in this building who cries a lot when she's missing her homeland. She's usually at the stairwell, sniffing into a Kleenex. I've passed by her several times (as the elevator continues to be busted) and don't know what to do when I near her. I've patted her on the shoulder once, and she acknowledged it with a nod. Another time I backtracked and waited at the very boring lobby for ten minutes, hoping she'd be gone by then. She was still crying her heart out. I asked if I could get her anything and she just shook her head.

I got hit by a tidal wave of homesickness last night. The tears almost came. I was so sure I'd run to the stairwell once the waterworks arrived. I've been homesick before, and all it took was a call back home. I can't call home now though. Not yet anyway. I decided to make bread. Kneading dough is very good stress release. Poor pounded dough. I transferred most of my sadness into it. I'm now scared to offer the bread to anyone in case it makes them cry.

Home is here in my vanilla nook. I know it is. Sometimes my heart isn't all that convinced though.

Small talk is one thing I can live without. Having to think of something to talk about with a stranger is highly awkward for me. I guess you could say I'm not running for office at all. I just don't have that kind of energy. Ironically, small talk was how I met my good friend Jason.

I was at this bookstore, debating whether to get the audiobook of a teenybopper series. Okay I admit it, I'm a Twilight fan. The New Moon audiobook was in my hands one minute, then back on the shelf the next, then back in my hands, then on the shelf. It was a tug of war between the sixteen-year-old in me and the more practical "Just buy food with the money!" side of me.

Jason was standing beside me the whole time. I didn't even notice him. We started talking about Twilight. We both gushed when we confessed we were both on Team Jacob. That was revealed in whispers though because there was a THRONG of tweens wearing Team Edward shirts around us. We did not want to be mauled.

That was a couple of weeks ago. I'm wary of strangers, really, but sometimes you just feel it when someone is genuine. Jason's my date to the New Moon movie. We're both not sure if it will be better than the book (since the book wasn't the best) or if the book will be better (which means the movie must really suck).

It's tough making friends in a new place. You can't tell all the time if someone's nice to you just because. I rely on instinct when it comes to friendship. Jason's like my gay boyfriend. It's been a little bit like Will & Grace actually, except that he's a bit more flamboyant than Will is. And I don't have red hair. And we don't live with each other.

My mobile's ringing and yesiree, it's Jason, calling to ask if I've seen the newest model for this fashion brand. Er. No? He is horrified and says I need to up my style quotient. I'm happy wearing my Team Jacob shirt. He says he's taking me shopping tomorrow. He'll lure me towards the flashy LBDs, I'll probably gravitate towards the row of black Chucks. We'll have a little debate for sure. Then we'll both listen to New Moon on his iPod, sharing earphones, LBDs and black Chucks forgotten.

Small talk can lead to genuine friendship. It's all a matter of two kindred souls meeting at the right place at the right time. Thank you Young Adult section! Thank you bookstore! Thank you Stephenie Meyer!

The elevator has been busted since forever. I'm glad I live on the fifth floor. My calves are just about ready to scream by the time I reach my door. Just a few more weeks and my legs would look killer in red stilettos. As if I'd wear those.

Apparently the building is one big happy family. I kinda knew that when I was being interviewed (which I REALLY prepared for) but Scrabble nights took it to a whole different level. There's a competition once a week and those who want to attend that evening's round of games have to bring food. I baked cupcakes for my first Scrabble night and they were a hit. They were banana cupcakes. Same banana bread recipe but a cuter execution.

The game room is at the basement which is HELL HOT. The warmth was welcoming at first but after half an hour, the sweaters were coming off. Life's a beach at this basement! I won round of Scrabble, but my team didn't. Losers have to clean up the game room. And so we cleaned up. It was a good way to get to know my neighbors.

Oh, not everybody in the building is nice. There are some creepy fellows but we will not put energy into writing about them. Besides, maybe they're creepy because we don't know them well enough. Right? Okay, stopping judgments now.

I'm looking forward to Scrabble night next week. But I'm not looking forward to going up and down six flights of stairs with a basket of cupcakes on one arm and a thermos of hot chocolate on the other. It's not worth the triple word score.

My first piece of furniture was a round light blue side table. I saw it at a flea market, fell in love with it, and placed it in my new apartment. Finally, my blue-and-green striped rug had a partner.

With the help of my friend Ashley, my little nook became a home to me. It was my first apartment (well, not mine mine since I'm a tenant), and I was determined to brand it with my personality. Good thing I don't like pricey stuff otherwise my apartment would still be bare. That would be good if I were going for a minimalist look now though.

The apartment is a little cramped now with my this-and-that's. I love it. I love the white plump couch (love seat?) that I crash into after a day at work. I love the shabby-kinda-chic white shelf that holds my many books and my little TV that doesn't quite work. I love the tiny kitchen and the retro blue ref that reminds me of a Cadillac. I love the fairy lights that illuminate my cozy nook. It's my little starlit cove, my daily, nightly dose of cozy. I've got a bunch of lights placed in a fishbowl right on top of that round light blue side table.

That's how life has been for me anyway. A little bit vanilla with a dash of fairy lights. Or maybe I want to look at life that way. That's not too bad now, is it?