There’s this saying that goes: you’ll never find peace in places where you’re not meant to be. I am starting to believe it’s true.

I find no peace. Not on holiday, not in my routine, not in my job, not even at home. There’s a quiet but relentless feeling that something isn’t where it’s supposed to be. A puzzle piece that doesn’t fit. Even when everything seems right, the feeling remains. It’s subtle, but it’s always there.

And the worst part is, I am not sure what the solution is. I’m not even sure I should be trying to solve it, but it’s becoming impossible to ignore. I keep sweeping it under the rug like a lazy housemaid, pretending the job isn’t sloppy. I do my best to ignore the growing pile of dust that gathers there every time I tell myself that everything is fine.

So I can keep on moving. So I can keep on walking, focusing on every part that is not the problem until the day it’s no longer possible.