Withdrawal Syndromes

Shove me in the lethal Manila traffic and I’d be humming a tune. Uproot me into an island so serene and lazy and I’d go bonkers. Days of abstinence from the daily stressful grinds with nothing but symphony of evening crickets droning on the background makes me want to run amok and stab people in the eye with barbecue sticks.

Little did I realize until the inopportune work assignment on another island that I have a stress coping mechanism so high that having breathing gaps will take a while to sink in, will take a while to get used to.

No, I am not whining. I took the assignment with excited anticipation for a break but I strangely felt disoriented when I hit the fine sands and blinding sunlight. Instead of luxuriating, soaking in the sun I fussed over details of the assignment. Now that I’m back to the merciless grind of the metropolis I am breathing steadily.

E (if you are reading this), you are beginning to sound disturbingly right. Now I am asking questions that freak me out:

What have I turned into? An urban-dwelling shark?