I stared at the small, white telephone beside my bed - willing it to ring, believing that for once, my mental power would be enough to make incoming calls materialize. Seconds, then minutes elapsed. For the longest time I patiently waited, watched the silent white contraption - but the room remained quiet. I reached for the phone, thinking there absolutely must be something wrong with the phoneline or something, but the dull tone immediately told me otherwise.

In denial, huhu. Pathetically in denial. Realizing that, my hand immediately pulled out the phone socket - now, there is no more reason for me to believe that there will be calls, as the phone lies dead, stripped off from the phone jack. There'll be no more misplaced hopes. No more silent pleadings. No more wasted time. No more days filled with trance-like stares at the phone.

And maybe, by tarnishing that futile hope and pasting a wide smile, I would eventually believe that I am happy. And that I am not homesick. =)