Five weeks into the inquest over the manila bus tragedy, the end is fially near.
The initially pointless excercise that did nothing but to put survivors and families of the deceased through pain again saw its first ray of sunlight today. This came afterbnumerous articles on the lack of cooperation from the philippines' government, persistent press release by survivors and gunman's younger brother's wish to be heard.
The evidence heard today probably didn't add much to the picture, but at least the court and the department responsible will cope slightly less crap from the public.
From not being sure whether the paper would entrust me with this job, to taking the initiative by passing a note to the coroner asking for transcripts thereby hearing my own name in open court for the first time, to filipino journalists telling me that they follow my stories everyday and the vice consul singling me out to blame (all for the same reason that they can't read chinese), I feel like I have come a long way just in the span of weeks.

It's exciting to be given this responsibility, to have stories of decent length and occasionally some as a splash. But all the late nights and chaos in the day have taken a toll on me.

Meanwhile, there's the same old troubles of making life decisions, the same fear, the same umcertainties. The life I want isn't one here, but the shortcut that leads me somewhere stable is.

Then there's relationship. I'm finally approaching my first one year mark, and not fretting over it. At least there's some signs that I've grown out of my commitment phobia. Still, it only takes one decision, one flight, to change everything again.