About a month ago, my friends and colleagues started hustling to choose travel destinations and book tickets for the week-long Labour Day holiday. They talked about their plans over and over. I remained calm, thinking I'd do nothing at all but stay at home.

I hate the idea of seeing crowds everywhere and battling for every resource from transportation and accommodation to toilets. Home seemed to be the only place that wouldn't be packed during the holidays. Besides, everything is running crazily fast since I returned to work six months ago. My nerves have been tightened for too long and I would like to have some time to slow down a little bit and enjoy laziness for a while.

All curtains were shut and alarm clocks were muted. During the holidays, I woke up when my body woke up. With a lightened heart, I went out to buy breakfast and came back with the morning newspaper. I could not remember for how long it had been since the last time I was able to check the mailbox for newspaper before setting off to work.

Since there was no need to hurry, I took four hours to cook one meal, while on work days half an hour settled everything.

Watching TV randomly is a luxury on ordinary days. I need to squeeze in time to watch the channels "that brings you value" before bedtime. During the long holiday, I indulged myself in soap operas and, of course, DVDs that had been stored for a while since I had not had time to watch them.

Even the seemingly laborious housework became enjoyable when there was no time pressure. Before the holiday, I felt depressed even thinking about how much work it would be to clean all the winter clothes. But distributing the job across seven days made the task much less painful.

I have had one of my best holidays at home, enjoying life. Who's more refreshed? The one who stayed at home or the one who travelled?