a 16-yr old ordinary writer; still studying
There's always an imaginary line connecting me miles of distance away from home. Being apart from one's comfort zones makes me realize how strong i had become.
Periods of time before leaving, I would always rely on their help. Mom would always serve the necessary meals to make my day worth pursuing, while I start maintaining the responsibility of a student to the predicaments impeding my way to school survival - those quizzes, seatworks, recitations, long exams, quarterly exams, surprised works, which I often deal with just minutes before the entire show begins. I was practically a crammer during those times.
Dad would always provide me the allowance which I never regret regardless of its amount, for I only needed enough which encloses my necessities.
I would make fun with my youngest brother, while the second joins me in my play. And I would always laugh at those hilarious times. Now, had i evoked those smiles?
Our help, which I already considered as part of the family, would always be on the service to do her part which I ironically envy. And later, I would find her mocked by my brother's vexing jokes.
My contacts would always be preserved. Communication with my friends was highly accessible. I would call them for assignments, ask them about the status of their "love" lives, interact with them within the vicinity of social activities, and make lots of fun - texting, visiting their homes, outings, etc.
I had adapted too much of their company. And now, I'm missing them much. When I turn my back to see the elegance of those memories, I feel desolated.
Dislocated from that distinct sense of place, I reminisce those instances of my life. It's not that easy to target its essence. Sometimes, in the silent moans of the wind, I pause for a moment, to a point where I drown into loneliness. I carry this puzzling world all by myself.
I cry for the reason of my leaving - to learn. But why did I end up so derelict? Or did I just miss the mirth of independence?
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