Come away with me...

I looked over my pink room, and it was in chaos. Stackful of papers piled up on the once-mine cabinet. My heater was on the chair where my ceiling fan was once attached--my flying chair as Nadina and I once put it. Bags, pants, shoes, stuffed toys, and books were all pushed at the corner of my bed--ready to be sent to my sister's bodega. I was two days away from my flight to Manila. My 18-year stay was about to be reduced to a mere memory. A neverland that I will simply visit with through my mind.

I packed my stuff three days before, and I was not even nearly halfway with the packing. I was not so much dismayed that I could not bring most of my stuff (my bags, books, stuffed toys, pants, heater, etc.) as I was dismayed with the fact that I was to bring more grudges than hope and excitement.

Heartaches, laughters, birthdays, even breakthroughs by my friends and extended families will simply be a news rather than an experience. My awaited absence, I believe, would strip me off with my chance to live my time with the people that brought so much impact on my life.

I was leaving with a broken heart from a forbidden love, a love that was deprived of closure.. wherein I was simply told "our situation is not simple dai.." I was about to leave without having to say goodbye or so much as to simply cry or shed a tear of something that turned sour. It simply necessitated letting go, a 'leave it and live it' thing. I was leaving the place where I grew up in, where I was most strong. A place that witnessed my utmost moment of weakness and one that witnessed my most wicked ill-doing.
My stay was up.. 18 years going down to two days...

I looked over my pink room, and it was in chaos, so was my half-packed boxes and bags... so was my heart.