“It’s getting closer to the day we are leaving. Don’t get me wrong, I really want to leave. It’s other things that bother me. You probably already know about my social life, I could puke for what my life, hell, I can’t even build my memories. All I do is just stay home and blame myself for everything that has been happening. What else is there to do? I don’t want to tell my problem to a piece of paper, but it sure helps, since I can’t talk to anyone about it, not even my parents. I just don’t think they would understand..”
I can’t figure out what was bothering me exactly. Maybe the fact that we were leaving a place where I had almost settled in, maybe for leaving my friends. I didn’t have many, but I was evidently feeling very sad about something. Today I know the reasons we had to leave, but at the time, I couldn’t understand why my parents would want to leave a place like that and deprive us of the life we arranged there. After a few years I understood that leaving was necessary, and that my parents also felt bad about taking us out of there. We always traveled, and it was never a problem for any of us, but this time it was different, I was staring to feel new emotions and hated the fact that just as this was finally happening, I had to leave. Life is ironic from the very start, and there is nothing we can do about it. I spent three years in America and nothing special ever happened, except for now. And for me, it felt like the entire world was plotting against me, I couldn’t really understand. It still remains a mystery because to this day, I don’t know what my purpose here is. I could accept it if coming here meant I was destined to live something significant, but I’m still to find out what that purpose is.
But I was living something important that moment. I felt it in my heart and as afraid as I was, deep inside, I knew something was about to happen. Even so, I continued denying it to myself.
I can’t figure out what was bothering me exactly. Maybe the fact that we were leaving a place where I had almost settled in, maybe for leaving my friends. I didn’t have many, but I was evidently feeling very sad about something. Today I know the reasons we had to leave, but at the time, I couldn’t understand why my parents would want to leave a place like that and deprive us of the life we arranged there. After a few years I understood that leaving was necessary, and that my parents also felt bad about taking us out of there. We always traveled, and it was never a problem for any of us, but this time it was different, I was staring to feel new emotions and hated the fact that just as this was finally happening, I had to leave. Life is ironic from the very start, and there is nothing we can do about it. I spent three years in America and nothing special ever happened, except for now. And for me, it felt like the entire world was plotting against me, I couldn’t really understand. It still remains a mystery because to this day, I don’t know what my purpose here is. I could accept it if coming here meant I was destined to live something significant, but I’m still to find out what that purpose is.
But I was living something important that moment. I felt it in my heart and as afraid as I was, deep inside, I knew something was about to happen. Even so, I continued denying it to myself.