A House Is Not A Home

People have always warned me to be prepared to expect the unexpected; truth be told, I never took caution. Memorial day was memorable, and it took me by surprise.

I'm too tired to go through details, so I'll cut it short.

My grandmother moved back to the Philippines, and my brother went with her for some vacation time. After a certain incident, a few days ago my dad followed suit, packed his things, and left. So for the next three weeks, I'm on my own here. I've spent the past few days cleaning, going through everything and sorting it all out.

If you guys know me well enough, you would think that my dad finally leaving would be a blessing. It has been, and it's given me a certain peace of mind that I've been looking for. However, his actual departure spurred some new realizations.

My family really is broken. The pieces started falling a long time ago, but for a while we tried to hold it all together. We were all holding on to something we knew was no longer there, and tried to cover it up. Seeing everyone leave one by one has been the hardest for me to endure.

"Family means nobody gets left behind." So why am I sitting in this house all by myself?

I have never felt more alone.






Then again,
"It's only when we've lost everything that we're free to do anything."