A coming of age

I moved, of course, and of all the warm goodbyes I received, it was my mother's I couldn't forget. For the first time in years, I saw her cry as she embraced me and kissed my cheek. It tore my heart apart. I wanted to run after the car and yell, "Don't leave me, mom!" And then I remembered she wasn't the one leaving.

Halfway through the Pacific, I had a vivid recollection of my childhood. I was curled in my seat, the lights were off, and there, I couldn't stop crying. I remembered the red dress I wore on my seventh birthday, playing "piko" with my cousins every Sunday after piano lessons, my favorite Hello Kitty plastic glass, which my sister always filled with chocolate milk. It all came back to me; each load of memories weighed me down, yet they all seemed soft like the clouds whisking the window panes.

My tears fell down so quietly that I could still hear the faint buzz of the plane's engine on the background. I realized that my childhood is no different from its memory: painful and very quiet.It was my choice to leave everything behind, save for the memories. Wherever I go, I will carry it all with me--the pain, the questions, the lessons.

I understand now why, as we get older, we become more careful with our decisions. Most of the time, it's not entirely because we have become smarter that we pick the safer or better choice. Sometimes, it's just because we don't have much to pick from.It's hard being an adult when there's not enough choices yet there are bigger prizes at stake. I guess that's how life really goes; the most we could do is pray that we keep on making the right picks.

So far, my compass says I'm headed to the right direction.