I recently moved to a new city, thus, a new life. Whenever someone asks how this new life goes, I am dumbfounded because, simply, I myself do not know how. I always said that this is simply a continuation of a life I had back home but I was wrong. It is indeed a new life--and it is one I am having difficulty starting.
Maybe it's homesickness, maybe it's self-pity. Every now and then, I find myself on the brink of tears for the life I left behind. I want to believe that time, really, is just a bunch of particles moving faster than the speed of light. I want to believe that there is someone living the life I had 16,000 miles ago because--I realized--it's not as bad as I thought it was.
My friend, Cathy, keeps on telling me that anyone would die to be in my position. Well, I'm sure anyone would be better in handling my life right now. But is he/she ready to have nothing and no one to his name?
You can't say I didn't have a choice—I did. To move to this new city was to light the wick to a brighter future. To stay was to break a promise to a man I truly love. Either way, I would end up with a broken heart.