It's been 12 hours since I left the humidly hot island that was my home and here I sit in the airport's holding room, waiting to board my connecting flight to my final destination -my new home.

It hurts to see people you love cry over you -well, at least I get hurt. Hearing the voices for one last time before taking off, the tears prominent by the tone of their voice -it breaks my heart to leave but then, it is for my future. There are so many opportunities out there for we kids who hold so much potential. It would be a waste to limit yourself within the walls of your comfort zone.

Just four more months and I will be eighteen. It is time I further develop my independence and start taking more responsibilities. I can't forever rely on my father's pockets and my mother's hands -I have to start using my OWN pockets and hands because pretty soon, they will no longer be strong enough to provide for me, and it will be me who will be providing for my little sisters and soon, my own family.

My heart aches and I yearn for the presence of those dear to me. My eyes are currently swollen from crying myself to sleep whilst my flight, my guts are even more tightly twisted than it is already. My feet are frozen cold from the plane and for my stupidity of wearing flip-flops on-board, but in spite of all that, I am happy.

The tears that were previously shed, the sad smiles exchanged, waves of goodbyes and tight, warm hugs -they're not the last of them. We will be seeing each other again so it's more of "see you soon!" than "farewell". We all have to move on with our lives and focus more on establishing ourselves as individuals. It's time for us to grow up.

It's the habit of doing something; or in other words, being used to doing something.

It's been almost two months since my teenage life's tragedy, and still I have yet to get myself accustomed to living with a missing limb. I sought out ways to rid me of this empty sensation: shopping until my wallet was in ashes, partying until the sun come up. Gone were the basic and classy pieces in my wardrobe, in their place are bold and eccentric pieces that my old self wouldn't even imagine wearing. Gone are my long, curly locks as well; atop my head is a pixie-like hairstyle: cropped all the way. I also tried running until my already-injured ankles caved in. Despite all my efforts, I still would find myself crying myself to sleep.

It's a pain to get accustomed to this emptiness. It's irreplaceable. It's improbable to fix. All that I can do right now is leave it and let it be. I can cry all day and night, starve for a lifetime, run until I can no longer run, it still won't change a thing. It is gone now, and the chances of it growing back is, well... I don't really know anymore. I still believe in it, though. I always pray that somehow, despite all the blood, sweat and tears shed, it will all fall back into its happy place.

So cheers to my new hair and an all-new life. A week from now, I will be up in the air, in a journey to a new chapter in my life. It's going to be another fate I will have to get used to. It's going to hard, but it should be fun.

I cling to a loose thread on your shirt

So, what happens when you have two weeks left to live? No, I am not in a detrimental state -I'm just leaving.

In two weeks, I will be leaving what has been my home for all the seventeen years of my life. As of the moment, I feel no tears welling in my eyes -it's as if I've gone numb over this situation- but the feeling of sadness, fear, anxiety, and a whole lot of mixed-up emotions are creeping up on me ever so subtly. It's like death. You know it's coming and you fear the day it comes, but you're somehow, ironically, eager to just let go, let loose and start anew -in heaven or wherever it is you go after life. You're devastated to cut free from all your attachments: friends, family, lover, pets, job, dream...

Somehow, we just have to let go and see what's on the other side. We have to break out of our comfort zones, explore and have an adventure, endure pain and embrace it because life is too short to let all these failures take the best of you. To know what it is that you really want, you have to go and see for yourself life outside your bubble. Let more air in your balloon so it becomes bigger. It'll explode, not because it cannot take in all the air you're letting in, but because you have seen everything, done everything and have FILLED your balloon -your life- to its full potential.

It's a scary world out there, and I am petrified as hell to face it, but I am positive on how things will turn out. Great things await me there, and in one way or another, I will reach them, even if I have to bleed and amputate some limbs. Right now, with the very little time I have left, I am just sitting back, relaxing, and watching each day roll by, without much care in the world. I had a long list of things to do before leaving, but with the very minute time I have left, right now, I don't really care anymore about those things, as long as I get to be with those I love and care for before I go, I'll be damn happy.

Btw, it's not the end -it never is, and never will be. Life's just beginning, so wait for me.

Here I lie awake, listening to 'sleepy songs', hoping that it would help me fall into sweet, deep, serene slumber, and yet I find myself wide-eyed and awake, unable to sleep. I want to sleep.

So many thoughts have been crossing my mind for the past few hours. The same things just keeping rushing through my head every single day, you cannot imagine how insane it's been driving me. I finished two thick-assed books within three days -that's a new record for me, as it usually takes me a week at least to finish one with two hundred pages- hoping that it would distract me from all these heavy thoughts and yet even as I read, they still somehow manage to slip in between the world created by my imagination that my readings have been dictating. I'm reading to distract myself but somehow I am still flooded with these thoughts.

This week has been interesting for me. I bitched out on a friend to knock some sense into her and surprisingly hit myself in the process by my harsh words -I practically scolded myself as I reprimanded my friend. I was able to visit the house I lived in back in the early years of my adolescence -my awkward years of bad acne and braces. I also learned what great a sacrifice someone has done for me. It was awful at the beginning but I am now thankful for that -beyond thankful, if I may emphasize. I don't have to say how grateful I am, though. All I need to do is make sure I reach my dream and give that person large credit for it.

About a month ago, I got badly wounded and each time it dried into scabs, I stubbornly picked on it and it bled again, rekindling the pain, causing me to cry like when it was fresh. It's not smart to pick on your scabs. You really have to give it some time to heal thoroughly and just allow the scabs to fall off. There's no guarantee getting your porcelain smooth skin back for it is highly probable for it to leave a scar especially if the wound cut deep into your skin. This I tell you though: embrace that scar. It's not a mark of repugnance -it's a story carved on your skin. And like all stories, it holds a struggle, a symbol of strength & bravery, and more than those, a collection of lessons that you will carry for the rest of your life.

So I end this entry with a little piece of advice that I shall leave to you, my lovely reader: Drink water. Take a shower. Pray.