I am from a place that I call home. But home isn’t a place, not really. Home is a person, a moment, a feeling.
My parents taught me not to talk with my mouth full. But some words just can’t wait to be said – like “I’m sorry”.
This year I have loved and lost. Just like a storybook, except that storybooks have happy endings and I don’t (yet).
Today I learnt that some days are fun and that it’s okay to have fun.
I also learnt that some days are not fun. Some days everything crumbles and unravels, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.
I want to be a better person. It’s normal, cliché, generic, boring – but for me it is everything. It is my ultimate dream, a goal I will work for as hard as any job.
I will be happier. Sometimes I forget this, on my bad days, but it’s true. One day.
I am from my home. My home, where I am happy.
We were given these sentence starters in class and mine unexpectedly turned into some sort of emotionally deep journey. Oops…
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