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I had started writing a journal since I was 12. I remember how easy it was for me to write down the deepest of my thoughts from the darkest chambers of my voiceless opinions, unlock all of my emotions, and effortlessly capture them in words. All I needed was a pen and paper... and they are freed. My shelves had been filled with deserted pages of my past. It was so easy then… I wonder why (even at this very moment) I am struggling… with sentences I can’t finish and words I can’t find. Thoughts are scattered in my head, where they once used to flow relentlessly in synch… have I let it all out?

Ten years ago, at the age when I was neither a kid nor a grown-up; I was trapped in a life where I ‘have to’ constantly understand. My head was filled with a thousand and one questions... as my heart was in constant despair. I wanted to grow-up and be able to pierce into the minds of the people I look up to, what I’d give to live a day in reality… the one they’re in. I wanted it fast. I was tired of being brushed-off; lying on the grounds of my young years and incapability. I felt such a strong need to cope-- I had wanted so much to know. At a time where parents’ sugar-coat the bitterness of truth, my goal was to unveil.

Question is: Now that I have. Now that I know and fully understand my parents and the lives they live… what’s next? Of whose life should be pondered?
The only answer: mine.

I don't know where to begin. I have certainly lived these past years thoughtless (and… well, intoxicated). Savoring every first-time experience-- and now that I have, now that the party’s almost over… equipped with faint childhood dreams, mind-recorded phrases from my lolo & lola paired with deep-seeded values, and with my parents mistakes as guidelines… I’ll walk on the path I certainly have anticipated in all of my growing years--
MY LIFE.