Nevergirl’s

I found my old diary recently, and I’ve taken to re-reading a few pages every now and then. “Leaving home leaves nothing behind,” I’d written years before; I was 15, and in Silliman University for the regional round of a writing contest.

I wonder now what I’d wanted to leave behind back then. It must have been something, that emotional baggage. I rarely want to run, and when I do, you can bet a month’s paycheck it’s over something really tormenting. “What did you want to leave behind?” I wanted to ask 15-year-old me.

I’ve done a bit of traveling the past few months, and every time I come home, I come home unchanged. I still run into doorways and doors. I still fall down stairs (no compost bins in this house, thank heavens, or I would’av ended up there too!). I still slip wherever there’s a surface, and bruising knees and shins so bad people ask who beat me up. I still forget things, especially keys and whatever it is I desperately need to find at the moment. Whatever it was in me that changed while I was away, it probably changes itself right back before I step through the door. Yep, leaving home leaves nothing behind, more so if you’re leaving because someone broke your heart. You can’t run from heartbreak; in fact, if you change zip codes, you’d only end up bringing it with you. What a very depressing thing to think about while stuck in the airport at 11:25am.

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