In that two-story building, erected during the 1950's, was where I had a couple of firsts. It was where I took my first step, where the first word I uttered was heard. It was where I had read something I shouldn't have, where I had done a whole lot of things I shouldn't have. That two-story building, its walls painted in the color cream, was also the home of the small secrets, dreams I had when I was a child that defined my coming of age. 
My home for 16 years, my shelter through the days and night. T'was where love was fostered and bonds were mend.

How could one feel when he learns he had to leave his home?

How could a teenager feel when she learns she has to leave her friends behind? 

Wouldn't she feel it was completely unfair for her? 

What could hurt more is knowing I had found true friendship in that neighborhood. But then, this was the matter where I could not have a say in it, where I was expected to be pliant.

In the new place, where even after a month, i still could not call the place a home, my home.
Objectively, the house was a lot bigger and bigger is better, as they say. It was also the same size of the hole in my heart. It was then I realized, I would have no one to talk to as I got to school. Every morning, I would feel empty. I know I was longing for the laughter I used to hear. I was longing for the stories my friends used to tell. Every morning, I would often wonder what my friends are doing while I go to school.

One day, I met with them and also met with familiar faces. Familiar faces where I did not expect to get acquainted with. It was so easy to get along with them. In between our laughter, I realized, I'm missing out all the fun.

But I know, I had to get used to where I was. I had to get used to turning the faucet handle away from me and not towards. I had to get used to the silent neighborhood at 7 in the evening. I had to get used to this new place.

As I studied for the college entrance exams, my mind drifted to our old house. I wondered how it looked then. Would the garden still be there? how about the rocky garage?
Were the fruit-bearing trees still standing? 

But I refused to know and see. I forced these thoughts to remain as questions. I had no intention to know the answer. I did not want to know.

Because this feeling of fear embraces me. If I see the changes in our old house, I might forget the picture I have in my mind of my old home.