Tomorrow I would be moving, moving from the only place I could truly call home in my life. 
I can't quite express in words, what this run of the mill apartment means to me, this apartment with its generic fixtures, bathroom floor that is a nightmare to clean, sticking closet doors, laminated floors and a good share of crazy neighbors. But despite everything, this was my first home, a place I rented of my own abilities, a kitchen where I learned to recreate the favorite dishes from my childhood, a place where I made my childhood dream of owning a puppy come true. 

It's rather sad that words are all I have to commemorate this phase of my life. Now that I think, I should have taken photos to capture the changing landscapes around me, season after season, as seen from my balcony. The lush green field full of dandelions swaying in gentle spring breeze, the howling winds and curtains of rain that the short but potent rainy season brought, the little winding creek reflecting a true blue sky and emerald green canopy of trees, the cacophony of colors that the autumn leaves bring, the magic of leaving behind a trail of footsteps on a virgin layer of snow and the unbelievable bright plum night sky that one can see only after a snowstorm when the ground is one big expanse of white, as far as the eyes can see. 

I'll miss taking long walks in the field behind our building and through the ravine; the comfortable hum in the background when many different languages blend together to create one soothing noise; riding on the swing in the rain kicking the sand with my feet to propel myself even higher; taking photos of myself in the deserted field to make sure there's no witness of my guilty pleasure; the ever friendly Elena and the myriad of smiling Philippino employees in my building. 

It was home, and it will forever be my first home. 

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