A Guide To Recognizing Your Saints.

I left my home when I was 12. I left everyone and everything I love behind. It was painful but I had to do what I got to do. My father, a man with few words, actually once told me to not go away, but I was too eager to face a new place other that my sleepy village. To actually step on a land so foreign, I never dreamt about it before. So there I was, thrust into the world without knowing what will happen. I survived the vultures. Battered, the wounds healed themselves, forming calluses from layers of scars.

My family is my only beacon of hope. Knowing that someone out there waiting and praying for me was good enough to face each shitty day. I have so many personal saints. My mum and dad, I love them with all my heart. My grandmas showered me with so much love, it drowned me.

15 years later, I’m still far from home.

But it’s good to know, that I left everyone, but no one is ever left me.

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