Privileged to Resume

She’s been asking me again and again why I have to leave, why I can’t just stay. Ever since I told her, she hasn’t stopped.

Last night, I finally answered her honestly, one by one.

I told her the truth I don’t usually say out loud. I’ve carried resentment toward people, and at some point, even toward God. And I learned the hard way that you can’t keep serving with a heavy heart and expect it to stay hidden. It shows. It leaks. So I stepped back. I gave myself space. Not to run away, but to reset.

And I did.

I recovered.
I resettled.

Staying here in the city, at my aunt’s place, was a gift. Quiet mornings. A slower life. Even an allowance I didn’t have to work myself to exhaustion for. I don’t take that lightly. I’m grateful for it. It gave me the space I needed when I couldn’t carry anything anymore.

But now, I’m not leaving because I’m tired.

I’m leaving because I’m ready.

I’m going back to the farm. Back to the life that raised me. Back to the place where everything started making sense long before life got complicated. The rice fields, the animals, the work, the responsibility. Not the kind that drowns you, but the kind that builds you.

This isn’t escape.

This is continuation.

I’m going back to continue living the dream I started a long time ago. The one that never really left me, even when life pulled me into different roles, different responsibilities, different battles.

I told her I want to make memories with her and Lola while I still can. Because life doesn’t wait. People don’t stay the same. And moments like this, being present, being available, those are rare.

(Aunt took this photo of us three during her recognition at school.)

And then there she is, ever clingy sassy girl.

She’s a little sweet and sour. Not always my kind of flavor. But she’s family, so I stay. I adjust. I learn.

Being with her has been teaching me patience. Or maybe forcing me to practice it. I’ve always been the type to cut people off when they cross a line. Clean. Quick. No explanations.

But I’m learning that not everything has to end like that.

Sometimes you stay.
Sometimes you understand.
Sometimes you grow.

I’m not leaving because I don’t care.

I’m going back because I can finally do it, in the right way.

Not out of obligation.
Not out of exhaustion.

But out of purpose.

And this time, I’m not just surviving it.

I’m choosing it.