Does growing up really change our body? or also our soul?

 Growing up I knew no one, no friends, no anything at all. I only had my lola beside me, in a province where no one knew us but us. Despite her presence, I felt empty and heavy. It's like there's this hole inside me that no one can fill, not even myself. As a child, I once asked my lola, "Do they like me?" and "Am I hard to love?" Reminiscing about it pains me so much. I am a kid, barely an adult, with too much pain to carry. Thoughts bigger than my own body. My lola then decided to move to Manila, where my family was located. Meeting them for the first time hit me hard. I wasn't hard to love. It's just that the love that my lola gave wasn't enough for me, and I crave more love from my parents.

The first meeting was nice; they were the best parents I could have ever asked for. But then time passed, and I couldn't help but question, "If my parents are capable of raising two children beside me, then why did they leave me behind?" Up until now, it's the same question that won't let my mind rest.

Back when I was a little kid, I wasn’t allowed to play outside like kids my age. My mom considered that very dangerous. She was dead afraid of kidnapping (still is). I tried many times to escape from our house; the first attempt failed, and so did the rest of the attempts. CCTV was all over the place, so all I could do was to watch kids outside play together. I knew back then that all I ever wanted was to play outside, like every child does. I didn’t go to school in my neighborhood. My mom believed our neighborhood was too… how would you say it today? Slummy? Ghetto? Ratchet? So she pinched every penny to enroll me in a homeschooling tutor. This meant inside of our house, I had no friends. One time, I got clever and told her I wanted to spend the day at my lola's next door. She let me, only to come home from work at the exact moment I was squatting on the street with my newfoundfriend. We were playing with rocks and empty cartons. She got very mad. After that, I never spent a day outside the bars of my gate again. 

Years came, and it was my first day of school. 3rd grade. It was when I finally convinced my mom to enroll me in a public school to experience different things rather than lying on our couch listening to my tutor talk all day about things I don't understand. 3rd grade went smoothly; I got newfound friends that I promised myself I wouldn't lose. Unexpectedly, I found myself joining a band, and I found myself glowing while playing an instrument. I spent years of my life with them, competing at different places, creating unforgettable memories, and sharing our own stories, laughter, and loud cries. I treated them as my own family, flaws and all. And then the pandemic came; the whole group got split, they were not as active as before, and everyone got busy with their own lives, busy finding different paths. Some passion for music vanished like a bubble, while some found a better band that they cherish. While I was stuck wondering if and when we will be together as a group, as a family.

But before I knew it, I had found my own people too, who up until now have been with me through and through. It was then I realized that people aren't meant to stay in our lives; some people do, some people don't, and that's the reality. We met people temporarily for us to realize what we wanted and what kind of treatment we deserved. Questioning one's reason as to why they left is like digging our own grave.