The house that I had grew up in for seventeen of the nineteen years of my life, is going to be undergoing some sort of reconstruction phase. Some developer will probably demolish the place and build smaller, yet more expensive condo units in its place. Needless to say, compensation would be offered, but how can any amount of money amend for the many memories of my childhood and teenage years?

Seems like the connections that bridge me to that little island where I call home, are gradually dissolving. Slowly, almost sequentially, familiarity progresses with minute changes into the unacquainted. And as the balance between the known and the unknown begins to shift towards where I am currently, I also start to lose the desire to step out of my newfound comfort zone. Only when I do certain things unconsciously, such as using a foreign accent so naturally, then I realize what is transpiring. It's really frightening to know that you are losing yourself, bit by bit. Just like a string that is coiled together with smaller pieces of thread; after one of the fibers snaps, the rest easily unravel themselves strand by strand.

Is it true that there is always a replacement for anything? New friends succeeding the place of old ones. Homes with newer homes. And everything else. Even if it is, I prefer to believe it isn't so, because somehow it makes the present appear less susceptible to change. More stability, if you would. But then again, sometimes you just can't deny reality when it is happening right before your very eyes.

People manage to move on, but walking away is just so hard.