Remnants of a past, lost in memory. Perhaps that is all you will ever be. A hazy thought, that I will look on longingly but eventually forget. I will forget the secrets behind your facade, the laughter filling your space, the times I called you home.

I might see you again, or what remains of you. My eyes will turn away. A glance is all it takes to realize how much you have changed. I might visit you, nostalgic for all we have seen and all that we have known. It won't be the same though. We will be different, and I will forget you.

All you will be is a remnant of what was once mine.

This is about a house.

This house was my first love, living in it since I was a babe. I would stare big and bright-eyed at the faux brick facade, excited to call this house was mine. It has changed since then. Now, it's painted beige with more greenery in pots. A patio made but never used, trees grown but its fruits uneaten. Still, all the same.

It has been a fixture of my life, a place to run to when things became too much. Home was not grand, a three-storey mansion with a pool, shown proudly to visitors. Home was beautiful, a small English cottage with a garden, hidden among haunted houses and empty lots.

Which makes moving away all the more heartbreaking. 

I will move in six months that will pass in a blink of an eye. Everyone feels disheartened by the move. My sister cried when we told her. Of course she did. This was a symbol of her childhood. Of our childhood. It was as much her sanctuary as it was mine. 

To immortalize the house, my mother insisted on taking some photos. 'Dress up nice. Take nice photos,' she said. Have something to remember before it vanishes. Capture its essence, frame it and hang it over our heads for years to come. I didn't mind.

So I dressed up. Jeans because it was a casual day. Heels because why not? Black because I was mourning.

You become sentimental when snapping shots on the stairs. Realizing that this a part of growing up, and everyone goes through it. Everyone leaves eventually. Still, it doesn't make it any less painful.

Necklace : Claire's | Shirt : Uniqlo | Kimono : Faiz Boutique
Jeans : Hurley | Shoes : Prada

I understand that getting sad over a house is childish. It's not the worst thing in the world. People move away all the time. Heck, I'm moving in six months! Not two weeks. There's plenty of time to say goodbye. I shouldn't feel so sad yet. At least, that's what I tell myself,

It's still the place I call home. It's still cozy and comfy. It's still here. Home is where the heart is. I fell in love with this house. It has my heart. A remnant to keep when I finally go away.

So tell me...

What was your childhood home like?