She has always been a wanderer.
Itchy feet. The desire to scratch the pair she owns is always strong. Whenever she refuses the urge, she feels restless and drained, like a desert traveler robbed off of an oasis for days. There is an insistent poking happening inside her whenever she stays still. The struggle nags at her, forcing her to recognize the need to break free from the invisible chains wrapped around her entirety.
Freedom. She desires it. All she wants is to fly and fly and fly. Until she reaches the peak of nothingness and sees that there is something in the cloud of nothings.
Fly. She doesn’t have wings. Yet, she still wants to spread her invisible, complex fluff of woven nerves and fly to the direction of unknown vistas.
And fly she does. Her unrelenting flighty feet carrying her soul along with her heart.
Maegan’s eyes savor the sight of her shelter for the past two months. It is nothing but a square, dilapidated apartment building with its pink paint peeling off like pieces of burned skin. It has five floors with five doors per floor, which can be accessed by foot because there’s no elevator.
Maegan had lived on the 5th floor, at room 504.
She smiles. It has not been the best accommodation, but she has had the best neighbors.
There’s Old Man Quinito who volunteers to throw her trash out for her every morning in exchange for a cup of coffee. Gindara, the old lady who has been abandoned by her children and grandchildren, and who cooks enough for two and brings Maegan food every day. She owns the building, giving Maegan her own apartment, in exchange for free cleaning services twice a week. There’s Crystal, the young single mother whose son adores Maegan as much as Maegan adores him. Maegan babysits for her for free. And finally, there’s Christian, the young guy next door who never fails to blush whenever Maegan asks him about his day in school. He is a Biology major from a university who’s never been afraid to dream. It is obvious he has a crush on her, but Maegan can never return the affection.
She is going to miss all of them. But she… she can’t stay. She never stays. Staying means she has a home. The concept of having one gives her the shivers of the bad kind. Home is a luxury she doesn’t want to afford even though she can. She doesn’t need a home. A home grounds her, clips her wings, and incarcerates her.
And how can she fly without her wings?
Maegan glances at the building one last time before she turns away. She steadies the strap of the backpack slung at one of her shoulders and simply walks away.
She doesn’t look back.
She never looks back.