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At the outset of my journey, I was a much different person. I knew different people; spent time in different crowds, with different company, and all the experiences that are accompanied with that. I was myself... Well, my old self. Time changes many things, and the person I once was is but a distant memory. All told, it was probably for the best. Whether or not this is true, one can only judge for themselves. Perhaps as you learn of my tale you shall decide for yourself whether I came out better or worse in the end.

A long time ago, when I was but a naive young teenager, I grew tired of the world around me. The sights, the sounds; the people and places. They grew stale, their presence but a bitter reminder of my, as I would have called it then, entrapment there. Once-favorite foods became unforgivable atrocities to my palate. The places I roamed with glee and fervor, looking only to live life in the then and now, began to make me look on in undeserved horror at the bleak future ahead of me. Was I to remain here for the rest of my life? Was I to waste away, knowing only that which was placed in front of me from the start? Was I to spend my dying hours facing the exact same faces I was born unto? My heart sank to think of it; tragically so, for in truth, this is what I desired all along. I nary realized it until, I deem, it was too late.

Therefore, seeing no other option, I packed up my belongings in the middle of the night. I took that which was most precious to me: A knife and a watch, both given to me by my father, bless his soul. A boy could have never asked for a better man to lead him in life, but I took his beautiful kindness for granted, which led to many tragedies down the road. I took an old notebook, once belonging to my mother, filled to the half-point with marvelous sketches from her youth. I never knew her well; aye, she passed away naught but a few years following my birth. However, she lived on in the things she left behind: This journal, I believed to be the very expression of her soul, drawn before me, and I had every intention of filling the remaining pages out along my journey. Along with everything else, I brought a few favorite books of mine, along with a little food, survival provisions, my life's savings in cash (although it was a large amount to me then, I realize now that "prodigious" sum would not get me far), a few other odds and ends, and a doll from my younger days, which I cherished even when others had made fun of me for fawning over it.

I left in the night; I told not a soul where or why I was going. What friends and family I had were to be left in the dark, and I intended for them to wonder about me as days went by. If only I realized how selfish of a decision it was, and how it would hurt them and tear at them that I should vanish without a final word. I, myself, thought it no folly, for I had never seen myself as a very endearing person, and I assumed blindly that my disappearance would be no major thing. I left my little hometown that night, never once looking back, not even as the strings of my hearts tugged at my deepest emotions for me to return. I knew I must continue, for my own sake. I would never, as I presumed at the time, find this opportunity again.

Perhaps, one day, I shall describe to you the town and the people there, whom I loved so dearly, in greater detail. But for now, I cannot continue; the mere thought of my little village brings tears to my eyes, and I fear that dwelling upon it any further would bring me to abandon this story altogether. It is a story for another time, when my heart and soul are strong enough to sustain the blows of my foolishness and my naively selfish deeds.