Though I am proud of being who I am I cannot stop thinking what ifs about myself. Seeing my cousin’s photo that lives in the London since she was a little make me feel a little envy.
She have this, she have that. She looked like this, I am far not. I just kept comparing myself to her, and it’s me, who hurts deep inside at the end. I don’t hate her for what she have, nor I don’t hate my parents for not providing me the things I saw she encompass. I only want to feel the same way with her. She looked matured enough and handles things precisely, but still pretty. She got a job and killer dresses and shoes I want to try put on. Maybe it’s also because she grew up in a different environment. She acquired the influence her nation. Her life at the other side of the world seems a movie for me. - peers, jobs at the young age, and happiness. I adore my cousin so much. I‘m looking forward to have her used dress and shoes when she visits here in the Philippines again. And hear more of her stories.