As I left my parents’ house this morning to return to my family, I had a nagging feeling that I was leaving something behind. I scurried to check what that might be.

I ran up the stairs, scanned a few drawers, looked through the laundry, but I found nothing. I looked around the kitchen to see if there’s anything that belonged to me. As I finally walked out the door, I turned back and all that I had left behind was right in front of me.

I saw the sunrays gleaming through my bedroom many years back for so many years, as I woke up comfortably in my childhood bed after having slept in on innumerable weekends, without a worry in the world.

I could smell the tiled floor as it had been cleaned and scrubbed, ready for a new day. The odor of the cleaning agent far too familiar to me.

I could hear the bouts of laughter I laughed along with my brother as young kids, over a snack, sharing a joke that no one else in the world understood.

I could smell the warm fragrance of the comforting breakfast arising from the kitchen, as we all hurried to get us to school on time.

I could sense the pride my parents felt every time we achieved something as children. I could also feel the guilt I felt every time I had lied to them about something silly.

I could hear the cheers of childhood friends as they sang and clapped when I cut several birthday cakes carefully baked and crafted by my mother over the years.

I could see it all in this house, yet I decided once again not to leave any of it behind. I carry the unconditional love that has nourished my childhood here, and let it become a part of me, inspire me, and lead me to new adventures, knowing that these memories will always be with me wherever I go.