Mahirap pala maging city girl pag uuwi na ng probinsya?
By Matthew Parra
In the quiet aftermath of the new year, two things surface in the recesses of my mind: the lingering warmth of home and the somewhat guilty ache of longing for the life woven in Manila.
Captured in a blurry digicam photo, home casts a bittersweet glance at a life I once lived. It's comfortable, reminiscent of the dreams I held at fifteen and promises I made at eighteen.
Yet, amidst this comfort, there exists a quiet, almost clandestine desire for the chaotic peace that defines life in Manila and University.
It's odd. You spend nights longing for the comfort of your childhood bed, only to find yourself at peace with the city’s vibrant pulse. You curse at the speeding cars in the intersection of España and P. Noval, yet find quiet solace - liberation in crossing.
The sentimental feeling of wanting to return home washes over me, and once home, I experience the same paradox of yearning. My old blanket drapes over my shoulders, and suddenly, I notice the fading scent of my childhood room.
I am physically home, yet there’s an intangible distance, a nostalgic sadness lingering - a solo, a quiet remembering of a version of myself that I lost on the bus ride back.
Perhaps I’m meant to walk this delicate tightrope of constant yearning for a January hazed in memory.
I’ll have to go back to España soon.
