Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Homecoming
I'm in the mood to do some self-publishing of a bunch of old Nonfiction Writing Workshop pieces as I haven't been very successful at writing a new one since college graduation. And since this seems to be more in keeping with the theme of the day, I guess I'll start with this. And nope, I didn't check it for grammar or whatever.
HOMECOMING (written during my last semester in college)
The best thing about leaving and going on a journey is coming back home.
Ever since I was just a kid, we—my family and I—have been travelling a lot. Going away to some faraway place has always been a way for our family to spend some time together, especially during those rare times when both my siblings are able to get away from their lives long enough to take a trip with us.
Here in the Philippines, we usually gravitate towards the beaches, usually during those days between Christmas Day and New Year’s Eve. Parasailing in Mactan, Cebu, kayaaking in El Nido, Palawan, swimming in Puerto Galera, Mindoro, traipsing along the white sandy beaches of Boracay—pictures of those trips are what fill many of the photo albums sitting on our shelves here at home.
The others are filled with pictures of our trips out of the country. When I was five years old, I rode the plane for the very first time. My dad wanted us to experience being in another country, to see the world outside of the Philippines. So he applied for United States visas for us all, and when we were all approved, he took us all to visit relatives living in California.
Of course the thought of an adventure made me giddy with excitement. I was going to be able to fly—on a plane, sure, but, at five years old, that has to be almost as good as the real thing. Then, there was the fact that my dad had promised us visits to wonderful places called Disneyland, Universal Studios and Toys ‘R Us. If that wasn’t enough, we would have the chance to see cousins that we rarely see during the year.
After that summer, our trips to the United States became a regular thing. Every other year, we went to California to visit our relatives. For nearly a decade, it was always California—that was where family lived. Then, we started venturing out to other states. Watching musicals in Broadway, New York, touring the White House in Washington, sniffing our way through the Hershey’s Factory in Pennsylvania, seeing the Pearl Harbor Memorial in Hawaii—they brought back the thrill of the out-of-the-country trips that we had come to take for granted.
Time came when we even tried going to places other than the United States. We toured Europe and visited countries that we only once imagined. London to France to Spain to Italy—it was exciting getting into a car or a bus and driving right into another country in the same day. We took a trip to Canada, and though it didn’t have the sophistication, the elegance and excitement of Europe, it became my favorite trip so far. If I ever decided I wanted to go the way many Filipinos have taken or plan to take, I would go to Canada.
I doubt I’d ever leave the Philippines for good, though. Looking back, in all the trips that I have taken with my family, I remember how I always experienced that initial thrill of being away from home for a few weeks, away from the problems and the summer heat in the Philippines. I also remember, though, how, after the excitement of the trip had died down, I started to miss home.
I missed being in a place where I knew I belonged. I missed going to places and hearing my language being spoken all around me. I missed being able to contact my friends easily, anytime I wanted. Most of all, I missed my bedroom, where I could go to whenever I wanted to be alone. When you’re on a trip, it seems as if you’re rarely alone. You’re always with someone, always on the go. You share hotel rooms with your siblings, or even your parents. Whenever our family stayed at our relatives’ house, I always feel guilty every time I escape to a room to read or write, or even sleep, instead of hanging out with my cousins or finding ways to help out around the house.
Ironically, though, it’s a pleasant feeling, missing what you had left behind. After more than two decades of being home with your family, it becomes easy to take it for granted, or even, at times, resent it. Going on a trip and being away from home for a few weeks gives one the chance to be homesick and to learn how to love again what had become a trap.
In a few weeks, I will be taking another journey. This time, it won’t be a journey that involves riding planes, visiting relatives or touring scenic spots. It would be a one-way ticket away from childhood. Does it scare me? Hell, yes. It would scare anyone who had spent the first twenty-one years of her life at home. I want to leave home, though. I want to go away on that journey on my own, without my family, so that I can find myself and learn how to stand on my own.
Most of all, I want to miss home. I want to go away, experience the thrill of the journey, then look back, towards home. Maybe if I leave, time will come when I will learn how to love again the home that I had been used to, the family that I had come to take for granted, and maybe even, at times, resent. For only then, only if I take that journey and leave, will I have that chance to turn around and come back home again.
HOMECOMING (written during my last semester in college)
The best thing about leaving and going on a journey is coming back home.
Ever since I was just a kid, we—my family and I—have been travelling a lot. Going away to some faraway place has always been a way for our family to spend some time together, especially during those rare times when both my siblings are able to get away from their lives long enough to take a trip with us.
Here in the Philippines, we usually gravitate towards the beaches, usually during those days between Christmas Day and New Year’s Eve. Parasailing in Mactan, Cebu, kayaaking in El Nido, Palawan, swimming in Puerto Galera, Mindoro, traipsing along the white sandy beaches of Boracay—pictures of those trips are what fill many of the photo albums sitting on our shelves here at home.
The others are filled with pictures of our trips out of the country. When I was five years old, I rode the plane for the very first time. My dad wanted us to experience being in another country, to see the world outside of the Philippines. So he applied for United States visas for us all, and when we were all approved, he took us all to visit relatives living in California.
Of course the thought of an adventure made me giddy with excitement. I was going to be able to fly—on a plane, sure, but, at five years old, that has to be almost as good as the real thing. Then, there was the fact that my dad had promised us visits to wonderful places called Disneyland, Universal Studios and Toys ‘R Us. If that wasn’t enough, we would have the chance to see cousins that we rarely see during the year.
After that summer, our trips to the United States became a regular thing. Every other year, we went to California to visit our relatives. For nearly a decade, it was always California—that was where family lived. Then, we started venturing out to other states. Watching musicals in Broadway, New York, touring the White House in Washington, sniffing our way through the Hershey’s Factory in Pennsylvania, seeing the Pearl Harbor Memorial in Hawaii—they brought back the thrill of the out-of-the-country trips that we had come to take for granted.
Time came when we even tried going to places other than the United States. We toured Europe and visited countries that we only once imagined. London to France to Spain to Italy—it was exciting getting into a car or a bus and driving right into another country in the same day. We took a trip to Canada, and though it didn’t have the sophistication, the elegance and excitement of Europe, it became my favorite trip so far. If I ever decided I wanted to go the way many Filipinos have taken or plan to take, I would go to Canada.
I doubt I’d ever leave the Philippines for good, though. Looking back, in all the trips that I have taken with my family, I remember how I always experienced that initial thrill of being away from home for a few weeks, away from the problems and the summer heat in the Philippines. I also remember, though, how, after the excitement of the trip had died down, I started to miss home.
I missed being in a place where I knew I belonged. I missed going to places and hearing my language being spoken all around me. I missed being able to contact my friends easily, anytime I wanted. Most of all, I missed my bedroom, where I could go to whenever I wanted to be alone. When you’re on a trip, it seems as if you’re rarely alone. You’re always with someone, always on the go. You share hotel rooms with your siblings, or even your parents. Whenever our family stayed at our relatives’ house, I always feel guilty every time I escape to a room to read or write, or even sleep, instead of hanging out with my cousins or finding ways to help out around the house.
Ironically, though, it’s a pleasant feeling, missing what you had left behind. After more than two decades of being home with your family, it becomes easy to take it for granted, or even, at times, resent it. Going on a trip and being away from home for a few weeks gives one the chance to be homesick and to learn how to love again what had become a trap.
In a few weeks, I will be taking another journey. This time, it won’t be a journey that involves riding planes, visiting relatives or touring scenic spots. It would be a one-way ticket away from childhood. Does it scare me? Hell, yes. It would scare anyone who had spent the first twenty-one years of her life at home. I want to leave home, though. I want to go away on that journey on my own, without my family, so that I can find myself and learn how to stand on my own.
Most of all, I want to miss home. I want to go away, experience the thrill of the journey, then look back, towards home. Maybe if I leave, time will come when I will learn how to love again the home that I had been used to, the family that I had come to take for granted, and maybe even, at times, resent. For only then, only if I take that journey and leave, will I have that chance to turn around and come back home again.
# Lyn found a missing piece @ 8:26 PM 
