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Coming home

January 9, 2015    |    0 COMMENT(S)

At certain points in our life, we come to the conclusion that "home" isn't confined to the definition of a place. Home can be a person, home can be a feeling. Home is the sense of permanence, regardless of the tangible object that has come to represent it. It matters not where your foot first walked, as long as your heart recognizes the feel of the soil on which the steps were made.

But then, at the end of the day, home is still a word that means something concrete. A place where one lives. And while the present tense no longer rings true, there are just some places that upon returning, will sing you the same song, will welcome you with the same longing, loving arms.




I went back to St. Paul again the other day to get an alumni ID. I had no immediate need for it; I wasn't going to use it for anything. But it's something I've been planning to do since... 2008. Every time I'm back in Paranaque, it keeps slipping my mind. Not this week, though. I guess it was something I needed more than anything, and the universe knew that.

I was kind of surprised to see familiar faces - teachers, staff, and random people who I know, and who know me. It was surreal to be in the same place where tons of memories were created. Goosebumps all over my back the moment I stepped within the gates. I guess this is what homecoming does to you, huh. Hands quivering, feet trembling, heartbeat rising at first, but then, bam! a moment of clarity, and then finally, comfort. Relief. I was expecting a wave of unfamiliarity, but the place seemed as if nothing has changed. I wasn't a stranger on foreign land; I was a migrant finally landing again on native soil.

Nobody told me about this part of being an adult -- this marvelous, cathartic feeling of longing and wistfulness, It makes you sad and happy and all kinds of sentimental. And rightly so. I don't think there is quite another feeling that can match (at least thus far in my life) the nostalgia a homecoming can bring. Nothing like setting foot on the place that made a part of you, the place that taught you to write your name and create the person behind it.

These mem'ries we'll recall, these mem'ries we'll recall.



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