Here I am, back from a four-week trip back home. And I've been vacillating between the feeling of relief of being home, in my house, my bed, away from Manila heat and traffic, and the feeling that I've somehow left a piece of myself behind.
Being away for years and years makes one forget how one is truly connected to his or her family. When we first came here, it was exciting, and new, and full of promise. Missing the family I had left behind was the last thing on my mind. The preoccupation with the endless possibilities before me made the sacrifice seem inconsequential. But now, those possibilities have become realities, and although they are good realities, the fact still remains...the rest of my family is half a world away.
For the past four years, missing them has become a constant reality, a steady undercurrent that stays in the background of every little thing. You get used to the feeling. And after a while, you don't even notice that it's there. But going home and going through the separation once again brings those feelings to the surface and makes the longing so acute.
And so I sit here torn. I love my life here. The opportunities, the peace, the conveniences, the uncomplicatedness of it all. But I can't shake the feeling that something, a huge chunk of something is missing.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
I found this entry in one of my long un-touched social networking sites. I wrote it a year ago and still the feelings ring true...
Labels: not about food