letting go

if there is one thing that i surprise myself with, it's the fact that i am not good at saying goodbye.

my father used to threaten to burn my room because i seemed to have accumulated tons of garbage inside my closet. in truth, they were not really garbage. they were my treasures. sure, most of them were candy wrappers, some were dried twigs and flowers, the rest were old magazines and papers that have grown brown and crisp with age.

i fought tooth and nails to keep them. they were a testament to my adolescence and youth. they were a reminder that once in my life i was not this cynical. they were an evidence of an erstwhile existence when i looked at life through rose-colored lenses. in short, they were me -- in a pure and unadulterated sense.

which brings me to the fact that in spite of the passing of the years -- punctuated as they were with countless tears, fears, ups and downs -- i have not really learned the art of letting go.

i could not believe the tears i shed when i learned that a very close friend decided to migrate to europe. my, the crying session i had was one for a show. he was alarmed when he found out that my tear ducts were overly used for nearly 24-hours. i, too, was shocked. this was unusual, or was it?

it's always hard for me to let go of people and friends i have come to love. there is always this fear inside me that i would never see them again. unlike the "garbage" in my closet, people cannot be stored in boxes that can be opened in case i need a hug. this makes parting even harder to swallow.

then again, i have learned that life is not strictly about black and white. there are gray areas in between that give me hope. i can always dream of meeting these people again. somewhere. somehow. some time. for isn't it true that we have to say goodbye for us to meet again???

i hold on to that eternal promise. i do. do.

homecoming

if there is one thing that i learned from my sojourn abroad, it's the fact that i don't really like going home. don't misunderstand me. there is nothing more joyous than a reunion with my family and friends. there is nothing more yummy than eating my favorite filipino dishes. and oh, never mind the traffic and the pollution, there is nothing like lying on my own bed!

the thing is, i always dread the day i'll have to pack my things anew for my trip back to tokyo. i feel like a wilting flower everytime i have to face the fact that the 30 days i've been alloted to stay in the philippines would soon come to its end.

just when i have learned to re-adjust to my old hot, humid and polluted environment, i would be forced to wind my body clock to tokyo time. it just is not always fair.

twice already, i've found myself on the brink of crying while keeping a brave front as i marched my way to the departure area of our dilapidated international airport. it could not get any worse that i would find myself among a sea of brown-skinned strangers inside the plane; many of whom are overseas filipino workers who are seeking greener pastures on the other side of the world.

homecoming, indeed, has always been bittersweet for me. looking foward to being in a familiar corner of the earth gives me great comfort. on the other hand, at the back of my mind i always know that for the two years that i am in tokyo, i have to face the music of cha-cha. I need to learn how to twirl around the dancefloor that is the world without getting dizzy.

in retrospect, my temporary sojourn in tokyo is just like the story of my life. i win some, i lose some. i laugh and i cry. i go home to the philippines, i come back to tokyo. it's as simple as that. it's just as basic.

i reckon, i just have to learn how to deal with it with utmost grace and composure.