Home, Home, I’m Coming Home
Status Message: I-H-I-C
After almost nine months (238 days to be exact), I’m going back home. There was really no plan of going home. I always thought that I will only be going back once every year. But thing’s changed. I may be indecisive but once I decided on something even how ridiculously impossible they are, I’ll go for it. That is what they call spontaneity, I call it pride. *smirk smirk*
My going back home was triggered by three different incidents, one was job related, I was suspended, but then again I was not, may be I was just tested, but I bought it anyway. The other is my parents especially my father wants me back home very badly. My father obviously missed me so much that he gets into a drinking spree every time he remembers that I don’t even check them up, that I have already forgotten about them, and I’m one great ingrate. The last one is (as you can see in my previous blog) the latest incident in Guimaras, which depresses me a lot, so I wanted to see it for myself. I want to know the extent of the damage, how well everyone is doing to rehabilitate the area, and also I wanted to weep uncontrollably, throwing myself to the coastline now tainted black. *boo hoo*
I was actually supposed to leave yesterday but for some mystical reasons my ATM card was captured and at the same time there was no cash dispensed. Oh God, oh please God, why me? Why at this time? Why at this very moment? I almost wept and hurtled the ATM machine (all I did was pat with minimal force the side of the machine because the guard was peering through my back) but the security guard was really reassuring that he says after knowing him for a seconds that this was a sign that I should not leave this place, may be the bus will collide with another bus, or the fast craft will slip and sink because of the oil slicks, hmmm, morbid thoughts (knock on wood). *tok tok*
I will be traveling alone early tomorrow. I will be meeting strangers by the bus. I will be rubbing elbows with people who in a way are already used with this early traveling. I will let my hair brushed by the coldness of morning winds. And never comb them back for sometimes I look good with an untidy hair or never really looked good at all, I just wished. I will be squeezing myself in long queues of passengers trying to get a ticket to Iloilo, some of them do this routinely, some of them will be doing this for the first time, some of them I’ll get to have a conversation with, some of them I know, some of them will not sit on the supposed number they are on, some of them I will give a sharp stare for getting my seat, some of them will gush (oooh aaah) at the sight of oil slicks floating amass on the bright blue sea, some of them will chatter noisily that I will throw a pocketful of Swiss knives at their back. Aaah, the nomads. I can’t wait to see my grandmother. *yeah yeah*
Hush. I-H-I-C. Iloilo, here I come.
After almost nine months (238 days to be exact), I’m going back home. There was really no plan of going home. I always thought that I will only be going back once every year. But thing’s changed. I may be indecisive but once I decided on something even how ridiculously impossible they are, I’ll go for it. That is what they call spontaneity, I call it pride. *smirk smirk*
My going back home was triggered by three different incidents, one was job related, I was suspended, but then again I was not, may be I was just tested, but I bought it anyway. The other is my parents especially my father wants me back home very badly. My father obviously missed me so much that he gets into a drinking spree every time he remembers that I don’t even check them up, that I have already forgotten about them, and I’m one great ingrate. The last one is (as you can see in my previous blog) the latest incident in Guimaras, which depresses me a lot, so I wanted to see it for myself. I want to know the extent of the damage, how well everyone is doing to rehabilitate the area, and also I wanted to weep uncontrollably, throwing myself to the coastline now tainted black. *boo hoo*
I was actually supposed to leave yesterday but for some mystical reasons my ATM card was captured and at the same time there was no cash dispensed. Oh God, oh please God, why me? Why at this time? Why at this very moment? I almost wept and hurtled the ATM machine (all I did was pat with minimal force the side of the machine because the guard was peering through my back) but the security guard was really reassuring that he says after knowing him for a seconds that this was a sign that I should not leave this place, may be the bus will collide with another bus, or the fast craft will slip and sink because of the oil slicks, hmmm, morbid thoughts (knock on wood). *tok tok*
I will be traveling alone early tomorrow. I will be meeting strangers by the bus. I will be rubbing elbows with people who in a way are already used with this early traveling. I will let my hair brushed by the coldness of morning winds. And never comb them back for sometimes I look good with an untidy hair or never really looked good at all, I just wished. I will be squeezing myself in long queues of passengers trying to get a ticket to Iloilo, some of them do this routinely, some of them will be doing this for the first time, some of them I’ll get to have a conversation with, some of them I know, some of them will not sit on the supposed number they are on, some of them I will give a sharp stare for getting my seat, some of them will gush (oooh aaah) at the sight of oil slicks floating amass on the bright blue sea, some of them will chatter noisily that I will throw a pocketful of Swiss knives at their back. Aaah, the nomads. I can’t wait to see my grandmother. *yeah yeah*
Hush. I-H-I-C. Iloilo, here I come.
posted by RovJohn at 1:55 AM
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