A Dash of Paranoia
Amidst the peaceful stillness of the maple trees, their leaves
rustling to an unfamiliar melody, I feel it—the subtle ache,
the bittersweet pang that lingers deep within my chest.
It’s the longing for home, where the air is thick with the scent of
sampaguita and the streets echo with the laughter of my kin.
In this land, where the snow blankets the ground like a soft
whisper, I find solace but also a yearning that tugs at my soul,
remembering the warmth of the tropical sun kissing my coffee-coloured
skin, the vibrant hues of jeepneys painting the streets,
and the symphony of vendors hawking their goods
in the bustling markets and streets.
Oh, how I miss the brain freeze from halo-halo on a scorching summer
day, its sweet and icy layers cooling from within.
How I long for the tangy broth of sinigang tickling my taste
buds and the comforting aroma of adobo simmering in a pot.
Each flavour carries with it a memory—a memory of home,
of family gathered around the table, sharing stories and
laughter late into the night when fireflies’ lights still gleam in the
dark.
But even as I revel in the beauty of Aurora Borealis
and the wilderness, with its majestic mountains and serene lakes,
I cannot shake off the nostalgia that clings like a second skin.
I yearn for the familiar verdant rice fields swaying all at once,
coconut trees reaching towards the sky, and endless expanse of shimmering seas.
And so, I carry a duality within—a love for the land that birthed me,
and an appreciation for the land that gave me tickets
to freely see the world, beyond the Pacific.