It had been 28 years since I visited
my hometown. So, I was very excited to finally have another chance in December
2025 during our annual family reunion/trip.
Unfortunately, I caught a stomach bug, and it ruined my first few days there in terms of culinary. I’m not someone who prioritizes food, I think eating can be a hassle, and I have never prioritized eating over everything else. However, I have missed my hometown’s food, and it is the best, according to many, including non-locals.
For the first two days, I could barely eat anything. It also reduced my enjoyment because of the pain, but I tried to make the best of it.
Maybe I haven’t been back for too long, maybe my expectation was too high, but I didn’t enjoy the trip the way I thought it would. Everything had changed, and not for the better. There were a few places that were stuck in time, but our house was gone. Flattened to the ground. We could only look at the ruins. My siblings’ last visit was a decade ago, and they still saw it, but not me.
We went there in the night, walking
along the street that no longer felt familiar, and I made a turn into the alley
where our house was. It was unplanned, because we wanted to come during day
time, but I couldn’t stop myself. To my surprise, my two brothers went with me
(the youngest one didn’t join this trip), while the rest went to another place
along the street.
The three of us stood in front of the ruin, and carefully constructed where everything used to be. The green fence, the dining area, our room, the pipe where I used to climb to the second story (I never used stairs), and the beautiful bougainvillea tree that was growing alongside the back door. The place looked very small now that we had grown up, it used to feel like a castle to me.
I thought I would be sad, but I wasn’t. I had my fun there. We had so many fond memories and mishaps. My adventures with my three brothers were unmatched. All Gen X-ers, and we survived the way Gen X-ers did back then. We had several near deaths between us. I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to call them that. Four of us had unknowingly lit a match in a small room under the stairs used for fuel storage. The whole area was filled with gallons of them, and the four of us sat in the middle of them, playing train, and lit up the match because it was dark. The wooden match (the traditional, short match) burned my hand before we managed to light the candle, and I dropped it. It landed on the floor and was extinguished right after. Fortunately, we decided it wasn’t that fun and went out to play something else. We had fallen from the stairs (plural), from the fence, almost drowned inside the water tank, and survived fire on the roof caused by stray fireworks. There used to be a big tree in an empty field in front of our house, and we loved to climb that as well, provoking the whole nest of fire ants and whatever bugs, and that was just Tuesday afternoon.
I remembered lounging inside a fruit basket (yes, it was a gigantic basket), rocking it back and forth while enjoying the night stars in the small terrace. Our second story was not inhabited, and we kids had always believed it was haunted. There were stray cats and other small animals sometimes. Once, my big brother and I heard cats’ sounds and found a batch of kittens inside the top of one of the columns (there was a wooden cladding with an opening). Being helpful kids, we thought the kittens were stuck, so we made those cowboys’ knots to the best of our knowledge (no Google!) and tried to get and rescue the kittens. Well, they didn’t need rescue, the kittens were not abandoned, and we didn’t know how to make a cowboy’s knot. I only remembered my brother’s word asking me to run because he saw a pair of green eyes coming. It was on top of the stairs, and I fell down, hitting every step from top to bottom. There was a scary pair green-eyed goblin coming for us, which was a proper escape plan because it got me to the bottom faster! It was the mother cat, and thankfully, she moved the kitten away because of two nosy kids. The fall? I was invincible back then, not even an ouch. So, the second story was another world altogether. We loved the TV series Fun House and tried to make one there (with barely anything, of course), it became more like a haunted parkour arena.
We shared stories, invented games, because we had nothing else but our creativity to amuse ourselves. One thing was for sure: we were never bored. We were poor, but my childhood was awesome.
So, I thought I would be sad, especially because it caught me off guard looking at the ruins, but I wasn’t. Everyone I love is still in my life, and they are my home wherever I am.
I feel sadder about the town's condition. Yes, there are some upgrades and improvements, but most of those came with hefty prices. The place has become commercialized. Most people left the town, seeking better education and jobs (just like us and our parents), and they are coming back regularly to pay their respects to deceased or left-behind relatives, becoming a gold mine for those who stay.
The humble food stalls I could normally find along the street have a different target now. The prices are jacked up, and the tastes are compromised. Many of them still offer authentic taste, but it’s no longer the same to me. We could casually stroll in everywhere and had the best food, and now, everything feels commercialized. We are guests in our own hometown. Visitors, foreigners who are visiting, and those who are charged premium prices for things we are familiar with. We used to know almost everyone along the street. Now, we didn’t even see the owner of the places. Most of them were run by staff who were not locals. Everything was only business, there were no longer simple home-cooked mom-and-pop stalls.
For me, it means something. I haven’t been able to identify myself with a location because I always look different somehow. It wasn’t a problem for me, until it was. A very significant incident that made me aware of how different I was. Even when I was in a place with people who looked like me, I didn’t speak the language well. I thought my hometown would feel more like home in terms of place familiarity, but it’s no longer the case.
So, I thought the magic was lost, until, fortunately, one day, when my younger brother and I had a chance to visit our old school again. We did in the first two days, but we didn’t go in, and we were in a big group there was not much chance to explore around.
This time, we had an unexpected luck that it was a holiday season, but the school was open for competitive sports that were usually conducted in between semesters. We were free to walk in, and had the time for ourselves to even visit the classrooms, because everyone was in the field and those in lower grades were at home. The classrooms stayed pretty much the same, from the chairs to the chalkboard and teacher’s desk, the window, and the staircase landing, when I spilled my whole bag because it was broken, where everything rolled down the steps. I remember the class where my classmate stuck his little finger into a metal chair, and the fire department was called because they needed to cut the chair. The little patch of green in front of it also remained the same, although it looked tiny now compared to the huge park back then (all about perspective and children's size).
So, although the trip was below expectation in terms of food and places, I was happy to get back to the school, recognize some landmarks here and there, and get to meet my family again.
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What would you do if an alliance of famous close-encounter extraterrestrials started tracking you down with bad intent? Hit man Gary knows what he would do:
Dish out a lot of pain.
