I was in between jobs, trying to decide what I want to do. Or to be. I was pushing 30, unattached, and had no plans beyond the next badminton game. I was drifting, weaving in and out of traffic jams and probably giving my mom anxiety attacks.
During one particularly monstrous jam I found myself stuck in the Ortigas flyover. Resigned that I would be missing out on Felicity, I looked up and there it was: the full moon rising beyond the smog. The sight was just too beautiful. And that was when I knew that I had to come home to Sorsogon. For good.
Home was 600 kilometers away. It was—and is—a far cry from the city where I had spent most of my adult life. Manila meant nightlife, a career that fed on stress and a full dose of pop culture. Sorsogon meant breathing space, full moons, sunsets, beaches and the sheltering sky. In that one moment I decided to chuck everything in Manila and just go.
I’ve been home for 12 years now, and to this day, I am still discovering bits and pieces of this beautiful place I call home.