By: Joseph Obsenada; Artwork by Zamantha Guanlao
As I wake up to the chilly atmosphere of my room, I would sit by the window and reminisce those good old days and fondest memories of “home.”
The winter mornings of the “ber” months would always start off with a warm cup of milo made by my loving mother. As hard as it was to get out of bed, it was harder for me to take a shower on a chilly day.
On days when I missed my school bus, I’d always walk and feel the warm morning sunbeams. The chilly breeze would brush through my freezing face. I’ve seen the teeth chattering of some cartoon characters whenever they’re freezing. It’s so cool that I get to experience the same thing while walking to school.
At noontime, the weather would have been warmed up nicely, but there was a hint of inescapable coldness. The temperature was just right for me, though. Sometimes, I’d walk back home with my best friends and we’d just talk about random stuff. We know that we’ll head on to live our own separate lives and eventually part ways, but one of us would always release a light and candid banter to brighten up the mood.
There were sad walks as well, but those were the most memorable ones. It’s forever etched on my heart. On the brighter side, the boys and I would head on to the nearest canteen at lunchtime. We would playfully joke around while heading toward our destination.
To this day, I would count my lucky stars and thank the man in the clouds that I had been able to meet those unforgettable folks. The odds of a Saudi Arabian, Pakistani, Filipino, Bengali-American, Bengali-Singaporean, and a Vietnamese-Filipino meeting together in one high school still baffles me up to this day.
On somber days of the winter season, I would find myself feeling alone, depressed, and anxious. I would stroll around a nearby park and look for an empty bench facing the lake. The view itself was refreshing, to say the least. The park was my go-to place. I would spend time to reflect on my actions. That park was the same place where I played football during my younger years. I usually get a euphoric feeling whenever I was there. In a way, that place served as the link to my past. It really reminded me of where I came from, of who I was, and of what I wanted to become.
As time goes by, I pray that these memories would not fade away as I morph into the mature man that I’m meant to be. These memories are one of the reasons why I still push myself to pursue my dreams. It’s that desire to live a quiet and successful life and eventually come back to the place which I can call my ‘home’ during the winter. It’s that place where I can just sit on the bench facing the lake and say to myself…
“I did it; we did it, young me. We made it!”
I miss my home!
