“… I can still remember, how that music used to make me smile…“
32 years ago today, I moved to Canada to be with my mom.
I left the Philippines thinking I had a plan.
I didn’t. There was no plan.
I just knew I was going somewhere new, and that felt good enough at the time.
Somewhere along the way, I reached the point where I’ve now lived longer in North America than I ever did back home.
I’m not sure when that happened.
One day I was new, and the next thing I knew
I was explaining how to make rice to people like I invented it.
I spent seventeen of those years in Florida too, so I’ve experienced both versions of North America.
I’ve gone from sweating in the heat to stepping outside in winter
and immediately questioning my life choices.
This day also reminds me how many times I’ve started over.
Philippines, Canada, the U.S., then back to Canada again.
Different places. Different versions of life.
Every move felt like hitting a reset button.
Well, you know what? Maybe it’s time to do that again.
Not to press reset or reinvent, but just to get to know myself again.
The music I used to listen to. The music I used to play.
The way I used to think before life got loud.
Before it hurt.
Like I went to a Rock concert
and ended up in front of the guitar player’s Marshall stack speakers.
I still think about the old days a lot.
Me and my friends, hanging out for hours doing nothing, laughing at the dumbest things.
Somehow those were the best days.
And my dad.
I remember random moments like they just happened.
Things that didn’t feel important back then mean everything now.
You really don’t know when it will be the last time you see someone.
I didn’t know that day was the last time I would see him.
If I had known, I probably would have stayed a little longer.
Just to talk more. Be with him more.
Also, check out these photos.
That’s my mom at the Ottawa airport, waiting for me.
The other is when I arrived, hugging each other tight like no time had passed.
My parents are both gone now, and memories hit very differently these days.
They mean so much more than they used to.
Looking back, not all my decisions were good. Some worked out. Some I regret.
I’ve even thought about reaching out to people I have wronged.
Just to try and make things right.
But I also know not everyone thinks like that.
Some people who have wronged me would never do the same.
I guess that’s part of life.
Knowing what you can fix and what you just have to leave alone.
Well, here I stand (or sit).
Life keeps moving.
You make your choices and deal with where they take you.
Somehow, all of mine led me here.
And after all these years, I still don’t fully know what I am.
Filipino? Canadian? Musician?
Something in between?
It depends on who I’m talking to, I guess.
Maybe that’s the point.
I don’t know.
This post probably stopped making sense somewhere.
I guess what I’m trying to say is this:
I miss where I came from.
I am grateful for where I am.
I am still figuring things out after all these years,
just with more memories,
a dad bod,
and way less hair.
“..but something touched me deep inside,
the day the music died.”
Well, I suppose the music isn’t gone. It just sounds different now.
