Coming Home

 I placed my self worth in the hands of someone else, and I let it break me.

I was naive thinking someone could offer me part of a world I've been so desperately trying to be a part of, and that they'd dangle it just out of reach, ready to pull it back. 

Left with a feeling that they set it on fire and left you scrambling to hold on to the ashes that remain, a sharp ache in its place.

A foolish and futile thought that a singular individual would be the answer to your fragile and fragmented identity issues - if they just let you in and accepted you, chose you, that it would signal something.
You would be enough - good enough, Filipino enough, if this one person could care about you and let you in then you would belong. You would fit.

Something snapped. 

I wrote that back in February and it is now May.

Before running to Japan for my planned vacation, I ended up deciding to continue my time abroad. 

I came to Asia seeking novelty and new experiences; firsts. Japan is somewhere I always dreamed of going, and doing it now seems serendipitous. It’s almost like it came when I needed it - a type of reset. 

Things happened to align to see my family in the Philippines, in hopes that I could reach the feeling of love and community I realized I was desperately missing. Up until this point, although searching, thought I was fine without it, trusting it might come one day, maybe far in future. As things happen, the family I was reaching out for did not come to me in blood, but in relationships I built in the aftermath of a “loss”. The whole, one door shuts and more open cliche thing? However, despite all the silver linings, heartfelt conversations and supportive hands I’ve held, I grieve. 

I’m always thinking I’m fine, and then all of a sudden it’s not anymore. And to be honest, I can’t even tell you if I’m fine now. I assume perhaps I’m only distracted and still haven’t worked through everything I need to work through. In this moment, I feel slightly numb, unable to sift through my own thoughts. They feel jumbled and confusing, with no where to go. No one gave me a road map to my own mind, let alone my broken self worth and identity. So here I am, in the hot and humid climates of Manila, trying to piece myself back together while simultaneously melting into a puddle. 

My days have blended into each other, giving me both reprieve and many moments of heartache. I miss what I cannot have, a false reality like an alternate world I woke up into. I’ve been fighting a sense of dread and despair knowing I leave this behind to return to a normalcy that now feels incredibly unfamiliar. My trip has brought me many tears of joy along with sad ones, but these next few days I know will be a type of burden on my heart. I will leave my mother here, along with so many new beautiful people I’ve met along the way, with some forgone goodbyes and no return date set. I also sit here acknowledging how little I’ve dealt with my feelings, and although on the recommendation of my psychologist to (and I quote) “fuck it” until I get home, I’m always wondering how this will unpack. I assume a lot more difficult than my luggages that will lay on my floor for 5 to 10 business days before I get all of it sorted.

I read somewhere recently that love was never meant to be earned, only received. I stared at it, my chest heavy with a knowledge that I’m still bending backwards, over explaining and molding myself. All to gain this love and acceptance of a country’s people I thought I was supposed to always naturally be integrated into, and finding out too late that it was never the case. I write this, almost like a sad love letter to myself, so that I can ease into wading though these feelings at a later date. Hopefully with softer eyes and a lighter heart, and with the appreciation of all the good things that the Manila skyline gave me. 

(p.s. staying at Hotel101 on the 26th floor has been the bomb dot com for anyone who cares to know). 

Author's note: this piece was edited again in July, to be more concise and frankly, palatable.