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In with the wind

I've done a lot of moving around in the past couple of months, so travelling here yesterday didn't feel as big a deal as it usually does. I walked into my room and felt completely blank. Tossed my stuff onto the bed and plugged my laptop in as if I'd always done that at the end of the day, in this house.

But maybe that's the sign I'm home--the blankness. I always feel a little sad when I go to my room at the boarding house at the end of a day in the city, or anxious, or a little angry. Here, it's as if everything is as it should be.

The only other place I feel that way these days is at Martin's house in Paranaque.

There are other, more prominent signs than a blankness, of course. In the car, Mikko pointed out that the last time our whole family was complete was at Christmas last year. "So, we haven't been together in a year," he said. Man.

Whenever I go to bed here for the first night back in Kalsangi, I feel a bit of dissonance. Just last night, I was sleeping in Ortigas/QC/Merville. Suddenly I'm here. My mind tries to recover, I think, after stepping so abruptly from one world into another. I didn't get that feeling last night--maybe it hasn't sunk in yet that I'm back, or maybe, like I said, it's because I've done so much moving around. But I got another sign and a little dissonance when I woke up and saw a childhood painting on the wall. The wind came into my room and opened the door--kind of freaky, if you don't remember physics for a moment and see an inward-opening door being pried open by wind from across the room.

Waking up and writing something first thing, that isn't strange; I do that in the city, too. But I'm hearing the footsteps of my dad going to the bathroom before he heads for work. I'm smelling a hint of whatever is on the breakfast table today. I'm a little afraid to look out my window and see the view I've always had from my bedroom.

Holy shit, the last time I slept in my own bed was in February.

Okay, it's coming down on me now. Dad, breakfast tables, unkempt bougainvillea, sitting on my bed in my effing room. I think my mind's chosen to take it piece by piece, rather than hitting me with it all at once. Slowly, slowly, I'm coming home.

--
It's Christmas Eve here. Merry Christmas to you and yours. :)

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The Last Time I Was Here

January 2012
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