The Distance

"If you’ve never seen the distance in an immigrant’s eyes,

Then you’ve never seen resistance in the form of a cry.

...His hope...to one day return to his town,

To join his ancestors in their burial ground,

Almost forgot how the countryside sounds,

...In the distance between home and where we live,

It’s the distance between a mother and her kids

It’s the distance that keeps us apart,

And it’s the distance between my soul and my heart." -Blue Scholars

No, I'm technically not an immigrant in the U.S., but I'm definitely in withdrawal. I arrived home yesterday from my other home and as we drove around town this morning, I looked at little things around me, grasping for memories of the places that I just left -a ring statue reminds me of the circles I left behind, the clouds remind me of the sunsets at home. My mind bends itself to fit the two places into congruity -the ice of New York clashing soundly with the heat of the Philippines. My body wants to remember what I just left. My soul reaches for the spaces and images that I grew to love so much. I'm afraid of forgetting. I'm afraid of letting go. But I have to be here. And isn't it always the case that you lose or forget something when you travel that sea?

So, don't mind me if you see my eyes travel somewhere else for the briefest of moments. They're just trying to cross that distance, look back and get me back to the other side.