My Bed, My Toilet Seat
It's a bittersweet feeling, being back. I remember the drive back in Michael's car, and while I was crying against Dean's shoulder and he was trying to soothe me in a brotherly way by rubbing my knee, I thought to myself, "I have nothing in Canada; everybody is here."
Maybe Canada has vending machines and proper toilet seats with clean floors and no ants on the walls, but I realized on my way to the airport that everybody that ever mattered the world to me originated from that third world country. Even being back now gives me that feeling, and I get the sense that I can just step out of this picture and walk right back up the street, open the gate, and hug everyone again. Knowing them is the most dynamic thing that ever happened to me, and I hate the idea that I still have cousins - the cousins that I grew up with - that haven't met them yet. Throughout life I've learned that first cousins can leave such an impact; they become like siblings that you depend on, that you can't live without.
I was looking at photographs yesterday from the trip, and I started tearing up when I saw the picture of Dean that my sister took just before he left. I nearly cried when I got Michael's email yesterday. I nearly cried several times through the duration of being back; not out of sadness but in memory as such. My God, I MISS them.
It was hard to think otherwise; to me it's difficult to understand how far away they are, when all I did to get there was sit on a plane for sixteen hours, feeling as if I was going nowhere. And as to where I left, it was ten degrees, and when I arrived it was plus thirty, hot and humid, palm trees and smog in Manila. And the first person I saw and recognized was Michael, wearing glasses now, and I was so filled with excitement that I wanted to run and hug him again even when I couldn't when it was so crowded and I was pushing a cart with all my luggage.
He was the last person I saw. He and I had a bond, both being first borns, and if it wasn't for the night that we spent talking together when I decided not to go to the circus, I wouldn't have felt so close. He emailed me saying that he hated to see my cry, that I was a sister to him. That meant too much, but it doesn't make me cry. Even when Dean left and I turned back to see him walking away, I smiled instead. Family always has to break apart but they always meet up again.
I can't view my website from my own computer. It really pisses me off. Originally I wanted to make an entire Livejournal post dedicated to the anger that spurred from it, even after Steve kindly offered all the help he could to get me out of the dilemma, but writing about my family felt like the better thing to do. I also got to post photos this way, which is - in my idea - a lot more interesting.
Maybe Canada has vending machines and proper toilet seats with clean floors and no ants on the walls, but I realized on my way to the airport that everybody that ever mattered the world to me originated from that third world country. Even being back now gives me that feeling, and I get the sense that I can just step out of this picture and walk right back up the street, open the gate, and hug everyone again. Knowing them is the most dynamic thing that ever happened to me, and I hate the idea that I still have cousins - the cousins that I grew up with - that haven't met them yet. Throughout life I've learned that first cousins can leave such an impact; they become like siblings that you depend on, that you can't live without.
I was looking at photographs yesterday from the trip, and I started tearing up when I saw the picture of Dean that my sister took just before he left. I nearly cried when I got Michael's email yesterday. I nearly cried several times through the duration of being back; not out of sadness but in memory as such. My God, I MISS them.
It was hard to think otherwise; to me it's difficult to understand how far away they are, when all I did to get there was sit on a plane for sixteen hours, feeling as if I was going nowhere. And as to where I left, it was ten degrees, and when I arrived it was plus thirty, hot and humid, palm trees and smog in Manila. And the first person I saw and recognized was Michael, wearing glasses now, and I was so filled with excitement that I wanted to run and hug him again even when I couldn't when it was so crowded and I was pushing a cart with all my luggage.
He was the last person I saw. He and I had a bond, both being first borns, and if it wasn't for the night that we spent talking together when I decided not to go to the circus, I wouldn't have felt so close. He emailed me saying that he hated to see my cry, that I was a sister to him. That meant too much, but it doesn't make me cry. Even when Dean left and I turned back to see him walking away, I smiled instead. Family always has to break apart but they always meet up again.
I can't view my website from my own computer. It really pisses me off. Originally I wanted to make an entire Livejournal post dedicated to the anger that spurred from it, even after Steve kindly offered all the help he could to get me out of the dilemma, but writing about my family felt like the better thing to do. I also got to post photos this way, which is - in my idea - a lot more interesting.