It’s been over a month since my first visit to the Philippines and it’s only now that courage has graced me. Yes, the courage to talk about it or at least put things into writing. The courage to face my blog and my feelings.

It was a good 7 days.

I got to take public commute on my own and while on the front passenger seat of dusty and rusty old jeepneys, Adele’s ‘Hometown Glory’ is playing in my head. Manila looked very worn and old to me, like a long forgotten object of hate and neglect. At one point during the seven days, I even screamed ‘I am never coming back!!!!’ in Swedish.

Capturing nostalgia was more than a muster and a push. It was close to impossible unless one was ready to get mugged. Everyone warned me never to fiddle with a gadget on a jeepney or I’ll have to part with it forcibly, probably even worse.

It was reuniting with High School classmates that lit the fireworks of the visit. Suddenly, homesickness plagued me while dragging my grocery- loaded suitcase to the dilapidated NAIA 1 Terminal.

It was over before I knew it. Relief hit me like a shot of tequila while sitting on a taxi-ing Boeing 747. Ahhh…I’m good to go for another 10 years.

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