Home but not at home on a Wednesday night

I feel like it’s already a Saturday night. I feel like tomorrow, when I wake up, I’d have to get ready for church and expect to wolf down delectable food for lunch before I head back to Ortigas.

But that’s not the case. Because it’s only a Wednesday evening. I’m only here because I need to get a copy of my ITR from my previous employer in the morning. The story ends the same though — me going back to Ortigas by tomorrow evening.

It’s funny how I’ve associated the home I’ve lived in for forever to a mere weekend. There’s this disconnect that makes me feel like I don’t belong here on a Wednesday night. That it’s only for the weekend. It’s only for when I need to be away from my present reality.

Maybe I have truly moved out. Maybe this is what it’s like to visit your hometown and not really be home. Maybe this is what independent people feel when they go home for the weekend to unwind and escape. It’s all so surreal to me.

Tonight, I feel like an alien in a familiar place.


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