Amma Comin' Home

3 years ago I decided to move out of my parents house. Not because I had problems living there and not because I didn’t want to live with parents anymore but because, I felt the need. I needed to prove to myself that I could live on my own. I needed to understand firsthand how difficult and fulfilling it was going to be.

And now that I understood, I’m moving back home.

Ever since I moved out of my parents’ house, I was always asked by Mom to come back every chance she got. On every family gathering, lunch out, even on SMS but I always declined the offer. But in two weeks, I’ll be starting the laborious process of packing, transferring my stuff and settling back home. I feel jittery just by thinking about it. After being gone for so long, I’m actually scared to get my old life back. Back to quarreling with my siblings on a semi-weekly basis, back to the adjustment of going home early and abiding by the house rules and back to the reality that I have to spend as much as time as I have left with my aging parents. It was fun during the 3 years I was by myself. And by fun I mean difficult-scary-financially-taxing-exhausting-long-nights. And during those 3 years, I have learned so much more than I could have imagined. I’ve learned to be more responsible, less stressful and to basically take care of myself better.

I guess it wouldn’t be so bad to go back home…


Especially since I might get a car instead.

Mobility over independence.

Practicality over luxury.

Me over family.


Love letters and idealisms by Noel Abelardo