Comm1 Essay: “Home”

 If a photograph speaks a thousand words, then I’d say that just a single glimpse of our hometown would speak a million. Every day after school is a late afternoon trek back in my high school days. But time flies so fast, I’m in college now and that means i’ll be staying in a dormitory so i wont be going home all the time anymore. I guess i had all the adventure i could get. A book has chapters and i could say the same for my every-late-afternoon-trip. And each chapter has a taste of its own staccato bursts of fear, danger and humor. I had all of them pulling on my leg. Quite an adventure, I might as well say.
 “Bowowow! Bowowow!” A huge, ugly salivating bulldog covered in black fur would scare the hell out of me. It’s our neighbors’ and I had a great deal of time thinking how they had the nerve to adopt this disgusting creature. Gladly, I survived the convulsing view: its sticky mixture of saliva and snot seeping through its ecstatic nostrils, which i had to see every day. The fact that it might bite me to pieces scares me; its huge, ivory white pointed teeth are well-aligned, crafted viciously for tearing flesh. But there’s this enormous metallic cage covered with lime rust that encased the creature, and that kept me alive until today, thank God. I should say, that was one ugly, disgusting pug. But then I am reminded that not everything in life comes pretty; I’d get to face terrible things that are bounded within the bars of hope and determination. And that’s a lot tougher than steel.
 Ten steps away from that monster would be an elevated mound of earth i’d like to call “Mount Everest”. It would take a lot of effort to walk over that mountain. And a lot of air. I’d find myself gulping to succumb for more. The peak of Mount Everest would be approximately ten feet from the ground, and that’s exactly three feet taller than my basketball-player-dad. So every time the peak comes to view, I exhale all the complaints I have in life I could think about and inhale all the strength left in me. This part of the trip reminds me of a saying that goes, “Life’s a climb.” And yes, boy it’s quite a climb.
 The seconds that had me climbing to its peak would buy me some time to reminisce the moments that were memorable that day, and such. It would also give me some time to decide whether to skip dinner or not; to look at the beautiful horizon, colored in deep orange with light streaks of pinkish white; to momentarily take a look at my candlestick fingers, fingernails slightly chapped; to look back at tingling bits of flashbacks at the day’s memory. But anyways, the moment I reach the top, frankly, nothing beats the view. All my worries and all of the huffing and puffing goes away. I am mindblown. Yes, life’s a climb. But the view is great.
 After I would devour the pleasures of having stood ten feet above the mantle, a puddle of unclear water meets my acquaintance. I wondered long and hard why the water never left the spot; it has been there since forever, and if I would stare at it I’d notice small particles of green and mud. The little pond lies puny, all stagnant and untouchable, yet it is home to many bugs alike. Sometimes I find myself amused to the little skipping sounds they make. How i wish i could walk on water, too! It takes a little getting over, and a little trust in my legs and–I’m onto the other side of the puddle. I’m onto another chapter. There are things I find hard to let go. There are choices I have to critically decide to change things the way they used to be, to forget the past and live in the now. But sometimes, a little jump is all.
 When all the sprinting and the climbing and the hopping has been done, I would finally find serenity within a thin opening; a narrow road that leads a view of a slice on the ground where clear water sprouts from unseen cracks beneath the cemented earth; a narrow road that intensifies footsteps and echoes the voices my good old rugged school shoes make; a narrow road where there is calm restoration, and a slush of moving waters. A touch of nature in man’s artifice. Peace after the day’s hike and so will my fate be. So will everybody’s ultimate fate be.
 The narrow road collapses, giving birth to a fortress of hanged plants and fully grown flowering shrubs. Tall leaves hung low to kiss the ground, a beautiful garden of plants in some sorts; plants rooted to the earth, some in pots. A wall of mint green covers the whole scene and a huge orange gate demands attention. And every time I inch forward to that gate, I smell all sorts of goodness. The scent of seared lean meat, tendered with fresh spices like pepper, and deliciously roasted. The good smell of hot boiling utan bisaya, all welling up the rounds of my belly. My mouth would painfully water.
 I wasn’t raised to so much grandieur and silver platters, but I know this: there is no place like home. As a matter of fact, I find myself going back to time, thinking about all the fun i actually miss. Growing up sucks.
 But growing up has its perks. We commit mistakes and then we learn. That’s the beauty of it. It’s a beautiful mess. All the monsters I had encountered, all the mountains I climbed, the puddles i jumped; all of them are pointless if it weren’t for the final, grand destination. And I would be beyond excited to hurdle over all those things if it would be home.

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