In my first week in the USA, I had a moment where I closed my eyes and wished I could open them back in my room in the Philippines. I cried. I’m not saying that to be dramatic, it’s just what happened. If I’m being more honest, it was a rush of homesickness, the kind where you wish your home in the Philippines was just down the street, so you could simply walk over, knock on the door, and be back home again. I can laugh about it now, but in that moment, it wasn’t easy at all.
That day, everything was fine on the surface. We enjoyed an afternoon date with my then-fiancé. But as we drove around, we passed almost-empty parks—massive playgrounds with barely anyone in them. I remember thinking how strange it felt: the streets seemed so empty, yet there were so many cars everywhere.
It made me think of home. Where I grew up in the Philippines, we didn’t really have large parks like these. I found myself wishing we did—big open spaces where kids could just play and hang out.
Most people where I grew up rely on public transportation, so you naturally see more people walking around. You see students walking to and from school, laughing and talking with friends, just enjoying the walk. Life feels more visible that way.
I later realized that in many places in the USA, people rely heavily on driving, so you don’t see as many people walking around as I was used to, at least in the area where I live.
Later that evening, I went back to my cousin’s house, where I was staying at the time. It was dinner time, and I noticed again how quiet the neighborhood was, even though cars lined the streets.
When I was finally alone in my room, it hit me how much life had changed in just a week.
I suddenly missed the things I used to overlook back home, people walking on the streets, neighbors hanging out outside their houses, and even the neighbor’s karaoke that used to annoy me at times (even though I actually loved karaoke).
That week stayed with me more than I expected.
Fast forward to today, I sometimes find it strange to see someone walking—not for exercise, just walking. My first thought now is that they might be lost. It’s funny how that has changed, because I used to find it strange not to see people walking on busy streets. The irony of it all is not lost on me.
Over time, I began to see Texas in a new light.
It may be quieter than what I grew up with, but it has its own vibe, and a beauty I’ve come to appreciate.
I used to wish I could walk back home in an instant. Now I just understand what it means to miss a place deeply—and still slowly grow into another one.
Bisaya Word of the Post
gimingaw (gee-mee-ngaw) - to deeply miss someone, a place, or a feeling of home
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