The Wind Carries My Story

A breeze found its way through my window as I instinctively took a deep breath. A sudden feeling of nostalgia washed over my body - one that you get with a familiar scent from childhood. A thousand miles away but the wind carried my memories all the way here. All my life I’ve always considered the Philippines as my home, I am Filipino after all. I wasn’t born here though. Away from family, my parents took off to Scotland in hopes for a better life like all Overseas Filipino Workers dream of. There they had me, their firstborn whom they showered with love and sheltered from the harsh world outside.

I recall the strong scent of garlic and onions being sauteed fill the whole house, then the sound of the sizzling pork with the perfect combination of soy sauce and vinegar. I knew then that lunch was going to be great. “Wow our ulam is adobo!” I shrieked as my mom filled my plate with steaming white rice and my dad poured some of the adobo sauce on top of it. Adobo always felt like home and with every bite my heart was filled with joy. I always wondered why I couldn’t have adobo as packed lunch at school, but I never really asked. I took a peek into my lunch box and there was a sandwich and a juice pack. At the table everyone else had sandwiches and juice packs. I found myself asking a friend, “What do you have as ulam at home?” to which she looked at me with a confused face. “What is ulam? ” Then, I realized that ulam wasn’t an English word. I had always used that word at home so casually.

At five and a half years old, came back to the Philippines with my parents decision. It wasn’t the first time I had met my family there since we did go on vacations in the past but this time around felt different. It was almost as if I was meeting and getting to know them again for the first time. I recall playing with my cousin who’s around the same age as me. We role-played a vendor and a customer, she bought a bag of oranges from me. “That’s one pound, ma’am,” I said to which she replied with a confused face, “No, not pound, peso.” We argued for a good minute then laughed it off. She mostly spoke Filipino while I spoke English. After years, we met in the middle, learning both languages as we went on. Life was good here, this place felt so warm and I was at peace. My grandparents cooked me dishes I would never forget. My aunts and uncles brought me to places I’ve never been to. My sister was born here. I even made friends very easily at school, it was as if everyone was family here. I also ate all the adobo I wanted. The Philippines really felt like home.

After 4 years, my parents decided to move back again to Scotland. I was sad of course, leaving behind the new life I had created here and starting anew once again. It was more difficult this time knowing that I left a life I could’ve had. Making friends was even more difficult than before, I’ve always been a shy kid. At first, it was all hi’s and hello’s welcoming me as the transferee from the Philippines. Days passed and I felt lonelier than ever. I thought I would make friends easily because everyone looked nice, but I never had any permanent friends - the ones you hang out with every day. Everyone loved lunch time but I didn’t. Worrying if I had somewhere to sit at the table because I knew no one would reserve a seat for me, going out in the fields standing awkwardly while the other kids ran around. One day, two best friends had a huge fight. They were known as inseparable best friends so this argument they had at the playground created a huge fuss. One of them screamed and said that she hated her best friend and that I was going to be her new best friend now. Not having anyone take notice of me until then, I was actually excited that someone said I was going to be their best friend. Not long after, I was alone again. Trying so hard to fit in, bringing sandwiches for lunch, practicing my accent so my Filipino side won’t come out.

 It was difficult and my parents saw that. I wonder how much they’ve suffered as well in a foreign country away from family. As we were planning to come home to the Philippines again, that was when I made two genuine friends but I told them I was leaving soon. They were happy for me and gave me a key chain as a goodbye gift. That was the first time I felt like I didn’t want to leave.

As a young as I was, it was difficult to adjust. Having to move back and forth, I was confused as to where home was. I asked my sister once if she had remembered anything from living in Scotland. She says that she doesn’t remember much and that it was just a small segment of her childhood. That’s right. She was too young to be too affected by it. I was glad that all she had were good memories.

I snapped back to reality as I closed my windows. I rummaged for a pencil to jot down my thoughts as a key chain fell out of my pencil case. I definitely am happier here. I wonder how my friends from Scotland are doing, we were too young to exchange socials so I’ve lost all contact with them. It’s been years since we came here for good, I remember everything in a blur. I don’t regret nor blame my parents for anything. My mom calls me down for dinner as I smell the familiar scent of garlic, onions, pork, soy sauce, and vinegar. Adobo is our ulam tonight and I couldn’t be happier. Another breeze found its way through my window but this time I feel warm. The wind carries my story. I’m home now and I finally feel like I belong.