A couple of years ago, every Wednesday afternoon my dad prepares to go to Bicol. If I’m at home after class, I usually help him carry his luggage to our subdivision’s gate so he can wait for a ride to the bus terminal at Cubao. He does this every week, and goes back here in Manila on Sundays, or sometimes Monday’s. This is because he (a doctor/physician) has a clinic at Bicol. Actually it was 2 clinics, one is at Naga and the other at Legaspi. I got a chance to see it both when I went with him one time during my sembreak at college. That “one time” I had spent with my dad, going to Bicol and visiting places, was like a bonding time for us. And yes, I’m more close with my dad than with my mom, since he raised me on his own.
Today on my way home, I passed by the bus terminal in-front of Ali-Mall at Cubao. I remembered that same street my dad always passes through to get to the bus terminal. That same terminal which I “seldom” go to because of the fact that I don’t want to go back to the place where I was born from.
That memory lane where the memories of my dad still lingers deep within the recesses of my thoughts. My dad, whom I always disobey because of my rebellious attitude and my hardheadedness, is one of the closest people in my life. Who still helped me and supported me until the last days of his life.
I know that in the course of my life, I would only take that trip down to memory lane if one day I decided to visit my birth place. I never expected that day would be the day after tomorrow. I have to go with my mom because of a family reunion on my mother side was imminent to happen this weekend.
And the next time I go to that same lane, will be after a couple of years or maybe never again at all.
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