If I was home, I'd wake up to my Mama's kisses while asking me to go help prepare. My hands will soon smell from peeling garlic, eyes watery from slicing onions and my hair will smell of smoke. Manang Loring will ask me which bowls and dishes to use for the table, where to put chairs, and what nots she knows I'd fuss about.
I'm homesick. I am missing this year's fiesta yet again. I could have had book those tickets but who knew I'd just be slacking around the office all week?
Friends and family keep sending me messages how delicious the food was at our place, who's home for the occasion and how they're all having fun. Thank you. Thank you for making me all jealous. Haha. While you all are making me regret for not coming home, I'm listening to Daft Punk, Moony, Kaskade, and Bonnie Bailey while browsing old photos of us.
When most of the guests turn to leave, we stayed to enjoy the eerie quiet. By then, everyone (well, except me and Camay) will be a bit tipsy and start getting emotional. And like every year, we make a pact to grow old like this. I challenged it then by saying, 'Oh? You guys, such romantics. We won't. I'd change. You'll change. We'll drift apart. It'll break my heart but life happens. But this right now? This is our truth. We love each other to bits. And your future Daj will look back on this with a happy heart. That I can promise.' To which you would all roll your eyes saying, 'Shut up. Stop being so rational for one second and join the pact!'
As much as I try to deny it, I still remember the pact. I'll leave you with this. It always reminds me of good, old days.
Just so you know, I miss us. I seldom say it, but I do.