There's nothing like seeing old friends and family who you haven't seen in years to get your memory jumpstarted into a time machine. Memoirs that were kept locked up in cortex vaults suddenly reappear, but the most nostalgic feeling that I've had crept up on me today. I went back to my old high school. [Although the Philippine school year should have started this past week, many delayed their classes due to the H1N1 buzz; so the classrooms and halls were nicely empty for me to wander around.] There's nothing like walking the halls of buildings where you really grew up that gives you a nostalgic feeling in your twenties -- going back to Woodrose, seeing old teachers still there, and remembering some of the great ups and downs of high school transported me to seemingly different dimension.
I've decided that this entire first leg of my trip, from the beginning in New York to San Francisco, to Phoenix, to LA, to Manila, has been a somewhat spiritual and nostalgic journey to get back to my roots. It's kind of funny that most people move to New York to "find themselves" - and here I am, leaving New York to "find" myself.
To be continued...
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