This is a work of fiction.
Waving my hand with a smile and warm holiday greetings, I bid my classmates farewell for the last time this year.
As I make my way through the empty halls of Palma Hall and down the street, I can already imagine the sweet smell of hamonada wafting through the air and the bustle of my family members as we prepare for Misa de Gallo.
I cannot get ahead of myself though. I still have a few projects to pass before I am in the clear. It has been a long and tiring semester, and the only thing that is keeping me going is the promise of home.
In just a few short days, I would not have to worry about what or where to eat, or whether I will make it to class on time. For the first time in months, I will finally be able to get a good night’s rest.
It is no easy feat to live so far from your family and take care of yourself while also managing your academics. I deserve a pat on the back.
The incoming Ikot jeepney slows to a stop. I step aboard and appreciate how the late afternoon sun streams through the windows, bathing everything in a golden light.
At each stop, more passengers squeeze into the jeepney. Students with weary expressions clutch intricate models made of illustration boards while young children with backpacks chatter excitedly with friends, their laughter mingling with the hum of the ride.
Watching them, I cannot help but wonder if they share the same excitement I feel about heading home for the holidays.
I get off near Area 2 to buy dinner. Winding my way through the bustling street one last time this year, I finally reach my destination—one of the area’s small karinderias.
The karinderia has been the closest thing I have had to home these past few months. Their dishes taste similar to how my Lola makes them. The atmosphere reminds me of our own kitchen and dining room. The Manang at the cash register talks to me as if I were a member of her own family.
“Pauwi ka na ba, Inday?” Manang asked after greeting me.
“Opo,” I responded with a smile. “Excited na ako.”
With a grin, she tells me they are closing the shop for Christmas to spend time in their home province.
I ordered pork sinigang to go, as I still have to pack for my return trip. I bid goodbye to Manang before starting on my route back to my dorm.
As I round the corner, a voice calls out to me.
“Ate, Merry Christmas! Bili ka na ng Angpao.”
I am greeted by the sight of a young girl, about 8 years old, carrying a basket full of red envelopes, some small and some large.
“40 pesos lang ang sampung maliit, tsaka 60 pesos naman ‘yung sampung malaki.”
I purchased a small pack of 10 angpaos from her and she thanked me, before skipping away in search of another customer. As I watch her from behind, I cannot help but wonder if she has a place to call home for Christmas.
Silently, I pray that she does.
Heading back to our dorm, I nod to the guard on duty as he acknowledges my presence. It is mostly quiet in the corridors. Almost everyone has gone home already. The only signs of life were the faint sounds of fingers tapping against keyboard keys and the soft hum of electric fans at low speed. Without them, the hall feels completely deserted.
Despite the eerie silence, I know that within these walls, there are still students racing to meet their final deadlines. I also know that some would not be able to go home during the break. I hope that homesickness will not weigh too heavily on them.
Once I got to my room, I immediately began packing so I could spend the next few days finishing my final projects. I took my dinner and got myself ready for bed. As I turned off the lights and lay down in the dark, my suitcase ready to go and my desk mostly cleared, I could not sleep.
I am ecstatic about going home, but I also cannot stop thinking of those who do not have the same privilege as I do.
Will the little girl who sold me Angpao be able to sleep somewhere warm tonight?
Will my dormmates spend their Christmas Eve alone?
Closing my eyes, I offer a silent prayer, hoping that somehow, they can find a sense of home this holiday season.