I write to prove my existence and sometimes to escape it.

When my dad got the chance to go back to his village to witness an old dance performed by the villagers, I tagged along with him. I don’t know why though. It was a rural village with traditional 2 storied houses that were built using bricks and the most perfect place to grow potatoes in the country.

We were going from the West to the east and it was going to be a long 2 days ride. But never the less, it was my dad’s village and I wanted to capture some good photographs. I packed my bags and my Nikon camera for the 3 days trip, never expecting the journey I was going to witness.

There was an air of excitement all around him as we neared the house he used to live in with his 6 brothers and 3 sisters. His usual bored look was now replaced with eyes that were as wide and vigilant as a birds’. His yellow stained teeth from chewing too much tobacco were gleaming in the equally yellow sun.

He was back, to his kingdom of childhood.

I remembered coming here to visit my aunty one time who stayed behind as all her siblings went away to continue their education including my Dad. Her husband continued to live her all alone even as she passed away in the winter of 2012.

As my Dad showed me around the house, which was hidden away in the midst of trees and plants, it looked beautiful as the sunlight seeped in where the braches would let it.
He was narrating out his stories loudly and proudly as if a king were talking to his closest subordinates.

I started to see my uncles and aunties racing each other in the fields and plucking oranges from the tress. Crying and laughing together the way it should be.
This proved that life was once loved and celebrated on this land. Throughout his stories I could sense his love for his late sister and his late father.

When it was time to head back home, he did not feel sad leaving behind his village but in fact felt contempt and rejuvenated with life again. He had a taste of the old life when no one was gone and it was a small happy family. That was what his village meant to him but he had to face reality again.
They had all moved on.
It was then that I realized travelling was more than just visiting places. It was making memories and letting the places you go to, touch you and become a part of you.

It is really all the adventures you have, the friendships you make and the love you feel that make your heart warm and the only thing you can take when you pass this world.