The Travel (part 1 of 2)

I have always been averse to traveling alone. In my few attempts, I ventured solo to the Bahamas on a cruise, and to Orlando, but neither experience resonated with me. Crowded places feel out of sync with my solo preferences—they're often better suited for families, friends, or groups. Traveling solo, as I often prefer, calls for a different ambiance, a thoughtful setting, and an itinerary tailored to solitude.

In the past, I did travel with companions. My buddy Matt was my frequent travel partner, but he’s unwell now. Together, we explored San Francisco, New Orleans, and enjoyed several weekends in Miami and Key West. Decades ago, I also traveled with fellow Filipino expatriates, exploring New Jersey, Manhattan, and Los Angeles. Other adventures included trips to Nashville and Opryland with another set of Filipino friends in the '90s, as well as long drives to Virginia and Philadelphia, the "City of Brotherly Love." Class reunions in Missouri and Louisiana also brought me on the road.

Despite these experiences, I wish I had traveled more. Life’s busyness and financial constraints often took precedence. Now, many of my old friends are either sick or have drifted away, leaving me with just memories. That’s the reality of life: as we age, our community shrinks. Friends and companions are often replaced by family, neighbors, or new circles.

For me, solitude has always been the default. I’ve grown so accustomed to being alone that the idea of constant companionship feels more burdensome than comforting. It’s a habit, and habits are hard to break. If that means a solitary and isolated existence, so be it—whatever floats my boat.

When it comes to Manila and Pampanga, however, traveling takes on a different character. Here, I reconnect with my roots—family, old friends, and a familiar community that remains alive and thriving, at least during my stays. Over the past 34 years, I’ve gone back six or seven times—though I can’t quite recall the exact number. Each visit brought unique experiences, reflecting the inevitable passage of time.

During my first visit, my siblings were young, my parents alive and energetic, and my nieces and nephews were full of youthful exuberance. Subsequent visits, however, began to reflect the passage of time: my parents grew sick, passed away, and were laid to rest. My siblings started their own families, some moving far away. Their children grew up, married, and became busy with their own lives.

On my most recent visit, even my youngest brother—the one who used to drive me around—had aged significantly. With failing eyesight, driving had become a risky endeavor. Coming home every five to six years means confronting major transformations, not all of them welcome. Time brings change, whether we like it or not.

My siblings, like me, are now in their 60s or 70s, battling various ailments. Their attempts to entertain me, though appreciated, are constrained by their own responsibilities—babysitting grandchildren, juggling work, or simply coping with the challenges of aging. My nephews and nieces, even those who came home from abroad, had their own families and itineraries.

One evening, after spending the day in Manila, my niece picked me up from a bus station in San Fernando at 10 PM after finishing her long workday. Despite her cheerfulness, I could see how exhausted she was, and I empathized deeply. I remembered my own days of working tirelessly—the last thing I’d have wanted back then was to entertain someone when all I craved was sleep.

The good thing about living alone for so long is flexibility. I’ve grown more uncomfortable in crowds than in solitude. Filipinos are naturally social and love to gather, but I’ve adapted to a life of quiet independence. Whether it’s walking alone in the park, staying home with my tenant-housemate, reading, or exploring creative outlets like Facebook Reels, YouTube Shorts, and TikTok, I’ve learned to make peace with my solitude.

If I ever feel the need for social interaction, I can chat with retired folks at the park near my house—they have all the time in the world to talk. But more often than not, I envision my retirement as one spent fishing alone, embracing the quiet.

Two years ago, I booked a trip back to Manila, and now I’m sharing that journey with you—my handful of readers (assuming you aren’t bots). The trip wasn’t filled with earth-shattering moments or wild adventures. My nephew picked me up upon arrival; his vacation from Denmark coincided with mine. Another nephew had arrived earlier from New Zealand but was off exploring Palawan with his family.
2025-01-12 07:07:42
blog