Kyusee is happy

Today is QC day. And I’m happy. Not only for the fact that I’d be free from office and day’s work, but remembering the city’s special day brings influx of memories from my childhood—good, bad and senseless ones.

I lived in the city for more than a decade before finding another love here in Rizal. (Well, I’m just starting to familiarize myself with this simple and tranquil suburban.) I spent my elementary and high school days in the city and half of my college years as well, which turned out to be a difficult yet thrilling transition.

I met a lot of friends there. And made some enemies, I guessed (whom I forgot, if I had). I trudged
Quezon Avenue on rainy days with my sister. I memorized the prices of goods in Hi-top. I practiced school activities in QC Memorial Circle, and even biked and played in its playground. A lot of things have changed and continue changing inside the big city. There are new landmarks, supermarkets and sprouting buildings of call centers and condominiums.

When I think about its old appeal to my young soul, I just miss the church in Examiner Street and the National Bookstore in Sct. Borromeo branch now with faded placard. I also miss Times Street where I lived most of my childhood days, now seems alien to me whenever I hear it mentioned on TV.

I even thought, I was destined to grow in West Triangle and become a journalist someday—as some of the streets are named after newspapers.

I made myself believed when I was in elementary that I’d be working in a broadsheet after I gave up the Accountant dream which was unfounded considering my dread with Math. But that dream too has ceased. I guess.

I know I want to write, but not to be called a journalist. Don’t get me wrong though. I love the profession; I still get a chill in my spine whenever I meet a journalist or even hear the word. I just feel for now that I just don’t belong to the classification.

I still want to write. I just haven’t found my voice yet, and I’m still figuring out where it would be coming from and where my message will be heading. This dream was born in QC. From my antagonistic and rebellious poems, school essays swimming in grammar blunders, elementary news articles, unfinished comics stories, and letters to my friends my dream of becoming a writer gradually grew.

Until now, I still hold on to this dream. And still holding on to the city that nurtured my mind and heart and soul. Long-lived Quezon City! Many more dreams will be born under your wings.

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