I flew back to the Philippines last November 7, exactly 27 years after my birth. I was initially not planning to take a two-week vacation off the endless list of PhD chores, but urgent matters at home sucked the last drop of sanity such that I decided to board the earliest flight I could possibly hop into. The earliest possible flight was on my birthday as I had to attend a conference and a symposium a week before that. I was so ecstatic to finally see my grandma, who had been sick since September. The last time we Skyped, she asked me when I would go home because she badly wanted to see me. My parents and brother greeted me at the airport with their warm hugs; and as soon as I entered the car, a box of happy-birthday-cake "greeted me" with exuberance. I blew the candle while forgetting to cast a wish as I had a long list of wishes for this year; I did not know what to ask for first. Nevertheless, I was making countless wishes while my dad was driving us all home. When I arrived home, I dropped my luggage and hastily ran to my room where my grandma was sleeping. I was hoping to see her face light up when she would finally see me again. I turned the lights on and the pink walls seemed to exude the vibrant energy which I stored in my room for years. In the middle of the room, was my grandma! I crawled to her bed and gently shook her to wake her up. Her eyes flickered and gazed at mine. Ten seconds past and she was still as though gazing at the seemingly boundless universe filled with void. I gently shook her again and said, "grandma, I'm home!" Her eyes pierced the shadows of the memories we shared. She did not remember me!
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