my hometown--bacolod city, philippines

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I feel nowhere at home but in Bacolod. The all-so-familiar straight streets, the mild smell of asphalt roads against the 9 o’clock sun, the sidewalk shanties along the highway—all these contribute to the sensory delights that have freely deposited themselves in my subconscious and which I have since related to as the memory that I call home. However, despite the settling feeling that I get whenever I roam around this city, I also get the unsettling feeling that perhaps I am supposed to be part of larger world which I am to explore? I feel such a strong affinity to the languages of Europe, to the streets of Morocco, to the castles of Sweden, to the romance of Greece, to the antiquity of Egypt, to the serenity of Nepal, the festivities of Prague… I am not sure, but was I born in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or was a born a wanderer? I’m not sure if wandering is an appropriate term, because I am not prone to wander off even in this city, like to go malling and stuff. But I would rather discover new locales and fresh flavors…perhaps, a discoverer, then?