Travel

Almost eleven years had passed since I last set foot in Cuyo, and when the chance to return finally arose, I took it without hesitation. It was there, surrounded by relatives on my mother’s side, that we gathered to share stories—each one flowing like a song from the past. I heard stories about my lolo, whom I never met, but whose memory lived on in the words of those who still remembered him. My lola’s love also echoed in their voices, as warm and enduring as ever. As I wandered the lands they once called home, I felt their presence in the breeze from the sea, the rustle of the leaves, and the well-worn paths. In that moment, I made a silent promise to return more often, to honor their memories, and let them lead me back home.

Matamang salamat, Cuyo! ☺️