The One That Came Back

1.2. Changes

Jessica

I confess it gets lonely here sometimes. But that's only when I think about how much has changed and what I missed over the years.

I can't remember if I read it somewhere or someone told me, but there's this quote about leaving and coming back.

People anticipate everything to change when they leave, but they expect things to remain the same when they come back.

And I agree.

The things in this town that I wanted to stay the same have altered or are no longer there. My favorite places here either closed long ago or fail to tickle my liking anymore. As they changed, I wanted them back as to how I remembered them. But those who've witnessed those things, however slow they may have been, couldn't have felt the same way. They changed this town too.

Nigel's closed three years before I moved back. What was once a restaurant is now an apartment compound. The place is now unrecognizable to us who knew it then. The owners must've figured out that they'd earn a more stable income with real estate than food. Almost everyone nowadays has to compete with the go-to seaside place or the new B&B by the edge of a forest at the southern boundary.

The roads aren't the same too. The street names and signs are readable. The houses are also time appropriate.

Even my mom's ancestral house moved on with time. It looks the same from the outside, but it's different inside, including the people who live there now. One of my cousins and his family take charge of that place since our grandma died. My aunt told me to live there as well, but the thought never even crossed my mind. Not that I hate them, but I don't like being in somebody else's way.

I came back to start a new life, independent of my connections here.

I said it over and over in the beginning until I got tired of deceiving myself. The truth is, the people I'm connected with help me survive here. No one really gets by all alone in this quiet little town.

***

I'm a bit late for my routine Wednesday morning market run. Instead of near that block, I park in front of an old house with a dark rusty gate.

The cool thing is, I can see a glimpse of the bay and how blue it is on this summer day from this point. The downside is the public market sits a few minutes away from the local port and on the low-lying side of town. So, I have to go down the road and climb up after.

There's a used fruit basket in front of this old house. It's on top of an old chair. At first glance, they can be easily mistaken for mangoes for sale. At a closer look, something moves inside that thing. A sound that's nearly like a whimper comes with it too.

There are puppies in the basket. They're the local breed. One of them stands and raises its head up as I walk by.

It's brown and looks a lot like my Pillow Pet at home.

I bought that when Althea and I went to Singapore in 2014 to watch the Red Tour there. My sister got the bunny one, Kim picked the koala, and I had the dog. Benjie laughed at us when we came back to their apartment with stuffed toys in our arms and grins in our faces like we're young little girls.

I didn't grow up with pets. Looking back, I have no idea why.

The owner of the house, and the seller of those dogs, nods at me. She's an older lady, probably a retiree. Her grey hair is tied; her skin is saggy and sunburnt. She's wearing a dress that typical small-town women wear when inside their houses.

I point at the cardboard with the handwritten sign. "Why are they for sale?" I ask.

I also wonder why the puppies are being sold at a price that's next to nothing, but I hold back the question.