Popo's home

I was led to climb up the meandering routes along fishing ponds and rice fields. Baba or uncles always had to stop their bicycles or motorbikes and push them upward. I would jump off and walk along. Stories of neighbors falling into the pond at night on the way back home were the neighborhood entertainment at the time. 

Behind the cluster of bamboo trees that belonged to our next-door neighbor, to my astoundment, the fish pond below my popo's little vegetable patch was filled with water. White fog billowed over the surface of the water, revealing the pellucid nature of it. My eyes were fixated on the yellow and brown mucky mud bed mosaic. How crystal clear the body of water was, I was instantly mesmerized.  

"Water! Wow! I don't remember the last time I saw it..." "Do they still have fish in it?" "Wait, am I back?" "Am I really here?!" My mind went a mile a minute, and my breath was filled with exhilaration and apprehension. 

As I felt both heaviness and lightness on my feet, I found myself running towards that gate, that silver metal gate attached to the gray cement wall.

"Popo?!" I called out before I pushed the gate open. 

"Momo!" She stood there and opened her arms. 

As I landed in my popo's embrace, I was enveloped in instant warmth. I lifted up my head and saw her big smile. 

I couldn't say goodbye to my popo when she passed away, but one day in February of 2025, I united with my popo in 1997 in the old house I grew up calling "Popo's home".

It has always been "Popo's home", where I heard birds and crickets orchestra, made firefly lamps, where I had my "stinky egg" for a year and lost him, where we went on countless "expeditions" deep into the mountains and forests, where we splashed icy stream water and sang loud songs, where I was allowed to be free momentarily.

It has always been "Popo's home" in my dreams, where now the whole neighborhood was leveled to construct city buildings. I have never dreamed about the apartments where I spent most of my youth imprisoned, not even my black piano.

My popo was there. She was waiting for me. She understood everything and was not angry with me. And she missed me too. 

If I Could Stay, Why I Ever Leave?