Everything is changing but I feel the same
but that doesn't mean I'm not growing.
I was walking back home today when I noticed the new speed bumps set up around the neighbourhood. Near the train station, there is a fenced off area where a new apartment building is going to be built.
When I moved to Australia in 2017, this entire area was a construction site. Even the bus stops near the station was temporarily relocated to the other side, to make room for the station improvement that the Council was doing at that time. I remember staring at the construction every day, when I would wait for the bus after a long day at uni.
One of the first few photos I took when I moved to Australia in 2017.
As I turned toward a corner, I remembered that my husband used to dog-sit these two dogs in the neighbourhood, Mars and Luna. Whenever their owners were out of town, he would stay at their apartment for a few days to take care of them. They’ve long since moved to Queensland now.
A few years ago, at around 4:30 to 5pm, the community oval would start to fill up with dogs. While they ran around chasing balls and frisbees, digging holes, and tackling each other on the ground, the dog owners milled about, socialising. My husband, being the extrovert that he is, loved that part of the day. Sometimes, he would convince me to venture out and chat. I’m very introverted in the neighbourhood but this made me feel like I was truly part of the community. I started recognising faces, saying hi to them when I bump into them in the street, adding them on socials, and chatting to them about dogs and life. Recently, another one of our friends in the neighbourhood left and moved to Perth.
It was around 4:30pm when I started walking home from the train station. I looked towards the oval. It was empty.
Mio, our good friend’s dog that we dogsat a couple of times, loved running around the oval.
When I flew back to Manila in 2023 to go to my dad’s funeral, I started noticing how everything was changing. Maybe it was grief that was opening my eyes to things I never paid attention to, or maybe time was all that was needed to make me see.
The house across the street from us now had a mini store. There wasn’t one before when I was growing up. The one around the end of the street looks the same—tall, with its big veranda extending out from the second floor. But the tiles now look dated and tired, withered with time. The main road in our subdivision have different shops now. Where was the little salon in the corner where my mum used to take me for regular haircuts?
One time when I was a 10-year-old kid with a head full of lice, she told me I was only going to get my hair trimmed. Nothing extreme, just a trim. I went in, sat down, and as the owner, Jaymar, started cutting my hair, I noticed—in shock—that no, this was not going to be “just a trim”, it was a full-on “give this girl a bob to get rid of all the head lice” type of situation. Jaymar didn’t stop cutting until my hair looked like the shortest mop plonked on top of my head; my face filled with tears.
When I used to walk to the line of jeepneys, there used to be small, humble shops on the side of the road where you can buy the little bits and bobs, little snacks to tide you over until you get to your destination. Now the area is filled cafes and a milk tea place. It didn’t look the same anymore.
Even the house I grew up in felt different (but the same) every time I visited home.
Everything is rapidly changing but I still feel the same. I still feel like that 10-year-old girl who then went to school with a big frown on her face, ready (not really) to hear the teasing that was going to erupt in the classroom once everyone saw her new hairstyle. I still feel like the teenager who would stoop her head down to go inside the jeepney, so she could get to church or to meet a friend at the mall.
I look around the apartment buildings around me where I live here in Australia and I still feel like I’m the same person as when I first arrived—just with more experiences.
Sometimes when I realise these things, I feel an extreme sense of sadness. Like the world is passing me by. Like everything is changing, except for me. But that’s not really true, isn’t it? I have changed. I have grown. And I still will.
Which means everything will still keep on changing.
When I got home, it was just in time for sunset. Normally I would sit down on the couch and scroll endlessly on my phone until it was time to make dinner. Today, I looked up and saw the sky changing colour. I put my feet up and stared at it. I watched it for so long that I could see the clouds move. I saw three birds frolicking mid air. The colours were starting to reflect onto the little river in between the row of houses.
I sighed… and the world went still, even for just a moment.
Winter sunsets are something special.