My Home Across the Ocean

Pasonanca, a barangay in Zamboanga City, Philippines, is where my parents and their families grew up. My grandparents originally immigrated to the Philippines during the Cultural Revolution, a sociopolitical movement that forced many Chinese families to leave behind everything they knew in search of stability. 

I had visited Pasonanca before, but now I was older and aware enough to form my own thoughts and to recognize the significance of being there. As my family took me to Pasonanca Park, we wandered to a downhill street that led to a hidden neighborhood. The houses here were not the kind you see in postcards, but they were full of life. The laughter of kids playing in the street, the smell of grilled meat, and the distant sound of music were all reminders that a home is more than four walls and a roof.

Compared to cities like Manila or Cebu, Zamboanga isn’t a major tourist destination. But standing there, I realized that meaning isn’t found in grandeur. Pasonanca wasn’t a place of spectacle, but a place of the roots of generations who have built their lives here, not for the world to admire, but for the simple act of living.

With no strong WiFi or signal, for what felt like the first time in my life, I was forced to be present. And in that stillness, I realized how moments slip past us before we even recognize their weight. Pasonanca, in all its imperfections, felt like home. A home across the ocean, but a home nonetheless.