There’s something about the way the sun rises in this town that makes the 300-something square kilometers of Tanay so unforgettable to me. I hear the rooster next door each morning, as the sunlight touches the ground and caresses the grass and the roofs of the forty or so families in our barangay, and as one by one, people open their eyes to a new day.

The old church is the first to witness the light, its majestic walls towering over the whole town, save for the four-story house of my Aunt Ellen a few blocks from my house.  The air smells of the rainwater left over from last night’s downpour, the chickens from my Grandpa Erning’s farm, and the fresh scent of the newly-baked crisp bread from the bakery.

Unlike during the school season, I’d wake up early each summer morning, to watch the town stir to life, as the roads slowly become populated by the many tricycles that are as numerous as flies over a cow’s carcass, and as one by one, people ventured out of their homes for a look around (not that there’s anything new that often – people usually did it out of habit), a cute child or a mug of coffee in hand. I sit on our terrace every summer morning, feel that glorious warmth the sun offers as it arrives, breathe that scent I am completely at home to, and close my eyes to savour the eternally fresh feeling of a breaking dawn as time stands still for me, almost as if it knows how wonderful this feeling is, and exactly how I feel about it.

I love it.

I’ve lived in Tanay my whole life, and I can’t imagine living anywhere else. Pretty soon, when I get to college, mom says we’ll be moving to our other house in Quezon City. While a new home in the heart of the business district does open new doors and possibilities, I feel that I will truly miss this place.

I’ll miss both the lively and lethargic basketball games near the dike, the old lighthouse I always climb up to, the park and its fifty or so crazy pigeons, and the old man who feeds them. I’ll miss the yearly gay pageants that keep me awake until three in the morning, laughing so hard I cry. I’ll miss the Sunday Mass with the old priest that finds even my mother falling asleep along with the many other shameless, heavy-eyed church-goers. I’ll miss the mountains of Tanay, how the air smells there, and the festivals we hold. I’ll miss the Christmas Ball at Uncle Ope’s function house and the hardly-needed family reunions almost every month. I’ll miss the twin boys who always wave at me before I go off to school, and the little children playing on our driveway that drive my father crazy. I’ll miss the long, relaxing drive from Tanay to the city, the zigzag road in the mountains that I like so much. I’ll miss the way the sunlight dances on the water in the river, and I’ll miss the ever-so-trusty sari-sari store on our street.

The things I’ll miss make up a long list.

In the city, I’ll live near the mall, and I could just walk there any time I want. I could go to all the fancy restaurants and shops that most people in Tanay have never even heard of. I could hold slumber parties because my house wouldn’t be so agonizingly far from my friends’. The roads there will be smooth, and usually straight, and I wouldn’t stand out so much in the city with clothes that’ll probably earn a few odd glances in Tanay, with all the simple, provincial people. It’d be nice to fit in.

But then again there aren’t any crazy birds in Metro Manila. There are hardly any birds. It’s a rare night when it ever gets dark there, with all the lights, so no one can really appreciate sunrise and twilight. The smell of the streets and the cars would be maddening compared to the easy breeze in Tanay.

I close my eyes and imagine everything that makes this place home. Immediately the lines of Gotta Have You by the Weepies dance through my mind. I want to make a ray of sunshine and never leave home – the tall, solitary palm tree in the midst of the houses in our barangay forms itself in my mind, and then the sound of the old, gigantic bells in one of the ancient church’s towers.

But green, it is also summer and I won't be warm till I'm lying in your arms – the image of me biking in the gardens of the old cemetery that didn’t seem like one at all. I was biking on an uphill road, leading to the exit.

Lying in the back of the blue boat, humming a tune...

And the ending comes with an image of me in the back of our van, looking back at my home. I smile as the last chords flow in my mind, ending the song with a sense of calm, reminding me of the time left and of acceptance. I have two years left.

The only constant thing in this world is change. They say that in order to live peacefully in this world, one must accept change. With acceptance comes cherish. I’ll cherish this for as long as I can. And then, when I’m away and dreaming of home, nothing – still nothing can compare to the sunrise in Tanay.