A glittering dance of fireflies… mountains covered with huge trees beneath the pale moonlight… Monkeys jumping from one tree to another…cold wind that gently penetrates to the pores of your skin… and crickets that add music to the seemingly holy night… these are just one of my earliest recollections about my hometown barely 25 years ago.

 Today, I am standing on the land of my great ancestors who raised me from the phantom of poverty and hunger. It is on this soil that my late dear father had poured his immeasurable sweat and strength just to feed his wife along with his 9 meek children.

 What I am seeing now is like a barren land, filled yet empty.

Gone were the days when we happily till the soil together… those days that siblings tease each other and as tears roll down to someone’s face, a blunt silence will immediately fill the space.

On that great east marks the cup of coffee daily and as sun sets on that mysterious west, signals the rest of day.  

 Being a devotee of the 10 Little Indian song in my kindergarten years was somewhat frustrating knowing that during those days, trees were counted by hundreds and not just by tens.

Now in front of me are tired and suffocated trees that serve as markers of the borders of our land.

The clusters of then green and healthy vegetables are now replaced with bunch of grasses. Birds are so few, fish are nowhere to be found and the old pristine river is now almost covered with mud.

I will no longer leave you.. We will restore you… No matter what it takes, you deserve something that is best. Please Hang-on, we’re coming for the rescue.