The backseat

I tell my brother I'm going ahead. He nods his head, smiles, and says okay. The Church's family day isn't over yet, but I rush out of the building anyway, hail a taxi amid the dark skies and the pouring rain.

"Sa UP po," I tell the taxi driver, his hair stained with remnants of a brown-black dye he had probably applied months ago.

"Sa loob?" He asks. I say yes.

I settle at the backseat, close my eyes for while, and eventually find myself looking out of the window. Past the buildings, the cars, the pavement, and the horizon is my home, miles away.

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