When I was five, I left my motherland.

I did not care.

The sentiment of heartache did not exist.

I let everything escape me. My language had flowed out of my mouth, never to return. My culture was left behind in my old home. They were too big to stuff into my suitcase. Thoughts of skyscrapers, cities, and glamor danced in my head. The feelings of adventure swam in my heart. The dreams of a new land filled the void. There was no more room left for the past.

When I was 13, I returned to the motherland. I thought I would care very much. I came back to my home caring much less.

Bitterness had settled in me for years.

“Was this really the place that I took so much pride in?”

“Was this once my home?”

My own motherland had betrayed me. Why do you boast of beauty and pride amongst your people, yet the air smells of disregard and selfishness? Why do you boast that everything is better here, yet the lives of your own children prove otherwise? Why do you boast of strength when buildings here are as weak as the ones who live in them? Why do you boast of a rich culture when the people cannot here even afford it?

That was the time I denied the motherland. My meeting with the motherland had earned the title as the most disappointing encounter I ever had. I accused it of hurting me. I accused it of not caring. I accused it of lying to everyone that wanted to love it, including me. I accused it of giving me false hopes. I accused it of smearing dirt on my dreams.

Then I forgave the motherland.

When I was 17, I met the motherland again with betrayal buried in my heart. I thought I could not care less. I came back to my home with love beating in my heart.

In the new land, I never buried her completely. I had only re-surfaced her when she was relevant. She was a source of pride in a place where people value difference. I used the motherland as my token. I took advantage of her wealth, when in fact, I had not even realized what it was worth. The motherland danced in joy but soon stopped upon realizing the vain nature of my heart. Like a precious jewel, she was my prized possession. I only used her when there were people around to show off to. I put her away when there was no one left.

Soon, I found the beauty in her that I had never seen. I found it in the simplest of conversations between families. I found it in the oceans so blue, I saw the sky glare with envy. I found it in the same sky that bragged in colors and competed with the oceans below. I found it in the striking warmth of the sun. I found it in the same air that I had once questioned and hated. Suddenly, there was beauty unbeknownst to me that had yet to be uncovered.

This was the motherland’s retaliation. This was for leaving and not caring.

Her beauty was a punishment. She tested me, and I had nothing to offer back to her except for my sincerest apologies. As revenge, the motherland’s newfound beauty made me realize the immense betrayal I had harbored. The hatred in my heart took off its disguise as sensibility and quietly moved away.

Above all, she stole from me. That was the worst punishment of all. She has taken a part of me, and I cannot have it back. I never can. I cannot even think of her without feeling pain. A part of me will never be satisfied unless I meet with her again. I will eternally belong to her.

It is said that mother is always right. Truer words were never spoken.