My life has a quiet way of leading me back to my past and when it does, I always find something to be grateful for.
Because those moments allow me to prove something to myself: time is indeed fair.
Just two weeks ago, I walked the streets of Manila again after almost two decades.
Yes…Ermita, Manila, the place that witnessed the last years of my teenage life.
I got off at Central Terminal LRT Station and walked toward my university, Philippine Normal University, to claim some documents. After that, I dropped by SM Mall for lunch. I was with my younger sister and I showed her around.
As I moved through familiar paths, I noticed the differences.
The LRT station looks better now. There are more security personnel. Some shops in SM have been replaced. The student canteen in my university has been relocated near the basketball court.
New things have emerged.
And although nostalgia crept in, I felt genuinely happy seeing how much had changed.
Because really…who doesn’t want to change?
While I was walking through Manila, I was also “walking” inside myself. With every corner, I noticed the shifts that time had quietly worked on me too.
Who would have thought that twenty years later, I’d be living and working abroad?
In that span of time, I continued my studies. I moved from teaching into marketing and online business management. I said goodbye to many versions of my life and welcomed new ones with open hands.
Today, I am healthier, calmer, and wiser.
I now carry my own definitions of success, love, and living.
Coming back made me realize that time gently reveals whether the promises I once whispered to myself were kept.
As I walked through Ermita again, I met the younger me…the one full of zeal, grit, and curiosity.
And this time, I could finally say: I made it forward.
The Shock of Familiar Places Feeling Unfamiliar
Walking through Manila again, I felt the truth that cities, like people, continue living even when we’re gone.
The small student store near my old boarding house was gone. I remembered stopping there for study materials. Its absence felt strange for a moment.
At SM, I smiled when I found the National Bookstore still standing. It comforted me to know it survived the years, even if it’s no longer on the 1st floor.
In front of my university, the traffic lights are smarter now. There’s a timer for pedestrians and police officers to guide people as they cross. It’s safer and calmer.
There are now e-trikes on the streets alongside jeepneys. Progress has a different sound these days.
Near my boarding house, the shop that used to serve breaded pork chop is no longer there. I searched for it without realizing I still remembered its taste.
On my campus, I found study huts under the mango trees. Students now sit, read, and talk inside those huts, instead of just under the shade.
And surprisingly, one of my favorite moments this time was visiting the Manila Clock Tower. I don’t remember caring about it in my twenties. Back then, there was no museum at all.
The shock that hit me is that when places change, it’s easy to say the city moved on. But often, we changed first.
What felt familiar reminded me of who I was. What felt distant showed me who I’m no longer trying to be. And what made me smile revealed who I’ve quietly become.
Manila reflected my own evolution back to me.
I Don’t Need to Belong the Same Way
I’m thankful I came back even just for a short visit because returning allowed me to see that I don’t need to belong the same way anymore.
At 22, belonging meant being seen.
It meant fitting into a circle. Keeping up. Proving I could survive Manila’s pace.
Proving I was capable. Smart enough. Brave enough. Ready enough.
Back then, belonging felt external. It was measured by who noticed you, who accepted you, who included you.
There was an urgency to it.
A quiet pressure to not fall behind.
Now, in my 40s, belonging feels different.
It feels quieter. It’s more internal.
I’m less desperate to be seen and more interested in being aligned.
Walking through Ermita again, I realized I didn’t feel the need to blend in. I didn’t need to reclaim an old identity. I wasn’t trying to prove that I still fit.
And that felt freeing.
The pressures I once carried have softened. Belonging now means being comfortable with who I’ve become, even if the environment has shifted.
I no longer belong to Manila in the way I did at 22.
But I belong to myself more than ever.
And somehow, that feels like a better kind of home.
Meeting My Younger Self in Ermita
If she were walking next to me now, I wouldn’t rush her. I wouldn’t lecture her either. I’d simply walk at her pace and tell her a few life truths I’ve learned over the years.
Every new chapter will come with its own kind of fear. I’d tell her to be patient with time. Not everything needs to happen fast. Some dreams take longer. I’d tell her that mistakes won’t ruin her life. The wrong turns, the awkward stages, the uncomfortable choices will one day become her quiet strengths. Nothing she tries in good faith is ever truly wasted.
But more than advice, I’d offer gratitude. If my younger self walked beside me in Manila today, I’d simply thank her for becoming me.
Welcoming Mature Adulthood
In my twenties, adulthood looked like ambition that had to be announced. Back then, I measured progress by speed…how fast I could move, achieve, survive, belong.
But in my 40s, adulthood feels quieter. I choose peace more intentionally now. Before, success meant climbing. Now, success means sustaining my health, my curiosity, my relationships, my sense of self.
What excites me now isn’t urgency, but meaning.
Emotionally, my 40s feel different from my 20s not because life is easier, but because I am kinder to myself inside it.
I no longer rush to arrive. I allow myself to enjoy the journey.
Closing Thoughts
If you ever find yourself returning to a place that once defined you, don’t look for who you used to be. Notice who you’ve become. Walk the old streets with new eyes. Thank your younger self. Honor your present one.
And ask yourself gently: Where have I grown in ways I haven’t paused to acknowledge?
Because sometimes, all it takes is one walk down memory lane to realize that time has been fair to you, too.
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