Summers were made for family travel. We did not have much growing up but we had each other, specially during the scorching heat of tropical summer where we’d always journey to my grandparents about 350 kilometers from our hometown.
My father was a mechanic who made his own vehicles, from jeepneys to pick-up trucks, and many others. I remember our gray pickup truck or hatchback and how all ten of us siblings would fit inside, plus my parents in the front seats. It was fun, a lot of eating and singing along to the radio, a lot of sleeping time as well as quiet time.
It was during these quiet times, most notably at nighttime, that I enjoyed just looking out the window, feeling and hearing the wind as my father would drive like he’s the only one on the road. I zoned out just looking at the vast expanse of rice fields and lush mountains. In their place, I visualized big cities and urban lights I’ve seen in books and movies and wondered how it would actually feel being in such places. I’d stay up the entire time just picturing things in my mind until father got tired from driving and we’d have to park at the gas station to rest. Then I’d either be wide awake or falling asleep from reality.