I woke up yesterday suddenly engulfed in a wave of nostalgia. It started off with the "Christmas feeling"--it's the sort you get when you know something really good is coming, mixed with that feeling that's stirred up when you get a delicious whiff of something baking. It was weird because the heat made it seem more like the middle of summer than the holidays (it was nearly 1:00 pm after all. Forgive me, fell asleep at sunrise). But there I was in my darkened room, thinking about cooler days in years past and getting that fuzzy feeling of anticipation and unexplainable joy.

It was the exact same feeling I got one morning in early March, probably more than 10 years ago. I was standing near the Poveda gym, in the little path that led to the Segovia building. I felt the warmth of the sun on my face, but there was a very pleasant breeze that reminded me of happy family trips to Baguio. Everyone noticed the weather; twas unusual as we were on the cusp of summer. Someone said that it was like California weather, and since I hadn't been to California at that time, I took her word for it.

Remembering that scene took me back to high school, and just as suddenly as the Christmas feeling came, it switched to this terrible ache. I longed to go back. To the days when the biggest problems were geometry and finishing IW, when I spent every lunch time with some of the most important girls in my life, when I felt like I belonged and that I had this place that made me feel safe. My world was comfortably, wonderfully small.

At some point, I stopped believing that high school made up the best days of my life. But yesterday, in bed past noon, I remembered the days when it did.