The stewardess gracefully shows us how to breathe, what to do when the worst comes, where to find what we need.
My chest tightens, and an ache clings to my lungs. The plane has not yet left the ground.
The city is small enough to fit its entirety into my heart, but big enough to make it burst. So much has changed in the last five years. More than I know. Maybe more than I’d like.
But tonight, I got to see it again. There remain pockets of my favorite things tucked away into little streets hidden in the shadows of crystal buildings and blazing lights, but still there.
I once lived in this city’s golden warmth. I had never seen it this blue and black and gray. Droplets of rain welcomed me back, then graciously delayed their pouring that I might see some glittering once again.
This is where new dreams were birthed. This is where old dreams were gently woken. Will this be where they grow?
My love for you has not changed. I have to admit, it stung a little to see and hear and smell the passing of five years. Makes me wonder how safe I’d be in your arms if I came back. But how I long for you still.
I fly a little higher towards home. My chest slowly steadies. Then through the window, I see your beautifully sectioned streets, stark and bright against the dark of the night.
I am thousands of feet away, but I see you even clearer. Crowded markets and roadside noodles. Passionfruit and sugarcane. Late night motorbike drives pretending the air is a wavy sea. Feet dancing, arms tangled in hugs, and laughing. Always laughing.
Tiny, golden city, I hope you always have space for me.
Dec 26, 2025
Dec 26, 2025 at 6:43 AM UTC
The stewardess gracefully shows us how to breathe, what to do when the worst comes, where to find what we need.
My chest tightens, and an ache clings to my lungs. The plane has not yet left the ground.
The city is small enough to fit its entirety into my heart, but big enough to make it burst. So much has changed in the last five years. More than I know. Maybe more than I’d like.
But tonight, I got to see it again. There remain pockets of my favorite things tucked away into little streets hidden in the shadows of crystal buildings and blazing lights, but still there.
I once lived in this city’s golden warmth. I had never seen it this blue and black and gray. Droplets of rain welcomed me back, then graciously delayed their pouring that I might see some glittering once again.
This is where new dreams were birthed. This is where old dreams were gently woken. Will this be where they grow?
My love for you has not changed. I have to admit, it stung a little to see and hear and smell the passing of five years. Makes me wonder how safe I’d be in your arms if I came back. But how I long for you still.
I fly a little higher towards home. My chest slowly steadies. Then through the window, I see your beautifully sectioned streets, stark and bright against the dark of the night.
I am thousands of feet away, but I see you even clearer. Crowded markets and roadside noodles. Passionfruit and sugarcane. Late night motorbike drives pretending the air is a wavy sea. Feet dancing, arms tangled in hugs, and laughing. Always laughing.
Tiny, golden city, I hope you always have space for me.
Written in 2022 on a flight from Phnom Penh to Manila. A love letter to a place that will always feel like home, no matter what it looks like.
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