In-between space

Back in Quezon City, karaoke blares from Papa’s beloved oversized speakers, Mama hustles in our rusty kitchen as if cooking were an Olympic sport, my brothers disappear into their own adventures with friends, and my aunties and uncles gossip loudly about every neighbor they’ve ever had. Outside, children carol off-key, belting out ABS-CBN Christmas songs. It’s noisy, messy, alive—and it’s everything I’m missing.Here in Germany, Christmas is different. Precision, discipline, and order are written in every nook and cranny. The streets are clean, celebrations are planned down to the last detail, and people actually respect personal space. And the best thing about it, I don’t have to worry about my godchildren waking me up to ask for their “pamasko.” Shops are closed and silence reigns supreme as if forcing us to reflect on what a year it has been. It’s peaceful, serene, and exactly what I thought I wanted. But that silence, once so appealing, now feels heavy. I couldn’t listen to “Stille Nacht” without getting my heartstrings pulled in all directions, now yearning instead for a Jose Mari Chan to piece them back together.

For months, I’ve been living in this in-between—grateful for the opportunity to explore the unfamiliar yet longing for the comfort of home. I came here chasing a dream, with my aspirations packed neatly into two suitcases, drawn by the promise of advanced education and the allure of new experiences. I wanted to prove something—to myself, my family, and everyone back home. Yet, here I am, surrounded by everything I had once prayed for, grappling with the weight of my choices pressing against my chest. I cannot help but wonder: Did I make the right decision? Will this journey be worth it? Will I ever feel at home here?

Perhaps it’s normal to feel sadness, even after achieving what you have worked so hard for. I would like to imagine that I’m standing at the crossroads between grieving the person I was and navigating the birth pains of the person I’m becoming. Growth, after all, demands discomfort. Maybe we’ve been so used to glamorized stories of growth and achievement that when discomfort creeps in, we assume that we have been doing it all wrong.

In retrospect, it was during those moments of questioning everything that I also learned the most about myself. Maybe growth is not found in grand, sweeping, life-changing moments, but in the mundane, messy, and pockets of uncertainties—in those moments when you feel utterly lost yet choose to keep going anyway.Tonight, as I sit in my tiny dorm room, I let myself befriend these emotions rather than mask them with gems and glitters on social media. I think about what Germany has given me—solitude, independence, and a newfound strength I never knew I had. And I think about what the Philippines will always mean to me—the warmth of family, the vibrance of a chaotic culture, and the collective identity that will always pull me back.

Maybe this journey isn’t about choosing one over the other but learning to embrace that I am now, a creation of constant push and pull. I marvel at Europe’s architectural wonders, yet long for the scarlet Philippine sunset over pristine seas. I feel giddy when snowflakes land on me, yet miss the sound of the tropical rain hitting cracked pavements. I am energized by new learning in a foreign language, yet crave candid conversations in my mother tongue.

This in-between space, as liminal as it is, is where I choose to reside while I let myself experience all the joy, the pain, and the confusion. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll learn to carry both Germany and the Philippines wherever I go—belonging to both, yet confined to neither.

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Jokkaz San Pedro Latigar, 28, is an international student in Germany.