One night, I sneaked Balong up on the roof of an abandoned house not far from ours. The dimmed surroundings seemed to suspend his fear of heights. After we got there, I let him watch the stars. Taught him how to distinguish one from a planet. Pointed where the constellations are and what they are called—most of which I was not even sure of and even if I was, Balong couldn’t care less for he was deeply captivated by the vastness of the night sky. I left him be.

“Gusto ko maging astronaut,” he whispered.

“Ba’t naman?” I asked.

“Ba’t naman hindi?” he replied, unbothered to even glance.

Always admiring his innocence and candidness, I agreed, “Ako rin."

Twenty-two years later, the abandoned house is now a gas station and from where our house used to be is a convenience store. I am a stranger here reminiscing about these places that were once familiar and longing for the people who once occupied them. I never thought my brother and I would be heavens and earths apart this suddenly. Nostalgia is indeed the pleasing memory of times and spaces, however cruel they can be.