Longing For Home In Oslo

Dear Lord, the snow outside my window in Oslo is beautiful, but it feels so cold against the fire of loneliness in my chest. I left my home in Iloilo four years ago thinking this sacrifice would provide everything, but today, I feel like I am losing myself in the silence. The paycheck arrives on time, and I send it back home to my siblings for their tuition, but there is no one here to share a meal with, no one to laugh with over a cup of barako coffee, and no one to witness the heavy weight of my days.

I find myself asking, was this really Your plan? I am working as a caregiver, giving my energy to people who are not my own blood, while my own youth is slipping away in this quiet, foreign city. I miss the noise of the jeepneys, the warmth of my mother’s voice, and the simple comfort of being known. Do You even see me here in this apartment that feels more like a gilded cage? Have You forgotten the boy who promised he would do anything to lift his family out of poverty?

Sometimes I want to pack my bags, forget the money, and just go back to the province. But then I think of my family’s expectations and the debts we still carry. I feel trapped between the duty to provide and the crushing desire to be loved and present. What do I do when I am physically fed but starving for connection? Why does the path to a better life feel so much like a slow death of the spirit?

Your servant who is fading, Elias