Silent Walls in Tokyo

Dear Lord, the trains are so quiet here in Tokyo, but my heart is screaming. I have been in this apartment for three months, and sometimes I wonder if the walls are the only things listening to my prayers. I work long shifts at the factory, cleaning and organizing parts, but when I come home to my small space, the silence is heavier than any load I carry at work. I sent my first paycheck to my mother in Iloilo for her dialysis, but I feel like I am selling my soul for the medicine.

Why does it feel like I am drifting further away from You? Back home, I could hear Your voice in the noise of the Sunday market and the laughter of my cousins. Here, everything is orderly, efficient, and cold. Do You even hear me over the hum of the city lights and the subway trains? Have You forgotten that I am here, sweating and lonely, just trying to keep my family afloat?

What do I do now when the homesickness starts to tighten my chest like a vice? I try to look at the photos of my Tatay and Nanay, but they just remind me of what I am missing—the smell of freshly cooked sinigang and the warmth of the sun on our porch. I am doing this for them, but I feel like I am disappearing into this concrete maze. Where are You in this foreign land?

Your son who feels lost in the crowd, Junjun