Hold on to the Memories, They’ll Hold on to You
- Jan 7
- 5 min read
Julia Corotan is a Papua New Guinea-raised Filipino, giving her a unique perspective on life and people. After feeling lost and burnt out in the middle of college, she started writing as a way to express and process her feelings. She then started her blog, Amica Mea, as a means to connect with others who were struggling with the same issues.
Welcome to 2026, everyone! The holiday season has breezed past us in a flurry of food, celebrations, and decorations. We’re officially in the new year, and with it, we bid the festive season (and the decorations we painstakingly put up) farewell. Reality, also known as work and classes, beckons us ever closer and demands our full attention.
And the end of one year is usually a reason to reflect on the life we lived during it. Our social media feeds are flooded with throwback posts, recap videos, and long captions. We think back to the moments, both big and small, that defined our 2025. Was your 2025 a year of self-discovery? Of stillness? Or of survival? There’s no shame in the way we took on the past year because the most important part is that we’re still here. Trying. Living.
For me? 2025 was the year of growth. It demanded so much from me, both personally and professionally. I faced numerous challenges that, at some point, I wanted to raise the white flag, crawl into a ball, and hide under my blanky. But with me feeling like the universe’s punching bag also came with it a deeper understanding of myself, and an inner strength I didn’t know I possessed.
35 flights. 5 countries. 10 cities. 2025 was the year I spent the most time inside an airplane. It was in one of these cities, while having lunch with a friend a day before my flight back to Papua New Guinea, that I got asked a question I’ve received too many times to count. I’ve answered it so many times that I barely gave any thought to it.
“What is home to you?”
I’m unsure why it even stood out so much. It was one topic we jumped to after hours of conversation. I gave the standard answer I gave people. Almost flippant.
“When asked before, my answer would always be Papua New Guinea. That’s where I was raised, where I grew up, and where I’m most comfortable.”
Catching the first part of my answer, he asked a follow-up question, “So, what is home to you now?”
I paused. The follow-up caught my attention. Barely anyone questions my answer. I usually get a nod of understanding or another topic altogether. This wasn’t the script I was used to. So, I decided to give the question the attention it deserved.
“Home to me isn’t really a place anymore. It’s the people. The people make a place feel like home.”
That sparked his interest enough to say, “Good answer. Not many people think that.”
That conversation wouldn’t leave me. I found my mind wandering back to it and to my newer and deeper answer. Funnily enough, we had this exchange in the city I was slowly starting to see as my home: Melbourne.
I’ve shared in my other articles how difficult my 2025 was. I was mentally and emotionally exhausted from the different challenges that pushed me to my limit. I became the stereotypical eldest daughter someone who took on too much responsibility to my detriment. I gave so much of myself to other people that it started compromising how I viewed myself. My one respite became the constant travelling I did. It was a chance to breathe and recenter myself.
I was lucky enough to be given the opportunity to stay in Melbourne a few times last year with my siblings. I’d live there for weeks at a time. The longest was a two-month stay where I was able to reconnect with old friends who immigrated there, and met a bunch of new ones, too. The friend I met for coffee and asked about my thoughts on home was one such person. I slowly started feeling like I could breathe. I was feeling freer than I did before. My friends helped me feel that I shouldn’t be confined to the choices I’ve made in the past. That I could grow past them and learn to trust others again.
I flew back to Papua New Guinea (PNG) after those two months. I expected to feel that sense of home again because I was back. But the town that nurtured me and saw me grow into the Julia of today felt foreign. Three weeks after my arrival, I was sitting on the swings in our front yard, taking the time to reflect on the changes I’ve experienced. It’s where I realised that while PNG felt familiar, I no longer felt like I belonged. There was no big difference from the PNG of my youth. Just the gnawing sense that I’ve outgrown the one place that felt constant. I still have so much love in my heart for it, but at the risk of sounding like a cliche, it wasn’t home anymore.
After three months in PNG, there were some personal matters I had to attend to, which required that I leave. I found myself, once again, in Melbourne. In an instant, the feeling of belonging and familiarity washed over me. The baggage I carried from the cities and towns I’ve lived in during my youth was non-existent in Melbourne. It was a fresh start when I badly needed one. The connections I’ve made felt natural and helped make me feel part of the city. An idea that took root during the past conversation felt more and more true: I’m home.
My family has a tradition where we write our wishes, prayers, and resolutions for the incoming year, and then burn this on New Year’s Day to release it into the universe. Growing up, I always wrote bullet points. Quick. Efficient. But three years ago, I started writing actual letters. 2025’s letter was the most emotional one to date because the me who wished for good things at the start of it was so vastly different from the one writing new hopes for 2026.
2025 was the year I discovered who I was outside of my family and the tribe that raised me. The one where I was just Julia. Who I could be and who I could become when I started focusing on myself. When I started showing up for myself and discovered how much more I can be. Don’t get me wrong, the process hurt. But with the pain came a strength I’ve come to realize that I possess and rely on. And the most important part of it all? I was finally choosing myself.
I wish that all of you reading this have the chance to choose yourself this 2026. It isn’t easy, and may even feel selfish at times, but it’s something we have to do to show up better for the people we love.
As the saying goes, we can’t pour from an empty cup. May we all find the place that gives us peace and allows us to feel most ourselves.
May we all find our way home.
Read more from Julia Mae Corotan
Julia Mae Corotan, Motivational Speaker and Content Creator
Julia Corotan has always been passionate about studying and learning about different cultures. As a Filipino born and raised in Papua New Guinea, where her parents worked, she was nurtured in a community with diverse cultures and instilled a desire to help others. She took this a step further when she joined and worked for AIESEC, an international leadership organization with a presence in over 100 countries. She also began her blog, Amica Mea (my beloved or my companion in Latin), as a way to connect with others struggling with burnout and feeling lost about their path in life. Her mission, connection through stories.
