By now, my family had been traveling in and out of the Philippines for 20 years. The first time we left the country was in 1988 when my husband was asked to join the church regional office in Singapore. Our daughter was then 6, our son was 18 months. Now she is 26 and he is 21.5 years old.
You should think that we are now experts in sorting, packing, estimating weights of suitcases, immigration procedures. You should think that we have perfected the skill of tipping and haggling with taxicab drivers and porters. Tsk, tsk, tsk. I am afraid we will never perfect this set of skills – there will always be something we forgot to pack, and we will always wonder if we gave too small a tip, or perhaps, too big?
I wait for my husband as he loads our huge suitcases onto a cart and haggle with porters… we can never travel without our gigantic suitcases… what a pain. Nevertheless, I am going home, and everything else is trivial.
The thought of going home always gives me pleasure and happiness. No matter that ‘home’ is halfway around the world and it is an exhausting 19-hour plane trip away. No matter that the house where I grew up seemed to have shrunk. No matter that it is hot, humid, and dusty, dogs barking, roosters crowing before you are ready for the day. No matter what, home is home – it is still the best place in this world.
“Home is a place you grow up wanting to leave and grow old wanting to get back to.” John Ed Pearce
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