Home.Ā A single word that can mean so many things.Ā
When you look up this word in the dictionary, it tells you home is where one lives permanently. And for the longest time, that was my definition of home as well. But what happens when you become homesick for a place you never lived in? What then, is home? I always thought home was a place. Some walls with doors and windows filled with some sentimental items. But when I visited the Philippines after over ten years, I discovered a new depth to the word āhomeā.
The Philippines stole my heart. I fell in love with warm, loving people who used funny phrases like ācomfort roomā for toilet and ānosebleedā when I spoke too much English. I discovered a family who accepted me as one of their own - despite the gap between our languages.
My last few days in the Philippines, my cousin asked if I was excited to go back home. A strange wave of sadness filled me. I enjoyed my time in the Philippines but I knew I couldnāt stay there permanently. I spent a lot of summers there as a child, but I didnāt grow up there. And I havenāt visited in over ten years before last summer. This place never was and could never be āhomeā. So why did just the thought of leaving make me feel āhomesickā? Months later, back in Hong Kong, I still felt homesick at the thought of Philippines.
One day, my Dad called us to the living room after dinner. He compiled the photos of our month in the Philippines and made it into a video. As I reminisced the memories behind the video, I finally realised the reason I was homesick. Itās because home is more than just a house, town or place. Home is a feeling. Home is what we long for whenever weāre lonely. A place where we feel safe, with people we love and love us. People who accept you with warm open arms. Itās the love you rejoice in when things go well, the comfort you run to when things are getting tough. A place to rest your weary heart.
In the Philippines, I made a home in moments, experiences and people. Home was late night card games and midnight giggles with my cousins. Home was my nephew running into the room, showing me the two stars he got at school with pride. Home was waking up to the smell of fresh coffee and bread. My sweet grandmother saying, āGood morning anak (child), you want to eat breakfast?ā Home was long rides at the back of my uncleās motorbike. The sound of the motorbike a background rumble as I stared in awe at the endless expanse of unbroken fields. Those moments when I felt so tiny yet so incredibly alive.
I miss the Philippines all the time. I miss the warmth, the laughter, and the peacefulness of the countryside. But I take comfort in knowing I have a home wherever I am. Home now is my family and friends who became family. Whenever things are tough, itās them I turn to. After a long day or week, I long for the home in my friends at church and my family in Peng Chau. When things are tough at school, I have my friends who are my home at school. No matter where you are you can always come home because home isnāt a place, itās a feeling.
Last August, I went back to the Philippines to see family again. And I swear the wind whispered, āWelcome, welcome home.ā
