I have learned that home is not a place. While undoubtedly important, where you are is not all there is.
I found home in people I grew up with and choose to grow old with. I found my home among people who have stripped me of all inconvenient pretensions, among equally strange creatures with whom my words and actions don’t have to tread lightly for fear of being misunderstood. With free spirits who allow me to fly into parallel universes and keep me grounded when the stars are way too bright and fickle and the moon clouded over by the night skies. Perhaps home is that space between and among beings who are of like minds and hearts – secure in the knowledge of being loved, filled with laughter and light.
My husband and eleven year old daughter who indulge my every whim, understand all my quirks and eccentricities, and put up with my bright flashes of ideas that consume me like fire. They keep me grounded.
With my tribe of willful, unapologetically-beautiful, strong women who know and speak their minds with laser-beam precision, laugh like witches about to boil their ex-es in a cauldron of hot spices simmered in heartache – women who know their worth and own it, declaring it to the universe like a prayer, a song, a mantra. My beauties during my last visit in Manila two weeks ago.