Finding Home

"Millions", I gush at the sight of them. I only know them to be blue, never lilac-colored. The husband says, "Never mind planting this at home. We will come back to the mountains again and again." Kuya Ramil laughs at this. Again, everybody knows I am no green thumb. We go back to their house where the guides are gathering. Newly cooked Balanghoy immersed in Latik is waiting on the wooden table that Kuya Ramil himself built. Kuya Loloy, our guide when we climbed Lake Janagdan in May, had harvested coconuts for us before we arrived. I ask, "Are these from one of the coconut trees that Kuya Loloy said marked the end our grueling descent from Lake Janagdan?" I was already cranky and irritable nearing the end of our climb at that time. Kuya Loloy had to tell me, "Relax lang Ma'am. Smile." And I responded with something that was the complete opposite of what he had suggested. We all laugh at the memory. Kuya Danny then t

"I am terrible with goodbyes," I say. We take one last picture. The van drives away. We go back inside.  There are only two breakfast plates left.  The painting of a vibrant red rose greets me. Love, it seemed to say. The guest room is cleaned. A frame sits on the side table. On the wall, the white rose painting hung. Quiet,  it gently said. I am terrible with goodbyes. Time flies so fast. The days are too short. I need more than sixty minutes in an hour. The words flow. Laughter fills every room. Stories are told. Many of them, one after another. Movies. Food. Family. Travel. School. Careers. Passion. Love. Life. Home.  I am terrible with goodbyes. Tyler, our Dutch Shepherd looks at the bags and luggage lined up at the gate, whimpers. Or maybe it is just his ears bothering him. Garret peers into the guest room, eyes questioning.  "Where are they, Mama?' he seemed to ask. I remember the day. I am wrapped in an embrace so tight. I have never been hel