we are all pilgrims here on earth — our true home will always be some place else.

Pilgrims

An unpaved road stretches out before us, reaching a point where even our eyes cannot see. There was mud everywhere, and on it were traces of footprints, hoof prints and tire tracks weaved together to form a fleeting pattern that will be soon washed out by the wind. An uncemented road for me, always is a prelude to a great experience. We then walked the whole stretch — up the hill, past the rice paddies, until finally, we walked into our home for the next three days.

The extension of our home was two kilometers from the physical structure of the house up to the shoreline. With Tatay leading the way, we made our way through the forest while grappling three bamboo poles laid across the stream — our feet barely fitting the bridge. Finally, taking solid ground amidst the tall coconut trees and large bushes, we saw a clearing — fine white sand with a small nipa hut standing before us. Taking solace from the shade, we satiated our thirst, not noticing that some of the coconut juice from the husk was trickling down from the corners of our lips. My heart was brimming with joy, and with the smiles that were etched on Tatay and Nanay’s faces, I knew that they felt it too. Strangers we were to the oldest town of the Philippines, Unisan— its name was believed to have been taken from the spanish word unir, meaning “unite,” or named from the latin uni sancti which means “one saint” as an act of homage to its patron saint and martyr San Pedro Bautista. Although we stayed there briefly, this family has taken us in, fed us and taught us the simplest way of living — to live within your means, to eat every morsel, and drink every drop as if it was the only thing you held dear. Some one hundred twenty miles from the city, we found home.

Someone once told me that we are all pilgrims here on earth — our true home will always be some place else. When I look at Tatay, I see his skin is sunburnt from casting his fishing net and hauling a few fish, more by-catch. The lines on his face count for the years of wisdom, and his eyes reveal his true emotions. I see myself in him — persistent and trusting that every moment is the only thing that matters. In his eyes, I see my countless search, only to discover that home is finding fragments of myself reflected in the eyes of another.

I leave, not with a heavy heart, but with a certain lightness enveloping me. For I know that in meeting them and sharing their lives even for a while, I have left a piece of me.