It was a day you hope to only read about. A day that you've always thought happens to someone else. At some point, if we’re lucky, we know we're at home. We choose to stay where we were born — that's we know exactly where we wanted to be or we move and settle elsewhere, sometimes in the same area, sometimes in a far—off part of the world—and find that's right for us. Sometimes we do the choosing. Sometimes we know when we've come to the right spot — it's as if our home space has been waiting for us. If we're very lucky, we feel at home in many places, any place we happen to find ourselves. Home may be ever-changing. And what feels right at one time may not at another. Some people never find what feels like home. But what does it mean: home, a chosen home, being at home, and not being at home?
I've been wondering and thinking about that for several years now. To start with, my daddy considered himself to be a simple man, and I agreed in whatever he said because it is all true. After months working overseas, he usually brought chocolates for us or anything he wanted to bring for us as presents when he arrived home. As other dad's out there my dad's really different, because he actually helps mom in so many ways—especially in household chores. He never wanted to be called as a "worthless man" if he is staying in the house. He usually stayed in the house for a maximum of two months; of course it's for leisure and to have a new bonding with us or a new memory to be remembered forever—or something like that.
When I was a little girl, my daddy used to give me a piggy-back ride. And he teased me, when I gained weight every time he arrived home. I never wanted that my dad will work overseas because that means he'll be far-away—far-away from me. But, because of the reality that money revolves around the world my dad had no choice. And when he was going back to his work abroad, I cried. I don't know why my tears are so shallow when it comes to my dad. It felt such heaviness in my heart when he left the house for work. When I talked about my dad I feel very emotional. He is just the perfect man in the whole world. Sometimes, I wonder if he liked his job or just doing his part for me to live and to have a better future.
Every birthday he had, I never gave something special for him. A kissed on his forehead or cheek and a warmed hug, I usually do to his birthday. He stayed in the Philippines for a year and I was excited about that, because almost every year he celebrated his birthday in the ship. "He stayed here for a year", I grabbed the opportunity to give a surprised party for him, which was last year for his 50th birthday he was so surprised! And some tears fell from his eyes. He blamed me for it. I just laughed. He never expected that I could do those things for him he said. Result of being overwhelmed, he hugged me tight and bite my ear in the right side. He always does that when he felt that he is being appreciated. I gave that surprised birthday party for him just to let him know that I love him that much. After everything he has given me.
In my family, love is the oil that eases the friction, the cement that binds closeness together, and the music that brings harmony. Like all the best families, we have our shared of eccentricities, of impetuous and wayward youngsters and of family disagreements. My family and our love are cultivated like a garden. Time, effort, and imagination are summoned constantly to keep any relationship flourished and grew stronger.
My best moment with my family is where we are all there in the living room playing chess, scrabble, watching TVs or movies in DVDs, dancing like idiots, singing the karaoke like fools, exchanging thoughts and just watching the stars at night. My dad told me that night that he loves me and that it won't change. And I hugged him oh-so-tight after he said that. It felt a huge part of my life. He added: if you wanted to be loved, you have to give love—and not take anyone for granted.
It does not need to be a big family, it can be just two people—or it can be a large, extended family where friends are considered to be family members as well. Family happiness is a broad concept and only you can define what you consider to be your family. As for me, Home is where my family and I connected. Family is a life that have full of major and minor crises — the ups and downs of health, success and failure in career, marriage, and divorce — and all kinds of characters. It is tied to places and events and histories. With all of these felt details, life etches itself into memory and personality. It's difficult to imagine anything more nourishing to the soul.
