Blog: the Homecoming

It's been almost a week since coming back to Texas. We're still jetlagged; waking up at 4 or 5 am sometimes to sit in the quiet and slowly letting sleep overtake us after sunset. 
I have so much to say about my 'homecoming.' There are after all, 30 years of memories that have been building up, and then the anticipation of breathing in the first breath of a childhood, but I don't have enough words to describe or know how to encapsulate what that first moment felt like to me. Landing into the island that I've pictured and visited in my dreams over time......
but of course, I am a writer so I will try. But I'll have to do these in pieces.  

---

Arrival on June 27th

onboard the regional plane; my kiddos seeing Leyte below them

The Philippines is roughly 13 hours ahead of Texas time. I told my kids that we went to the future as our plane was descending. Both my children were quietly observing the islands appearing beneath them. What were in their heads, I wondered? Meanwhile, my thoughts were racing. Would they appreciate its beauty? Would they look past all that isn't familiar (toilet, acs, foods, etc) and ask a million questions about their mom's history? Would I pretend its okay to enjoy this place as is.....and not what I've built up several times in my head? 
We landed in the afternoon and were met with family I don't recognize. A cousin from my dad's side and her family. On our way to my mom's family - the one I wanted to see and hug - we stopped to look at the MacArthur's landing. I'm now realizing the nod to this pit stop. His 'I shall return' promise is etched in stone. And ours.....our promise came 30 years and 2 siblings short later. 
But as we drove up to a house that I don't recognize - our old home was destroyed during Typhoon Yolanda, the voices and faces opened a vat of childhood memories.
There is my aunt: practically our second mom who made sure we were ready for school and doing our best as my mom was in the States living her dream. She's still exactly how I pictured her. Short, strong, and kind. 
My uncle in his cool little stool watching the roosters. Still a background to strong females in my life but nonetheless, a presence worth noting and knowing.
There was one of my older cousins who doted on us, still just as lovely and sweet. My son instantly bonded with her children. It was a homecoming I hadn't pictured but one that I'll remember.
Not even day one on the island and I was trying my best not to cry or be overwhelmed with all the things.  

---

Macarthur Landing

---

How do I tell you my story?

I have probably hundreds of pictures on my phone from the minute we were on the plane out of Houston's International airport on the first day of our trip, to the moment we were back home to Texas. I wish I could go back into one of those photos to relive these thousand and one million moments. I don't think we ever for a moment felt homesick for Texas. 
But when we got home, I can tell you that the kids and I missed the roosters waking us up, followed by the pandesal guy (a man with a portable oven carrying bread). I know that dude is for sure missing us - we ordered like crazy, twice a day, for the whole time we were there. 
There are quiet moments like that. The church bell ringing in the distance during our trek through downtown. 
The car horns that asked permission to go around.
Voices of waray - a language that I don't ever hear in the States all around me. A cacophony of familiartiy, childhood, and a home that I forgot existed right were I stood. 
It was a privilege and an honor to introduce my children and husband to the place that birthed and grew their mom. Yes, I consider East Texas my hometown, but this place, my birthplace, is unmatched and has a special place in my heart. 

What we left behind

What I can do for you now is to show you those small moments. Yes, swam in the ocean. Yes, my children had coconuts. Yes, we rode in a pedicab and a jeepney. I did all of my checklist of 'touristy things,' but I was so happy to be able to live like locals with my children for a while. They played badmitton and basketball with their cousins and a neighboring kiddo. They chased down the pandesal guy. They had street food and elegant hotel faire. I hope they saw both sides: the ones who were able to afford the things and the ones whose hands reached out for ours. 
The days we spent not chasing waterfall, I asked each family member to catch me up on their lives. There wasn't a person on Tacloban City that didn't have a Typhoon story. You can still see the damages etched in some walls, in some people. We drove by cemetaries with mass graves. Every survivor told their loss, their resilence, their strenght. What they did in the before, the prayers during, and the surveying of the dead in the after. 
So many stories. 
And I know there are so many more. 

---

So...what now

So what can I tell you about Tacloban City, Leyte, Philippines? 
Well.....eventually, I'll get to write poems about it. For now, I am thankful that instead of fading childhood memories, I finally get new ones (and with photos) that I can look back on. I did promise my aunt and cousins that it would not take my family and I 30 more years to return. 

This is Tacloban. Pictured from Calvary hill.

Santo Nino church in the distance

---