A Sense of Place

When Don was alive, we always said that home is "wherever Chat is" but after he died, I felt displaced and wasn't sure where I belong anymore. I tried living in Cebu, and I only lasted 9 months, then 2 years later I tried it again and it lasted 6 months. My Filipino ex offered to build me a hut somewhere on his farm in Negroes, "there, you'll have the mountain air and the sea breeze" he said. NJ, my American ex who owns a business in Malaysia, offered to sponsor my resident visa through his company if I want to live in Malaysia. Both offers confused me more than it comforted me.

So I told myself, "No, thanks. I am a vagabond." And hearing myself say that, comforted me and still does. Chat was very supportive of a vagabond mother and because she's very independent, I didn't feel that she needed me close by anyway. So I started simplifying my life and cutting down expenses with the idea that sooner than later I will be moving to Cebu; I stopped buying anything besides the essentials, I bought an old car that I paid cash so I am not tied down to a monthly payment and I stopped using credit which to this day, I am proud to say I have no debts. I live where I live now when I could live somewhere cheaper because I can't compromise on the quality of the neighbors and the neighborhood.

Then God spoke subtly through Chat's wisdom teeth. When Chat called me 4 weeks ago frustrated, afraid and in pain, I felt needed. I felt my place, a sense of place because normally Chat would just take care of things and tell me later. Finally, I realized: I can not be anywhere but here. I have to live close by Chat. And with this realization, I suddenly feel the need to replace my drapes, buy a new sofa, rearrange my apartment and hopefully still have enough money left to buy real flowers, not cuttings like this one which the apartment grounds crew were more than happy to give me after I practiced my Spanish on them.