home

Late last night, I couldn't sleep. It was hot and I felt restless, my mind going nowhere in particular.

I told told my wife I was going out for a drink and walked to St. Francis Square and hung out at one of the bars there, the same default bar I go to when I need a drink.

I'm not much of a drinker, but sometimes, well, you just have to have some beer in a place where you can smoke. Not for any macho reason, but just because. Just because.

The last time I was here, one of the ladies I talked to told me her sob story and the bartender made small talk.

This time, two brothers shared cigarettes with me, one who returned from Qatar a year ago. So we exchanged stories about working abroad and how things are here and how ultimately home is home - or not.

I thought I saw a couple of people I knew, but I didn't bother to get up. Wasn't in the mood, feeling like an balikbayan OFW awash in regret and lost opportunities.

What is it that makes home a home? The people? The security? The support structure? The familiarity?

After a few bottles, I walked to my home, where my wife and child slept on, undisturbed by my questions.

They are all my answers.