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It’s only when the door closes behind me

and I sit alone in my room,

all my things organized and stored,

that I realize I am

eight thousand, five hundred, and twenty-six miles from home–

which I know to be a vague term

for an oddly specific feeling

so by home I mean

my mother’s voice

booming down the wooden stairs

bawat Linggo pagkatapos ng misa

telling me to chase the man selling taho down the road and I would,

my slippers banging against the hot asphalt,

coins jingling in my hands.

the ten-hour road trips we would take

every New Year’s down to

my lola, with her fiery brown hair and strong posture,

beaming with pride as she saw

how tall her apo have gotten as we spill out of the van and into her home

like the floods she is oh so used to.

the brittle crackle of cooking oil

on lazy weekend afternoons,

bananas coated with rice mixture

shifting from immaculate white to golden brown,

along with the unmistakable tssss of Coke,

skies shifting from bright blue to bursts of magenta and tangerine

before fading into gentle violet.

so, when I say home

I mean all of these and more–

lahat nito,

and I realize I am

eight thousand, five hundred, and twenty-six miles from home–

which becomes a specific term

for an oddly specific feeling