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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