Home

Today, I counted the number of flights I’ve taken across the Pacific, and for as much history as I have with Asia, nine doesn’t seem like that many. I am currently flying, for the ninth time, over the Pacific Ocean, back to my air mattress in Cebu. It’ll be nice to be “home.”

Home is such an interesting word.

People always ask me where I’m “from.” It’s such a complicated question. I grew up in multiple places, and have lived in numerous places across the globe in my adult life. And now, my family is spread out across the U.S., all in places I’ve never called “home.”

Although I have strong emotional ties to all the places I’ve lived in, when I visit those places again it’s the people I go to see. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve visited places just for the sake of seeing the place I lived. But when there is no one to see, no one that I still love and cherish, once is enough. And sometimes once is too much.

When I plan trips to the United States, I go where I have loved ones. My family and friends are spread all across the USA, and I can only see so many of them. But I always want to see as many as possible. And no matter what I think of the actual city they live in, I will go back again and again if the relationship is worth it to me.

I’m on my way to begin my official term as Clinical Director of My Refuge House. That sounds really important, but actually I just want to make a home. A home where girls who have been marginalized, taken advantage of, and abused can find Refuge. A home that cultivates healing relationships. A home that girls will keep coming back to, because they’ve found hope and joy that didn’t exist before.

Home is an interesting word.

Home is a good word.