I was born and raised in Zamboanga del Sur, but for the last half of my life I have lived in Dubai. Since compulsion formed no part of my decision to work here, I am at ease in this lively cosmopolitan city. I speak few of the languages-as it is somewhat a melting spot of many nations; have a wide swathe of friends and sufficient resources to partake of Duba's many attractions.
I feel at home here, and yet it is not my home in quite the same way as Philippines. My connection to Zamboanga is visceral. It is the Eden of my childhood. It is the setting of my earliest memories and perhaps my most profound experiences. It is my home by birth. It is where my ancestors are buried, where my parents live and died. Dubai is my home by adoption. It is where my style sanctum flourished my being.
I accommodate claims of both places in my heart by describing myself as an expat, at liberty to come and go as and when I like. It is this flexibility, this freedom that underpins my happiness here.
Almost every year, in the early July, I make up an excuse to head home to my ancestral village in Zamboanga. It isn’t as if there is an anniversary or birthday to celebrate. In fact, if I had to ascribe a reason, I would say it is a matter of roots.
Although many expats love to return home, the power wielded by Gulf money, the flourishing life, Pinoys lured away the temptation to go back home. But, the acid test for the born-and-bred-in-the Philippines-but-living-elsewhere-now, coming home is more on sentimental reasons, kiss and goodbye!.
Mountains of coconuts and bananas, hills of paddy, yards of morning glory flowers, rows of glinting buffaloos herding in the gleaming sun... this is the lure of home.
I have always been fascinated by the romance of nature and faraway illusions of huge forest, trudging through meadows, before clogging parchments with dreams about drinking coffee-in-the-mist I canonised so long ago. It was this pastoral road trips and the idea of getting back to nature that thrills me. So, when I flew to Zamboanga last summer, I convinced myself that I have to leave Dubai's confines and get to my boondocks that held forth the promise of a creative
cornucopia.
I imagined my last holiday back home, arriving late on a long trip from the local domestic airport, engulfed in darkness, air thick with the chirping of crickets. Our headlights revealed a lonesome carabao and her fawn in the woodlands behind us. The roar of gushing wind was hypnotic, but I was too tired to go any further at that late hour and crawled into sleeping instead.
What sounded like the hellish roar at night turned out only to be the river by the crack of dawn. Hot coffee and a stick of C in hand, I sat on the wooden chair composing nonsense haikus and eventually ventured out towards the water. Teetering across mossy stones, I decided to plant myself on a rock and let fresh air and creativity swathe me.
As the sun rises I took some excellent trails only a few meters away from my Balinese- inspired house cum retreat. Realising rather quickly that I was all fairly out of shape, I took on the fallen branches as support, to get down on all fours to climb over rocks still moist with what I hoped was only morning dew. The path took me an exhausting 100 feet up that offered me an Edenic views of Yllana Bay and surrounding hilltops.
Gasping for air as I was near exhaustion, nature, I learned, despite my delusions, isn’t necessarily benevolent, but the rusticity had me feeling more at peace with myself and the world and did in fact give me a new lease on creativity.
i'm coming home.................!
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