Another three-day weekend is upon us here in the Philippines and yet I will be spending it purging more of our house of... stuff.
I've managed to squeeze books, and assorted this's and that's into one box. I'm not happy yet and will do another round of sorting in the coming weeks. The box is too heavy and needs to be divulged of books and other things I felt deemed worthy of sentimental value. It's most likely c-r-a-p. Will be even more ruthless for Round 2 of operation "Move Life Back to the US".
When my mother transplanted us here in 1980, our entire house fit into a huge Bekins container that followed us via the ocean six months after we arrived in September. The green metal rectangle was attached to an 18-wheeler. How it fit into our narrow street is beyond me. I remember it feeling like Christmas the day it arrived. My bed, toys, dolls and everything else we had owned in the US (except our car) had finally come.
This time as I return to the country I once called home, no containers or vans or trucks will be needed. Everything has to fit into two suitcases and a box. Or a suitcase and a box. And where once we came to the Philippines to the warm welcome of relatives who appeared out of the woodwork, my daughter and I will be going to a state where we know no one save for a few Filipino strangers who are kindly offering the use of their home for a season.
I would have wanted to see more of the country before leaving, especially since I scored a pathetic D on my local travels.
Out of all the beautiful beaches, mountains, lakes, rivers, springs, and caves that I will not get to explore, Boracay is the one place that though I did get to visit, I wish I could afford to go back to just one last time.