I can still remember the time I was visiting my Tita Lila. I was 6, and I enjoyed every bit of going to my relatives’ houses. It was overlooking the beach. I can see the water stretching across the miles, and the sun dipping its rays into the deep blue sea. The vintage smell of wood and salty air is a great combination; together with the sound of the waves crashing and people laughing. It felt perfect, and it felt homey. That was the first time I felt a feeling of home. When I was grade 5, my home economics teacher explains to us what home means. Home is a feeling. You can’t touch it nor even explain it. It’s just the little things that make your heart warm, your smile a little bit wider and your spirit free. There are no bad aura, no negative emotion. She’d asked us what our home is. It made me think of it and wrote what I had in mind. Home is the sound of my grandfather saying “Hello. What do you want for snacks?,” or simply just “Hi, gha.” when I arrived from school. He became my father figure since my papa died in a car accident. Home is also the warm feeling of my grandmother hugging me and asking, “How was your day?” or saying positive quotes like “Everything will be okay.” when things go wrong. It is the sound of my mom’s voice at 10 in the evening, a long distance call from Canada, saying “I Love you. Take Care.” It is the fragrant smell of Nang Linda’s famous adobo, a specialty of our housekeeper. It is having my two cousins, Jaecy, a chubby thirteen year-old that thinks like a twenty year-old and Neil, a sporty dark eleven year old who thinks like a seven year old. They are two different personalities that made our house a jolly one. They are the source of our enjoyment and our smiles. Home is the light and happy emotion when we’re all in the dining table, laughing, talking about the experiences we all had for the day. Then I said to myself that “Home is where your heart is, and home is in