Home... As a child, I grew up in many different places, and not just different towns, cities, but countries as well. All that time, I was with my family. We moved to different countries and had great adventures as we started a new lifestyle. My friends call me "Wind Surfer", the boy who just flows wherever the wind blows and also call me "The Boy with No Home", but what does that mean to me? What is on my mind when I think of home?
All my life living outside of my hometown, Davao City, I always say that that place is my home. I always talk about how much I feel homesick, how I miss my friends and relatives, and how I miss the very air and atmosphere of the place. I rejoice at the very moment when my parents give us the news that we will be returning back to Davao even for just a short visit.
Now, I am back here in Davao City and in a situation that I have dream't about for years, to go to college here and experience school life again with actual classrooms, classmates, strict school rules, and annoying teachers. I don't remember the time when I've ever been happier than when I heard the news that I was going back to my hometown and actually stay there for a really long time. I am now in my second semester of my first year here and boy, is it exhausting, but it still is a ton of fun.
Though I am actually living the "dream come true" saying literally, I realize that "home" is not a place, but rather the people that make up a true home. All my life, I dream't of going back to the place where I was born, to my "home", but now I realize in all those years, I never left. My home is where my family is, wherever they may be. I miss them so much. There really is no place like home.