“We’re going home,” I heard my dad announce at the dinner table.

 

     “’Home?’” I repeated.

 

     “Yes, son,” said my mom with that pretty smile. “We’re going back home.”

 

     I knew exactly what they meant. After 21 years here in the USA, not once have we ever looked back to the Philippines. I remember what it was like, but only vaguely. I mean, I left at age four. That wasn’t really an age when a person notices everything around him. All I remember are the times I’ve spent with my best friend. Ah, my best friend. Kim. I miss her. Once in the twenty-one years I’ve been here have we spoken, and it was a five minute phone conversation when I was about seven. The last time I saw her was at our hiding spot. It overlooked most of the town. We’d disappear for hours and hours at a time, playing and hanging out at this beautiful spot that was ours—all ours. She was only three then, and she was crying. Though I don’t want to, I feel compelled to admit that so was I. I mean, I was four and I was going to be separated from my best friend—and my first love. How weird is that exactly? I remember everything:

 

     “Why are you leaving?” she asked, her eyes, shining with the tears she tried so hard to hold back.

 

     “Because my parents are,” I said. “I really, really don’t want to. But they said that I can’t stay here by myself.”

 

     “Well then why can’t they stay here, too?” she asked me again.

 

     “I don’t know,” I said, completely unsure of the answer to that very good question. “Something about the eco—something. I forgot what they said.”

 

     “I think they meant ‘economy,’” she said. She always was the smarter one between us. She was like a walking dictionary. Did I mention she used to read that for fun? “I heard my parents say it before and I looked it up.”

 

     “And—?” I asked.

 

     “Careful, thrifty management of resources, such as money, materials, or labor,” she said. The smartass. But I love her nonetheless.

 

     “Oh,” I said, pretending to understand.

 

     “Just promise me you’ll come back, RJ,” she said, the tears finally overflowing.

 

     “I promise,” I said, hooking my pinkie with hers. I then took her in my arms and held her tight, letting the tears in my eyes fall as well. “It’ll only be a little while. Just watch, you won’t even know I was gone.”

 

     “Really?” she asked, hopefully.

 

     “That’s what my parents told me,” I said. Though something told me that they were only saying that to make me feel better about going away with them—like when they say ‘everything’s going to be alright’—and I’ll bet you anything that Kim thought that, too. We were just hoping that something the grownups are telling us during a bad situation could be true for the first time ever.

 

     She hugged me even tighter. But when I heard her sobbing, I slightly pulled back to look at her face. And that’s when it happened: our first kiss. Sure it was just a childish smack—of course it was, because I only tried to copy what I see my parents do—but it was still my first kiss; our first kiss. That’s always the most memorable one.

 

 

 

 

     I saw the seatbelt sign flash and immediately knew we were about to land. Once the three of us have collected all of our baggage, we headed for the main gate. As soon as I stepped out, the hot, humid air greeted me. We then hailed a cab which took us to our old home. It was in a small town on the outskirts of Cebu. Quiet, peaceful, and everyone knows each other. We’re one of the two families with the biggest houses. The other house belongs to the Chius. I stared at the house that I once visited every day. It stood there—empty. Years ago, the Chius had migrated to Italy. I was about fourteen then and couldn’t care less. I was at that phase when I didn’t care about anything. I don’t know why, I just didn’t.

 

     Just then I heard wheels. Small wheels, like that of a suitcase. That’s when I saw the pretty lady about fifty yards away. In fact, not just pretty—gorgeous would probably be barely enough to suffice. She had a number of bags other than the suitcase. From what I can see, she’s struggling to carry three duffel bags, a handbag, a messenger bag, and a backpack.

 

     “Miss, do you need any help with that?” I ask after reached her.

 

     “Please?” she asked, obviously in need of help. She handed me two of the duffel bags and her handbag gratefully. “Thank you so much.”

 

     “Not a problem,” I say with a smile. “So where do we take these?”

 

     “It’s just up the street,” she said. It wasn’t really a surprise to me when she led me to the Chius’ home. “I’m Kim by the way,” she said extending a hand to me after we dropped her luggage in the living room.

 

     “Gerald,” I said taking it. I thought I knew those eyes. I would never ever, ever forget my Kimmy.

 

 

 

 

     “So what brings you to our quaint little town in Cebu?” she asked me. We’re now sitting on the couch in their terrace. The same terrace we played in as children. She invited me to stay and have some coffee after she thanked me for helping her with those bags. It turns out that Kim has been coming back every two years to check on the place. “Visiting friends?”

 

     “Yeah,” I lied. It wasn’t a complete lie, though. She’s a friend and I’m visiting her.

 

     “You know,” she said, placing her cup down. “You look really familiar.”

 

     “Do I now?” I asked.

 

     “Yes, you do,” she said smiling. “Have we met before?”

 

     “I don’t recall,” I lied again. How can she not remember me?

 

     “Oh, well,” she said with a shrug. “It’ll come to me eventually.”

 

     “Do you want to come with me tomorrow?” I blurt out all of a sudden.

 

     “Where to?” she asked.

 

    “Just tour around,” I said casually. “You know, see what this town has to offer.”

 

     “Well,” she began, “it’s not much, but this is a great town.”

 

     “I’m pretty sure it is,” I said. “So are you up for it?”

 

     “Sure!” she said brightly. “I don’t really have much to do for the rest of the day. Do you want to go right now?”

 

     “Now?” I ask. “Sure. Okay.”

 

     For the rest of the day, I let her drag me to different places we went to when we were kids. I mean that’s really all the entertainment we have in our town. Some arcades, a few karaoke bars here and there. And like most places in the Philippines, we are loaded with street vendors. Man, I forgot how good that food tasted! The sun was setting while we walked on a deserted street. Turning a corner, I saw a path—a path I knew all too well.

 

     “What’s over there?” I asked her, knowing that she would be excited to go to our special place.

 

     “Oh,” she said. “That’s nothing.”

 

     Ouch. That hurt. “It sure looks like something,” I say. “Come on, let’s go see.”

 

     “No,” she said, vigorously shaking her head. “It looks kind of dangerous.”

 

    

     “You’ve got nothing to worry about,” I said. “I’m here. Nothing bad's gonna happen to you. Now, come on.” I pulled her by the hand—just like I used to do.

 

     “Okay,” she said, still a bit hesitant. It was just as I remembered it. That old tree was still bent low with thick branches, making it incredibly easy to climb. The short stump still sat next to it, creating a perfect chiar or table. The cliff still curved over the edge, giving us an amazing view of the town. The timing was perfect. The sun was setting over the horizon and the sky was a beautiful mix of gold, orange, and red.

 

     “Beautiful,” I said, looking at her.

 

     “It is,” she replied. “I love sunsets.”

 

     “I wasn’t talking about the sunset,” I said, looking at her. She turned and saw me, probably wearing that goofy smile again.

 

     She smiled as well, but I muttered a silent curse as I heard her phone ring, ruining the moment. She turned around and fumbled with her phone. ”Hello?” she said after pressing the button. “Yeah, I’m here.” She paused, listening to the caller. “A few hours ago,” she said and paused again. “I got caught up with something else,” she said, and her pause was shorter this time. “I’m sorry, okay? I’ll just call you before I go to bed, alright? Okay. Bye.” She hung up and pocketed her phone.

 

     “Was that your mom?” I asked her.

 

     “No,” she smiled, shaking her head. "That was Gino.”

 

     “’Gino?’” I repeated. “Friend of yours?”

 

     “Fiancé,” she says casually.