The yayas have vacuumed our bedroom, wiped weeks-old dust off of several surfaces, and changed the sheets. I made myself a mug of decaf and slowly made my way upstairs. And then, as if a switch has been turned… off I went. In a mad dash, as if overcome by a spirit, I scrambled about - unpacked the suitcase from the hospital, fixed my toiletries, stacked my books.
I did these despite the terrible feeling of wooziness and the ringing in my ears. I rushed about, at times almost tumbling down because of this annoying sense of imbalance and instability. I did not care. Somehow, this business of putting things back where they belong was therapeutic. It was symbolic of the way I hope things are now back to their usual, predictable, boring place. After the seemingly unending, two-week ordeal, I realized - I like boring. I like ordinary. I love peace.
The kids, who excitedly welcomed me with their hugs and kisses, lay quietly in the other room; tucked in for their afternoon nap. One of the yayas is with them, as she should be. The other yaya is downstairs, fixing odds and ends. My Tita is also downstairs, reassuring me, urging me to take my much-needed rest and to just holler in case I needed anything. Mommy is back home in the province. Hubby is in the office, just in time for his meetings.
And I sit here on my favorite spot. My old but ever-reliable desk. With a mug of coffee and my books and study materials beside me. My ears ring, I feel dizzy, yet I find myself looking up to heaven and quietly thanking God for bringing me here.
It feels great to have some semblance of normalcy.
It feels good to be home.
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