The Return to the old Barrio

I am now beginning to do the things I used to do before, which is one of the reasons I chose to come back and stay in my old hometown. I wanted a place where I could easily recreate the routine I had established in my home in the United States, only this time surrounded by family and familiar surroundings. What a relief it is to be back in my birthplace, living once again in my parents’ home. It is safe and quiet, and it provides pretty much everything I need. Most importantly, I know I am more than welcome here. I like to think that my parents built this house partly as a gift to me, and that my brother watched over it all these years until the day I finally returned and decided to stay.

The house I left behind in Lake Worth, Florida, already seems strangely remote in my mind. For a long time, it appeared to be the perfect place for me to retire comfortably in the United States. I had everything I needed there, and I had built a life around it. But the two people I expected to remain close to me—the people I believed I could rely on for companionship and a sense of security—both died. My other friends lived in cities far from me, and I increasingly found myself surrounded by neighbors with whom communication was difficult because many spoke little English and my Spanish was limited at best. I had hoped to build the next stage of my retirement around the one person I still had nearby, Jim, but he said goodbye far too early and far too unexpectedly. After that, going home began to make more and more sense.

And now I am here.

Yesterday, I started finding my way around the same old barrio again. In the mornings, I can walk to the market just a few steps from the house and see what is available. I discovered varieties of seafood I rarely bought in the United States. They were available there, of course, but usually frozen and often expensive. Here I saw squid and several kinds of fish besides the familiar bangus and tilapia. Before long, I might travel to nearby Guagua and explore the markets there, where I may find even more varieties of fresh fish, perhaps practically straight from the catch, along with all the vegetables I could possibly want. I really don't need rice with every meal. Today, however, I remembered that I still had an extra piece of bangus sitting in the air fryer from yesterday, so there was no reason to buy anything new. Besides, my sister-in-law cooks for me and makes sure I have food whether I ask for it or not. Fortunately, she is a very good cook.

I am also beginning to run into my old childhood playmates around town. We are all in our 60s now, perhaps a little less certain of our footing than we once were. We still try to joke with one another the way we used to, but our humor is now tempered by the seriousness that comes with age. I suppose that is simply how life goes. We are the same people, yet obviously we are not.

Little by little, I am also learning how to function here again. There is at least one bank near the marketplace with an ATM, and I needed to replenish my supply of pesos. The transaction went smoothly. Back at the house, I started setting up my mini PC and asked my nephew to buy a few inexpensive accessories for me. The refrigerator I ordered also arrived, and I asked my brother to take care of it because afternoons have become my sleeping time while I recover from jet lag. I slept well that afternoon and woke up around six in the evening. I made myself some coffee, ate dinner, and did a little cleaning afterward.

I have also been trying to organize my belongings. Right now, medicines, cameras, coffee, creams, and all sorts of little things have taken over my dining table. It isn't exactly pleasant to look at. I ordered shirts, shorts, and a multi-tiered rolling cart to organize everything. I swept the floor, picked up my garbage, and made a mental note that I needed proper trash bags. These are small, ordinary tasks, but perhaps that is exactly what settling into a new life—or an old life made new again—is about.

I started using Lazada yesterday to order some of the things I needed. Today, I thought about ordering dental floss and trash bags until I noticed that one item cost around 20 pesos while the shipping charge was 58 pesos. I know we are talking about Philippine pesos and very little money in U.S. dollars, but the principle still bothers me. It seems ridiculous to pay almost three times the price of an item just to have it shipped. So today may be a good time to explore the stores around the barrio and find out what I can buy locally instead of automatically ordering everything online. Part of returning home is learning again where things are and how people here go about their everyday lives.

I also have to pay closer attention to what I eat. I have already become a little careless with breakfast, particularly with all the bread around here, much of which seems sweeter than what I am used to. I am more disciplined with lunch and dinner and continue taking my medications as prescribed. Still, I need to be mindful of my diet and not assume that medication can compensate for careless eating. I hope my blood sugar remains under control when I eventually have my next blood work done.

My sleep remains inconsistent, although, to be fair, it was inconsistent even before this trip. Jet lag has simply added another layer to it. For now, I am allowing my body to adjust instead of fighting it too much. Eventually, I expect my days and nights to settle into a more normal rhythm.

Perhaps one of the best things about this homecoming is that I am beginning to feel more focused on storytelling again. I don't think I want to spend too much time making reels about my new surroundings. Plenty of people already vlog about life in this town. My own cousin posts videos about the place several times a day, and I have no desire to join that crowd. I would rather continue focusing on the things that have always interested me: gardening, growing plants, reading, writing, and telling stories.

Gardening, unfortunately, will have to wait. The weather has been terrible, with constant rain and some flooding. I don't even want to visit the small lot that has been set aside for me and that I eventually hope to turn into my garden. I caught a quick glimpse of it when I passed the gate a couple of days ago, and it certainly wasn't inviting. Parts of it were flooded, and people had dumped junk there. Once the Florida property is finally closed and everything is financially settled, one of my first projects will be to clean that lot thoroughly and bring in fill, sand, and good soil where needed. That probably won't happen until October. By then, I hope the weather will be more cooperative and I can finally begin transforming that neglected piece of land into something beautiful.

Another priority is maintaining my English, both through writing and reading. English isn't widely spoken in the barrio, and after spending most of my adult life using it every day, I don't want to lose my fluency simply through lack of use. Writing regularly in English will help. Reading English books will help. Speaking it whenever I have the opportunity will help as well. I can even use ChatGPT's voice feature to have English conversations during my free time. In a strange way, technology can help me maintain a part of the American life I brought home with me.

So this is it. I am finally back where everything started.

There is something almost circular about it. I left this place many years ago and built an entirely different life thousands of miles away. I worked, traveled, made friends, bought homes, built routines, and imagined growing old there. Now I have returned to the same barrio, the same family home, and some of the same streets I walked as a child. Yet I am returning as a completely different person, carrying decades of experiences that the young man who left here could never have imagined.

Sadly, the circumstances that brought me home were shaped by tragedy and loss. I don't necessarily believe that the deaths of my sister and Jim were God's way of sending me a message. Sometimes terrible things simply happen. The people closest to me were not healthy enough to remain here as long as I had hoped, and painful as that reality is, I have to accept the loss of them. Their deaths changed the direction of my life, but that doesn't mean they happened in order to change it.

I miss them, and I probably always will. But I am still here, and life continues to ask something of me.

Perhaps my task now is simply to live this remaining chapter well—to settle into this old house, rediscover the barrio, build my garden, take care of myself, read, write, tell my stories, and appreciate the family that surrounds me. And somewhere in my faith remains the hope that I will see the people I lost again someday. If that day comes, I will have quite a story to tell them about everything that happened after we parted ways.
2026-09-10 02:10:35
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