The Home of a Heart

Part One

For a woman who was normally too busy mentally adding and subtracting numbers, checking off to-do lists and managing my tasks in my head, I was thinking too much about love today.

Probably because at twenty-five, I'm now the same age my mother was when she married my father. And today was their thirty-year anniversary. Well, it won't actually be until tomorrow here in Canada because the Philippines was almost a day ahead.

Thirty-years ago, my mother promised her love and loyalty to one man—a good man because my father was devoted and kind—and as romantic as that all seemed, it occurred to me that nothing of that sort was happening in my life at this moment.

I had no love story of my own.

I had to remind myself that I wasn't unhappy.

To be honest, I had no reason to be.

It was about two and a half years after I boarded the plane to Edmonton, temporarily leaving behind my family and friends, and my own dreams, so that I could ensure that both my younger siblings could make it through college. And so far, they've done their part. Abigail earned her teaching degree a year ago and just started her first full-time job at the local high school back home. Luis was going to be a nurse and he was graduating in a little over three months. I could wrap up the last few months I had left of my contract and finally go home.

Or you can stay another year and see what life brings you. Maybe, in thirty years, your daughter will be happily celebrating your own wedding anniversary.

I shook the thought away as I got off the bus at the end of the block and started my way to the bank.

For the past week, I'd been racking my brain with a decision I couldn't seem to make—and I usually made up my mind quickly. My boss, Dolores, offered to extend my employment for another year. That extra year had never been part of my initial plans and for all my detailed planning, I didn't know what to do with that opportunity. I had some time before the paperwork needed to be started and today was a good day to put it off just a little bit longer.

My steps had a little bounce to them when I approached CIBC. My bank account was going to feel much lighter after today's global money transfer but I was excited to part with this money, knowing my parents wouldn't be expecting it at all. It was just a little extra I'd saved on the side from tips and a few shifts I'd picked up. Every dollar I'd sent home was spent prudently on my siblings' tuition and other important emergencies. This would be a gift.

The teller patiently waited as I withdrew a wad of neatly folded bills from my wallet and counted each one. This was all my tips this week and it was just enough to cover the rest of the amount I needed.

Because I couldn't resist, I smiled at the teller as she processed the global money transfer and said to her, "It's for my parents. I'm hoping they can finally go to Baguio once and for all."

The teller—Maricris according to her name tag—looked up and smiled broadly. She was Filipino and she understood every single word I said in Tagalog and she responded in kind. "It's the perfect time to go. It's going to be cooler and strawberry season is in full swing."

I laughed. "My father hates being cold—although he probably doesn't know the real meaning of cold like you and I do living here in winter city—but he would love the strawberries. And the sights. And he'd love the smile on my mother's face."

The woman's smile softened. "Your parents are very lucky to have you."

I shrugged. "I'd like to think I'm the lucky one."