Going home is the best part of a long journey. The Good Earth by Pearl S. Buck
Especially if your home is the Philippines, a newly industrialized country. Whether you are tending your farm (make no mistake about it: farming is a noble if productive job, with apologies to Renato Corona, who looks down on it.) or a student burning the candle in the city–the thought, the plan and the execution of going back to your abode is the best part.
Especially too, from the perspective of overseas Filipino workers, who toil day in and day out, far from kith and kin. Who operate (with some exception) in strange cultures, and who are treated as second-class individuals–sometimes with contempt.
Especially from a dyed-in-the-wool Guinaronanhon, who has roamed the world and seen enough. Especially one in the twilight of his life–isn’t the notion and reality of going home too good to pass?
From the Eschatological standpoint, going home is another matter–it morbidly does mean going back to one’s creator. However, living up to one’s potential and being of help to one’s fellow human being–therein lies the satisfaction of the universal law.
O to be back to relish the cool and invigorating waters of the Ibugue stream, of Maalngon, of Kunarom, of Hitomnog. To pig out on dagmay, nangka, lawot-lawot, kinilaw, prito nga bulad, law-law–indigenous foods you only dream about in your wanderings.
To finally settle in your roots–that is home with a capital H.