A Taste of Home
The bus drops me off at an unfamiliar stop. Despite the dull-colored apartment buildings from the other side of the street, there seems to be no other evidence of living species in sight for about a half-mile radius. The Copenhagen early nighttime is dawning, the harsh, cold winds are penetrating through my pink, fluffy down jacket, and I am trapped in a bus stop, unsure if I am shivering from the cold or from fright.
My phone rings and I jump for a moment, before I realize what made the sound. Santos calling… I pick up.
“Nandito na ako! Saan na po kayo? (I’m here. Where are you?) I croak with a tinge of terror in my voice.
“Punta ka sa may parking lot sa Netto.” (Come by the parking lot at Netto.)
As I approach, I make out a man standing alone. He’s lucky the winds aren’t irritatingly blowing away at his hair; he has none. I recognize that shiny head and I instantly run to him for a hug.
“Uy!” he exclaims, overwhelmed at my enthusiasm. “Are you guys okay?” he greets in his funny Filipino accent.
“Okay, po. Let’s go?” I reply quickly, wanting so badly to take refuge from the growing cold.
He flashes a smile and it makes me feel warmer already.
Santos is about 25 years my senior, and I treat him like my dad away from home. He is a part of the 10% of Filipinos who live abroad, the 10,450,000 who flock foreign lands in search of opportunities elsewhere.
Santos is married to Merla. He is a handyman, while she works behind a ticket counter. They say they are making much more money than they could ever imagine, especially comparing to the meager amounts they received in the Philippines.
I met Merla while randomly walking down the streets of Copenhagen. I was surprised I heard non-English phrases I recognized as I passed by a group of huddled women. I stopped, backtracked, and asked, “Filipino po kayo?” (Are you guys Filipino?), already knowing they would respond positively. After a few exchanges, Merla invites me to a birthday party in their apartment that week. That characteristic Filipino hospitality never goes away.
The party today is the third event they’ve invited me to. I am grateful I was brave enough to greet them that day. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have all this food to salivate over.
Adobo, an immersion of meats and spices, browned in a vinegar and soy sauce marinade. Kare-kare, slow-cooked oxtail stew complimented with a thick, savory peanut sauce and a side of strong-tasting shrimp paste. Sinigang, a sour soup mix of vegetables and meat, with tamarind pulp for tartness.
“Salamat, Ate Merla. Salamat sa pagkain!” (Thank you, Ate Merla. Thank you for the food!)
The aroma of Merla’s cooking are the first sensations that greet me when I enter the apartment, and I have not stopped staring at the steam rising out of the plump forms of meat. After having mostly oatmeal and potatoes for far too long, my mouth craves for the taste of home.
We say our prayers before meals, and dive in. As utensils clash with plates, and Tagalog words are exchanged, I look at the faces around me, and can’t help but smile. It is this familiar feeling of home I always search for, despite being physically distant from it.
All our bellies are bursting with satisfaction, and we are sitting around the couches. They’ve assimilated to the Danish culture of digesting after meals with coffee and tea to make ample room for dessert. I hold my green tea with two hands. Santos and I are sitting beside each other and I ask him if he ever wants to go back home. It is the question I am always most curious to ask.
“Of course! Mas masaya sa Pilipinas. Sana balang araw makakabalik rin ako. Kaso ngayon, may dalawa pa akong anak na kailangan ng edukasyon. Kaya ikaw, pagbutihin mo yung edukasyon mo.” (Of course! It’s more fun in the Philippines. Hopefully one day I can go back. But, you know, I have two kids that need an education. Do well with your education, okay?)
“Oo naman, Kuya.” (Of course.) There is a long way to go before we are able to give people like Santos all the more reason to go back home.
“Malayo ang mararating mo. Sure ako diyan. Basta pag magbibisita kami sa Pilipinas, i-invite mo pa kami sa bahay mo, ah.” (You’re going to go far. I’m sure about that. But don’t forget, that whenever we visit, you’ll still invite us to your place!) He chuckles silently.
I sip my green tea with a tempered mix of gratitude and heaviness. I look at him and offer a shy smile. “Salamat.”














