Guests in the Childhood Home

My mother has an impeccable gift of hospitality. Or as my BFF put it, "the gift of taking care of people." She's never been extravagant with anything, and it's the same with her hospitality. But her gift comes through being able to laugh at herself and make any person that walked through our front doors feel completely at home because she's "crazy". She engaged every person with a level of ridiculousness that you just had to laugh -- if not with her, then at her.

We always had strict rules in our household, and her home-cooked meals would be considered "too healthy" by most of our friends. But that never stopped our youth-group from making our home the most frequented hang-out after church because they didn't want to go home. And even though Auntie Florence would always make them eat a lot of veggies and Uncle Steven would make this horrible-tasting but very nutritious fruit juice, our friends, and eventually also the kids my mum tutored would still enjoy hanging out in our home.

Six-and-a-half years ago, my brother and I moved out of this home. But the guests still kept coming through those doors. Recently, when it became clear that we were moving out for good, our bedrooms became the living space for two Malaysian kids who were in Singapore for education. They were kids that my mum had been tutoring before they moved in. It was good for my parents because not only did it bring a slight addition to the household income, it also gave my mum more "kids" to "take care of".

And so now, we have become the guests in the childhood home. Except each year when we return, we get our own sets of keys, an EZ-link card (transport pass in Singapore), a cell-phone and spending money. We're still family, so we still get special treatment :) And each year when we leave, we return the keys, the EZ-link card, the cell-phone and whatever's left of the spending money. The doors are still open, as they've always been, even after we've developed "strange Western styles of living."

Home will always be home where the parentals are
Where the once-upon-a-time baby sister is
Where Grandma calls everyday to ask if we're hungry and if we want her to bring food over
Where the cousins gather for our Christmas party
Where the girl-friends from high school get together for our reunions

Even when we're only guests there once a year
Even if we find more distant lands to call home the rest of our lifetime

Because this is the home that gave me a legacy to live
This is the home that taught me about the craziness of hospitality
This is the home that taught me to always make sure no one is hungry
This is the home that taught me the importance of gathering together every once in a while

In a recent conversation with the BFF, she made me dream about where we might find ourselves in ten months time--the next time I'll be back in the country that owns my passport. And then she said this: "No matter where you go, no matter what you find yourself doing, whether it's in church or outside of the church, you will always be taking care of people. Because that's just what you do."

And it's only because of the legacy that this home taught me to live.

Because this is home.
Even if it's one of many homes.