A New Place to Call Home

There is no exact number I can come up with when I try to count the number of times I've moved in my life. More cities than the fingers of two hands, and enough countries to occupy all the fingers of one hand. Even still, finding a place that feels so much like home in a city that is so far away from most of the people who know you best and love love love love you is always a magical thing. It's been a week to the day, and the report remains stellar.

An early drawing by Gaél, a foto with a story I might tell you, an old-school writing kit from my brother.

The place is warm and nurturing, somewhere between a beachside fire and a shot of whisky. Neat, of course. It sits on a tree-lined street, where today an HBO series will be shooting (yep, it's THAT pretty). My desk sits facing the street, so I get a cool breeze as I think and work surrounded by mementos from friends and family. This new life is punctuated by touches of where I am from, a pair of ash trays bearing the words "Casa Vallés" from Abuelo's collection; the scapular my great grandmother brought to the Philippines from Spain - a present during my First Holy Communion, one one side The Sacred Heart of Jesus, the Blessed Virgin on the other. It is all part of the dichotomy of who I am, and I like it like that.

This is how we do breakfast chez nous.

For all the time I've lived in New York and for as much as I love this city, I have not felt like I could claim a space and call it home until now. The art that sits waiting for me to get my bearings will soon board a ship and find themselves, as I have, in a new place to call home. Until then, I continue to get to know what this new home will mean to me and my story. I invite you to come over for a meal, we do quite well in the food and beverage department. I may be a New Yorker but I will always be a hospitable Filipina at heart, ready with a big hug, warm meal and clean sheets for my friends. Come visit us in Brooklyn, donde hay vino para el vecino.