Pink Think: “And so much of my life has been about returning home and longing for home, wanting my children to know about my roots. And I thought I can’t be the only one to feel this way so I thought it would be an interesting topic to explore.” -Sela Ward
One of my favorite songs to sing on acoustic guitar is Miranda Lambert’s The House That Built Me. The song makes me ache for the wonder and simplicity of childhood, returning to my roots; not to cling to the past, but to remember it with fondness. Here is my version:
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Over the years, I’ve written a lot of stories about the Philippines, my childhood home, but I also consider Logan, Utah, my hometown. These are the houses that built me:
A unit in a government housing project called BLISS. Some mornings I woke to the smell of the papaya tree, the sun filtering gently through thin green curtains; the scent of wet earth in the back when I played house; a stream nearby which caught my imagination as a child and writer. My dad built shelves in the living room, and between the books we owned and trips to the British Embassy library, I read and read and read.
An apartment in Logan, Utah, where I went to college at fifteen with my mom. We lived upstairs on the third floor, in a little studio apartment with green carpet, between a Finnish and Iranian lady; a breathtaking view through tall poplars of my small college/farming community. Lots of firsts: international friendships and American experiences. My mom and I became friends, and I changed my major from business to English, a turning point in my life.
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How about YOU? Tell me about the house that built you.
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