Rica left the Philippines when she was just four years old, so this trip was like seeing the country for the very first time. After fifty years away, everything was new to her — the places, the food, the rhythm of the days — and watching her take it all in made the journey even more meaningful for me. I’m truly glad she was able to join me for this trip.

And then, all too soon, it was time to take her back to the airport.

We took Rica back to the airport after breakfast on April 1. The drive felt quieter than usual — partly because we were a smaller group now, just Ronald, Ella, little Ryzen, Jay, me, and Ella’s brother-in-law driving us — and partly because everyone knew what was coming. It was that soft kind of silence that settles in when no one wants to be the first to say goodbye.

When we arrived, we didn’t just drop her off at the curb — we parked, all of us walking in together like we could somehow slow the clock by staying close.

We helped her with the luggage, but we weren’t allowed inside the check‑in area for security reasons, so we stood behind the barrier and watched her move through the line by following the two bright orange suitcases inching forward. Once the last bag disappeared onto the conveyor belt, she came back outside and we all went to find a place for one last lunch together. It felt almost normal — eating, talking, pretending we weren’t counting down the minutes — but underneath it all was that familiar ache.

And then came the tears. One by one, everyone wrapped their arms around Rica, holding on a little longer than usual, whispering promises to stay in touch, to message when she landed, to plan the next trip, to meet again somewhere, someday. When it was finally time for her to go inside, none of us moved. We stayed behind the barrier, waving and waving, not wanting to leave until Rica was completely out of sight — and she kept turning back, waving right along with us, until the crowd finally swallowed her up.

The walk back to the car felt slower, quieter. Part of it was the silence, part of it was the empty space where Rica should have been, and part of it was knowing that in just four days, we would be doing this all over again. Another farewell, another round of hugs and tears, this time when Ronald, Ella, and little Ryzen would head back to Singapore. It was like the goodbyes were lining up, waiting their turn.

But even with the sadness sitting with us, we knew the next couple of weeks would be spent up north with Onieh’s family for Holy Week — a different kind of togetherness, a different kind of comfort. It would still be a good time, full of family and familiar rhythms, just with a few missing pieces from our circle.