It went like so:

1. Three or four weeks ago, T made a joke about my having terrible taste in men.

2. A couple weeks ago, I wrote a poem for Melissa Roxas.

3. Since writing this poem, I’ve been thinking of the Philippines much more than usual lately.

4. This results in another poem written for the Pinay-centric show my women’s group is in the process of putting together.

5. This most recent poem makes me wonder why I keep thinking of a home I haven’t seen since 1997. On Twitter, I wonder why I still miss it so much when I barely remember it, and the things I do remember— all my memories frozen at 1997 and from a child’s perspective— probably don’t even exist anymore.

6. It suddenly hits me: what if there’s some relationship— even if it’s some thin and near invisible threat at the psychic level— that connects my feeling of missing home (which I realize, upon closer examination, has never really gone away) with my behavior in my romantic relationships. Which, so far, have all (well, all 2.5 of them) eventually failed.

6a. In other words, does my being an immigrant with this (arguably milder) case of empty-hole-in-my-immigrant-heart syndrome have to do with my failed relationships? If yes, then how much?

7. You don’t actually have to answer that. That’s what some of these future poems will be for.