I just read again Bienvenido Santos’ “Scent of Apples,” and as always, was moved to tears. That story never fails.  And now, I can relate better with Fabia, a Filipino ex-pat in the US.  It is hardly as cold here in Thailand (although it’s colder here now than Christmas in the Philippines) as it was in Kalamazoo, nor can I smell apples.  Indeed, Fabia’s sotry is very different from mine.  His is the US in the 1940s; mine is Thailand in the 21st century.  It’s not very difficult to get a ticket home, if I really wanted to go home.  In fact, I’ve never really felt  very far from home (everything in Thailand looks like the Philippines).  Until now.  I feel like I’m a continent away.  I guess it’s because it’s Christmas time and there’s no Christmas here; no Christmas carols, no Christmas trees, no Christmas parties.  This is what must have been like to Fabia when Filipinos did not occupy every square inch of the US, when everything was so foreign.