"De-Home-Un-Ization": Care Without a Fixed Address

Home and care may seem like two separate things, but for a person to truly live, they are inseparable. A house without care is just walls and a roof, while care without a place to belong feels rootless. To thrive, we need both—a space to call home and the warmth of care that makes it worth staying. In the Philippines, home and care are values we hold close to our identity, yet the reality is undeniable; in the current system, it is hard to attain. 

𝗟𝗶𝗳𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗗𝗿𝗮𝗽𝗲𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗖𝘂𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗶𝗻 𝗼𝗻 𝗟𝗶𝗳𝗲’𝘀 𝗛𝗶𝗱𝗱𝗲𝗻 𝗔𝗰𝘁

On August 10, the PETA Theater Center unveiled "Nobody is Home,” a play that recounts the resonant stories of Filipino nurses in Germany and the unjust systems they confront both abroad and at home. Penned by acclaimed playwright Liza Magtoto and brought to the stage through the direction of Nina Gühlstorff and J-mee Katanyag, the production stands as a powerful collaboration between the Philippine Educational Theater Association (PETA) and Mecklenburgisches Staatstheater, forefronting truths of migration, labor, and care, asking what it really means for a nation to send its people away to survive.

The story begins with Ilse, an elderly German woman placed in a nursing home by her daughter, Marleen. On paper, her case looks familiar: a family too busy to provide custody, and a daughter weighed down by her own guilt and responsibilities. But on stage, Ilse’s quiet loneliness is impossible to ignore, where her hunger for genuine presence felt insatiable.

Alongside her is Karina, the strict German head nurse who runs the ward with authority. Beneath her commanding presence, reveals the exhaustion of someone stretched like a band-aid barely covering the wound. Germany’s shortage of healthcare workers is carved into her every line, reminding us that burnout is not only limited to migrants, but even those in their own homeland are drowning in a setup that overlooks the healthcare field.

Then enters Kai, a Filipino nurse. She is the heartbeat of the play—a mother who left her own son in the Philippines to take care of strangers abroad. Through her, we get a glimpse of the bleeding irony of many OFWs: providing comfort to others while missing milestones at home. Thankfully, she is not alone. With fellow Filipino nurses Bea and Seph, she finds laughter, banter, and solidarity—proof that even in harsh systems, friendship serves as a key to survival.

Through these characters, Nobody Is Home becomes more than a play about policies or economies. It becomes a mosaic of human lives stitched by the same thread; the struggle to give and receive warmth in a world that often makes both impossible.

𝗛𝘂𝗺𝗮𝗻𝗶𝘇𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗕𝗲𝘆𝗼𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗦𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗲

The directors described the production as an act of “humanizing,” not to romanticize the sacrifices of migrant workers, but to confront the politics that demand them. PETA Senior Artist Teacher Lea Espallardo emphasized, “To care is human, yes. But to protect those who care, and to build systems, policies, for those who care is also justice.”

The play does not simply portray the fatigue of Filipino nurses; it exposes a deeper wound—a system where both caregivers and the cared-for are often reduced to their economic value. As one audience member voiced during the talkback: “The real problem… is the dehumanization of the caregivers and the one being cared for. Because all things are tied up with economic value.”

This is not only confined to Germany’s nursing homes. It seeps into the Philippine landscape, where students are often funnelled into “useful” degrees like nursing—not always out of passion, but because they are ticketed as valuable abroad. As one nursing student audience put it, “Our education teaches us how to be useful in other countries… Go to nursing because you have a chance to go abroad.”

In one of the closing scenes, the stage dimmed into near-darkness as both cast and audience raised their candles, letting the faint light push back the gloom. The moment was called “finding the in-between”— a gesture that symbolized carving out space beyond silence and struggle. It was more than a theatrical effect; it invokes that the play is not just an avenue to perform; it is also a stage to narrate, to protest, and to find what’s in between.

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗕𝗶𝗿𝗱'𝘀-𝗘𝘆𝗲 𝗩𝗶𝗲𝘄 𝗼𝗳 𝗔 𝗛𝗮𝗿𝗶𝗯𝗼𝗻

Various students from PLM were also invited to watch the play. Ianna Punzalan, a student from Bachelor of Arts in Communication, highly emphasized the importance of theater in portraying eminent stories that touch on marginalized sectors.

“Theater isn’t really accessible to others, especially if you’re just a regular student… so I’m privileged enough to have this opportunity to watch it. The first thing I think of is to spread awareness because that’s one of the key advocacies… especially since I’m also one of those heavily affected by our healthcare system.”

As a scholar and the Vice President for Production and Literature of Magwayen, she also carried this reflection further: “I don’t want to be just one voice. I want to bring together the experiences of my co-literary members in Magwayen and create something that resonates not just with us, but with others going through the same struggles in healthcare.”

In their words, Nobody Is Home becomes more than just an art, but also a changeover into a student's call to action. It pushes young people to see their role not only as witnesses of injustice but as defenders of truth within their own communities.

𝗜𝗻 𝗶𝘁𝘀 𝗘𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆 𝗗𝗮𝘀𝗵: “𝗗𝗲-𝗛𝗼𝗺𝗲-𝗨𝗻-𝗜𝘇𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻”

“What will be left within us if nobody is home?” That haunting question lingered as the lights returned and the play drew to a close. It is not just about empty houses or families split by distance—it is about a nation slowly hollowing out when its people are driven away by the very lack of support and opportunity they should have first found there.

In the end, the play hits us with a dwelling truth: de-home-un-ization is not just about leaving one’s house but also the slow erosion of care as a value that holds together a family, a nation, and one’s self. 

The play insists that care should never be reduced to remittances, to policy gaps, or to survival stories; it must be reclaimed as a human right and a national responsibility. But until then, these heroes of ours will always be 𝙙𝙚-𝙝𝙤𝙢𝙚-𝙪𝙣-𝙞𝙯𝙚𝙙.