Home (written May 2007)

The East Indian woman turned to face the Caucasian man in the seat behind hers. “Did you fix the thing with your visa?”

“Yeah, I just had to give them some money.”

The woman was appalled. “How much?!”

His response was inaudible to me. There was an aisle between our seats. “It’s fine. I’ll just complain at the embassy when we land.”

“What did they say was the matter?”

“They said I overstayed because I’ve been here for over six months. But my visa’s valid for a year. I don’t get it.”

“Good thing you didn’t get into any trouble.”

“I paid them.”

I couldn’t help but overhear their conversation. The plane was still boarding; the headsets hadn’t been given out yet. I learned that the woman has a Caucasian father and an Indian mother. She’s on her way home to Vancouver, after her vacation in Manila. The man has kids in Alberta, and that’s where he was headed. His second wife lives in the Visayas, I think. Her Canadian visa has not yet been approved.

The woman told of how tuition fees in Vancouver have tripled in the last four years. I think she’s on her way to a second graduate degree. She jokingly calls herself a professional student. “I can’t believe how cheap it is to get a degree here! You can get by on 300! That’s nothing! That’s just a book to me! I’m paying 4,000 per semester!” Canadian dollars, I assumed. She said it’s stupid for Canadian universities to accept international students who were just gonna go back to their home countries to practice their professions. She said it’s even more stupid for the international students who do that, when it’s dirt cheap to get a degree in their home countries.

“Even food is cheap! We had a lavish dinner, complete with wine and everything, and we only spent 10,000 pesos [pay-sus]! The same meal would’ve cost 600 in Canada!” (The exchange rate is about 43 pesos per Canadian dollar.)

“Yeah, and they say that that’s expensive. I say, ‘you have no idea what’s expensive!’”

The woman’s brother was on the same flight, but in first class. The flight was overbooked, and one of them had to settle for economy. They stayed in an upscale hotel in Makati, at $350 a night. They were so upset about seeing callgirls all over the hotel. “I’m not paying 350 US [dollars] for that view! They were flaunting themselves at the lobby!”

“What did you do?”

“I went over to the receptionist and complained. It was upsetting! There was one Arab guy who checked in with four girls, all under the age of 20! And then my brother — he was getting a massage. The masseuse whispers, ‘for a couple more dollars, I can give you much more than a massage,’ and he was naked in the massage! How uncomfortable is that?!”

“You gotta respect, though, that it’s tolerated and accepted here.”

“Well, yeah, must be some culture thing.”

I wanted them to stop talking. I didn’t want any second-hand assessments of the country I grew up in, the country I was being forced to leave. (Seriously, don’t get me started.) I was relieved when the plane took off. The chit-chat stopped.

It resumed about an hour before touchdown.

“I heard that it rains a lot in the Philippines,” she said as she turned to face him again. “I guess we came at the best time.” It was mid-summer. “And you know one thing about the people? They’re all so nice. Generally, you know. If you ask for directions, they’ll give you the right directions. In Vancouver, if you ask for directions, they’ll send you to the other side of the city!”

“Yeah, and they all know how to speak English here.”

“Yeah. And the plumbing’s great, too. Do you have good plumbing where your wife lives?”

“There’s a well. It’s okay.”

“That’s good. Do you call your kids everyday? I talked to my mom on the phone for about an hour everyday. It’s so cheap to make a long-distance call from the Philippines, too!”

“Yeah, it is. But I mostly emailed my kids instead. There are a lot of internet cafes around.”

“Yeah. Well, I can’t wait to get home. You still have a connecting flight to Alberta, right? How long is your layover?”

“Four hours.”

“Wow. I live about half an hour from the airport. I can’t wait.”

It was my turn to see what their country was like. And it isn’t going to be a vacation. I’ll remember not to ask for directions.

Team Bugsy in Sorsogon (written May 2006)

The bus trip took around twelve hours. We didn’t see Mt. Mayon when we were in Albay because it was so cloudy, but the trip had its own highlight. Something climbed onto one of my friends’ feet and into her pants. She stopped it with her hands mid-thigh. Between laughs, we suggested that she crush it, or have someone reach in and fetch it from her waist. In the end, three friends helped her take her pants off together with the creepy crawler. It was a little rat.

It was raining when we got to Sorsogon. We went for the hot springs, praying the whole time that Dante’s Peak’s boiling hot springs scene wouldn’t play out. The town was at a low alert level because Mt. Bulusan registered some volcanic activity. Thankfully, we weren’t boiled.

That night the entire region lost its electrical power, and water supply was gone the next day. Both were caused by a heavy storm. We had a lot of food, but we had to control water usage by rationing. We satisfied ourselves with card games, board games, and all other sorts of games all day, until the gods spoke to us. They wanted us to know that the Olympians’ unanimous choice of where the storm would be unleashed was Austria, but Gaia noted that Kofi Annan was delivering the keynote address at the 4th European Union – Latin America Summit in Vienna that day. Gaia isn’t an Olympian, but she’s the goddess of the Earth. The Olympians could only shrug, and the storm hit Bicol.

On the third day, the storm moved northwest and our party was able to enjoy the beach. We braved the waves that threw our helpless limbs against the sharp but pretty corals. When it’s worth it for you, go every time. Poseidon snatched my left slipper, and I threw him my right. What was the point of holding on? We also danced to a novelty song with a catchy melody (Huh! Huh! Yay, yay, yaaay…) on that semi-private beach. We all sang: “Pag ang puso ko ay nagmahal, garantisado na magtatagal. Pero kung ito’y masasakal, hindi mo ‘to matitikman.”

On the fourth day, after hearing mass in Bicolano, it was finally safe for us to traverse the Pacific Ocean and swim with butanding (the biggest fish in the world). Then we had both lunch and dinner at once at 4 pm, and then we drove back to Manila with 15 kilos of crabs to take home to our mothers as a belated Mother’s Day gift.

Written April 2003

I dropped my weapons in resignation. “Yes, I do need that.”

I sat on the big rock, prepared for the stares that would surely greet me when I looked up at all of them. And surely enough, they were all dumbfounded. The moment was frozen in time, and I would remember it forever. I had said I was going to live through this, but I realized I was just living with it.

Someone came up to me with handcuffs. “I have to do this,” he said.

“I know,” I replied. I raised my wrists to him, but he wasn’t moving. The wind blew hard but nobody moved, not even to shield their eyes from the billions of specks of dust that were dancing in the air, mocking. We all knew not to pay attention to mockery.

All stood still. I was pretty sure that even time stopped. Sitting down with my wrists held up, I cried. I was crying to that one person who was torn between taking a step towards me and looking away.

“I never said I loved you.”

And that was it. He left. I wasn’t sure if he was wiping his tears as he walked away. Maybe the sand just got to his eyes. I was helpless, but I had nothing more to hide. Seeing around me all the people I ever knew, I just couldn’t care less. It didn’t matter now what I would do next. All that would matter would be what anyone would do to me.

A bunch of people gathered together and talked discreetly. I watched and remembered how I used to be part of that group. They walked towards where I was. One of them held my hands in the air and put them down to my sides. Then she hugged me. “Everything we ever said to you was true.”

I nodded. I wanted to hug all of them but they had these estranged looks in their eyes.

Then the wind stopped blowing. All became very still. Then it rained. Paper money. Everything was forgotten. All of them started jumping and grabbing whatever their hands could reach. They bumped into each other as they fought for the prized yet superabundant bills. I sighed. Don’t they realize they’ll never run out of it now? It’s not the time to save. They should have done that eons ago.

I stood up unnoticed and walked until I was far from the bulk of people. Then I ran. And I ran. And I ran. I was expecting cramps and heavy perspiration, but neither came. I ran farther. I ran along a straight line. But after some time, I was back where I started. In fact, I seemed to be back when I started—beside that big rock where I sat, or would sit. I could bet my life that the handcuffs would happen next, followed by everything else until the rain. Could it be that I ran all the way around the world? But time seemed to disagree with this theory. I stopped thinking, then ran again, scared as hell.

Then I felt someone breathing down my neck.

“Stop,” the voice pleaded.

I did. I turned. It was at this moment that I felt fatigue from all the running. I let myself fall to the ground. He sat beside me and brushed my hair out of my face with his fingers. I cried once more.

“Ssshh,” he said.

I obeyed, wanting to hug him, sure that he’d hug me back. But when I started to smile, he stood up and defied gravity. It seemed he was being pulled straight up. I followed him with my gaze until the sunlight hurt my eyes.

Before I could mope, I heard my favorite song being played. I looked around to know where it was coming from, but it seemed to come from everywhere. Because I saw nothing but a vast expanse of sand, I closed my eyes and lay down flat.

There, in the middle of the desert, I waited for my death. It took seven years before a star fell on me. Then I was one with the universe.