OCTOBER 31st
I was home in the Philippines for 16 days. I went through the process of grieving after my mother had passed away last October 30th. We all go through this, encountering death in the family, and facing up with the truth of seeing your loved one all made up and boxed inside a casket. It's a vague feeling of sorrow seeing your parent gone forever yet this welcomed me upon my arrival from the airport. It pricked my heart. It brought tears into my eyes. My body was shaking as my brother embraced me in his arms to welcome me back in the home where we both grew up and learned to do many things together. The scenario digs in a congress of feelings that paints an obliterated and endless feeling of despair. It was sad.
NOVEMBER 15th
At the Philippine airport my large Samsonite suitcase fell off the gutter filled with filthy water. Jumbo, our family driver of many years, was kind enough to help me with it. My siblings Balloon and Phie plus his wife Mel were with me for the last time ever, to see me before I boarded my plane for San Francisco.
Earlier, we were coiled at Balloon's van that enabled us to pass through the honking traffic of old Manila as hundreds of people inside their varying types of vehicles braved the opposing winds and rains of the city.
At the airport the scene was hazy. Hundreds of people paced the hour trying to get a fix of their flight details at the last minute. It took ages before I reached the customs area and unfortunately, the A/C did not seem to work. I was sweating like an Olympian trying to win her garland of olives at the marathon. Finally, I was off the check out counter that mimics the anti-terrorist squad in Iraq. I hate this part of the airport scene any where else in this planet. At Ninoy Aquino International Airport, an old woman was swealtering her way at the customs and mumbled, "Check her out the one with the red bag." Well, that was me she was referring to. Nevertheless, I opted to withold her warning signs and walked past through security. Bitchy me. I was off my cocoon and ready to explode. If I had wings, I would fly. I had none so I just glided. Later, I decided to go to the perfumery section as if nothing was forthcoming on my end. I won it over and found my boundaries elsewhere where name brands of perfumes screamed in brilliant colors of ads pasted upon the walls and ceilings of the airport. After a few minutes, I walked through the gate of my aircraft and waited there. An hour more then I was at last inside my aircraft.
Inside, the China Airlines stewardess was nasty towards me. She stood over my isle seat and did not leave me until I turned off my brand new third-generation Nokia 70 phone. All I did was glance at the files of photographs in it. And she thought I was making a call. I explained but she was deaf with madness. The moron did not comprehend it right. Okay, to keep peace within, I gave in and turned off my phone. Inside, I was ravaging with fury if I were going to hit her off with my hand or spit out some stinking words in English for which I thought would be good enough to boot out her adrenalin from her system. On second thought, I opted to remain calm and just be the seemingly decent passenger she thought I was. In truth, I was ready to mutilate this chinky eyed bitch!
My connecting flight from Manila to SFO was in Taipei. Having laid over there for four hours was tolerable since there was internet access in most waiting areas. Relatively, this was quite consoling for me knowing that I could connect online half way around the globe, without having to pay a dime, to email my husband in San Francisco, who is dying to hear how I survived the travails I left back home in Manila.
At the airport in Taipei, I lost track of my gate number thinking it was D10 only to realize I supposedly was meant to be at D1. While there, I discovered a prayer room that found me in good grace to kneel down and pray, cry my heart out and listen to what the angels had wanted me to hear.
Inside was a bible with bright red color that accented the side of the pages. The cover is black like the color of mourning, like the color of the long sleeved shirt and slacks I was wearing. The red portion of the bible reminded me strongly of my mother whose favorite color was red. On the wall inside the chapel was the colored photograph of Our Lady Of Mt. Carmel. This alone made me think that I was inside a Catholic chapel and there, synergy triggered my frame of mind. I was there for a good one hour- thinking and retrospecting about my life for the past two weeks and two days I was home for the funeral of my mother.
OCTOBER 31st
Many things transpired. Old issues flamed up again. Connection, re-connection, resolution, amicable settlements of old forgotten conflicts came through like a homecoming. Old wounds bled; old stories re-told; there were familiar silhouettes of people I saw once and for all. And as always, a number of them irked me with their ever tactless remark of just about anything under the sun. Coming home was not easy, indeed. Yet, it had to happen for my peace, for my own confrontation of my moving on with my life.
NOVEMBER 19th
Alas, at last, it was over. And I am here where my heart is- in the arms of the man I call my husband.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Comment: