Manila, April 25, 2007, 7:21am
The airport is teeming with people. It is as if they cannot wait to get out of this place, this broiling country teeming with political intrigues and “only-in-the-Philippines” moments (a case in point: upon checking in, I was asked if I had a photocopy of my passport and visa. I don’t. Have it photocopied, the helpful attendant said. The Bureau of Immigration needs it. Of course, I complied. But where to find a photocopier machine? Oh, you need to go out of the airport, walk about a kilometer under the hellish heat of the sun, and hope that the copier is available, not to mention I was carrying a very heavy backpack. Since I didn’t have a choice, I walked, in my mind committing all sorts of cruelty to hapless bureaucrats. When I got to the Bureau of Immigration counter, after walking under the heat of the sun, I volunteered my photocopied documents. I mean I walked and endured all those hassles just so I can present these precious copies. “We don’t need it,” the officer said. WHAT?! Exactly.) There is an air that is not exactly festive, but somehow an aura of intensity as the thought of escaping who knows what and for whatever reason envelopes the hall, an illicit feeling that captivates and enthralls. It absolutely vibrates with an energy that infects and excites.
I am waiting for my time to check in. The bus I took from Baguio to Manila was fast, and thus I am too early for my flight. So I sit here, and observe the people around.
Many of the people here are Overseas Filipino Workers. I overhear (eavesdrop?) conversations among compatriots, exchanging notes on their previous work experiences and expectations. I shall no longer rail against the plight of the Filipinos, etc. I have found it an exercise in futility. I instead offer a prayer of blessings to them – that grace, strength and wisdom may abound in them, and may God’s provision be upon them as this is what they are seeking.
There is also the ubiquitous pairing of older Caucasian males and much younger Filipinas. Again, I will no longer rail and flail and rant. Enough has already been said.
Being here at the Ninoy Aquino International Airport almost has a ritual significance – a rite of passage of sort. This cavernous, out of date airport becomes a sacred space – a place of liminality, where the hero is first immersed into the world s/he will take on as part of his/her journey. The airplane becomes womb that nourishes and prepares the hero for when s/he emerges, a universe will behold him. A world that is far different from his/her own world.
Many of us are on a quest. The search for the boon – OFWs, mail-order brides, and travelers like me who find that in travel there are moments of transcendence and beauty becomes as important as the destination itself. We emerge from this dream-like experience renewed and if not, made more complete.
The airport is teeming with people. It is as if they cannot wait to get out of this place, this broiling country teeming with political intrigues and “only-in-the-Philippines” moments (a case in point: upon checking in, I was asked if I had a photocopy of my passport and visa. I don’t. Have it photocopied, the helpful attendant said. The Bureau of Immigration needs it. Of course, I complied. But where to find a photocopier machine? Oh, you need to go out of the airport, walk about a kilometer under the hellish heat of the sun, and hope that the copier is available, not to mention I was carrying a very heavy backpack. Since I didn’t have a choice, I walked, in my mind committing all sorts of cruelty to hapless bureaucrats. When I got to the Bureau of Immigration counter, after walking under the heat of the sun, I volunteered my photocopied documents. I mean I walked and endured all those hassles just so I can present these precious copies. “We don’t need it,” the officer said. WHAT?! Exactly.) There is an air that is not exactly festive, but somehow an aura of intensity as the thought of escaping who knows what and for whatever reason envelopes the hall, an illicit feeling that captivates and enthralls. It absolutely vibrates with an energy that infects and excites.
I am waiting for my time to check in. The bus I took from Baguio to Manila was fast, and thus I am too early for my flight. So I sit here, and observe the people around.
Many of the people here are Overseas Filipino Workers. I overhear (eavesdrop?) conversations among compatriots, exchanging notes on their previous work experiences and expectations. I shall no longer rail against the plight of the Filipinos, etc. I have found it an exercise in futility. I instead offer a prayer of blessings to them – that grace, strength and wisdom may abound in them, and may God’s provision be upon them as this is what they are seeking.
There is also the ubiquitous pairing of older Caucasian males and much younger Filipinas. Again, I will no longer rail and flail and rant. Enough has already been said.
Being here at the Ninoy Aquino International Airport almost has a ritual significance – a rite of passage of sort. This cavernous, out of date airport becomes a sacred space – a place of liminality, where the hero is first immersed into the world s/he will take on as part of his/her journey. The airplane becomes womb that nourishes and prepares the hero for when s/he emerges, a universe will behold him. A world that is far different from his/her own world.
Many of us are on a quest. The search for the boon – OFWs, mail-order brides, and travelers like me who find that in travel there are moments of transcendence and beauty becomes as important as the destination itself. We emerge from this dream-like experience renewed and if not, made more complete.
Comments
i share in your joy! enjoy the new things the journey brings your way. and do blog about them! :)