My 6AM pickup succeeded not in punctuality but with affording me a moment of contrast standing at the Arrivals curb: faces looking past me OUT to the world at the gateway that was NAIA-2 International, while I was staring IN, soon to be in a familiar place during the most memorable of times.
Only four days later saw me cross back through Departures, headed back home, with a humble sense of loss.
This relentless yearning and strong affinity to one’s home and childhood, serves only to fool those who seek what used to be, who used to be. This is no longer the place I knew, and it would have served me well if I’ve outgrown, let go of it long ago.
In the ensuing emptiness, I hid behind any other purpose I can grasp, recalling marching orders from Ms. Luzviminda to put my talents to good use, only to balk at the prospect of explaining how I’m not even in the concept stage, much less well along a proper plan.
Thankfully, on one last afternoon, on a little boy's face, I no longer saw myself but rather my own little girl whose turn in the world is now my charge. Then I knew I successfully forced closure.
In happenstance, I was outbound on the eve of Noynoy’s inauguration, but not before causing me traffic on his way to see his mom and dad, interred at the Manila Memorial Park, no doubt looking for strength from his past, his parents having defined Philippine politics in the last few decades. I am still kicking myself at that imagery, coupled with my recent self study, that I hope is a fate for me alone, rather than Noynoy ominously winding down a similar path, fooled by the past, still bidding his time chanting “we are the children, the future” and then arrive empty-handed.
