Leaving On a Jet Plane- Day Zero- Wednesday, March 16, 2005
The day began early in the morning where I woke up and laced up my running shoes for one last time before my trip. I took my time to savor in the scenes of my San Francisco neighborhood of the Mission and the neighboring Castro and Lower Haight districts as I pounded a good 3 miles or so. As I was reaching the house, people were buzzing out of their apartments for yet another day at work. A queue of cars buzzed down 18th Street, one of the main streets near my apartment.
I did one last look though of my suitcase and messenger bag, my luggage for this trip. All the things I needed were there- clothes, toiletries, passport, plane ticket. I slipped in my running shoes and running clothes just in case I can dash off to run. I seriously doubted it because this trip will mostly be a chockful of visits to sites and a lot of relatives to meet and greet. Plus Ma was paranoid of me gettting kidnapped or lost so the only way I could go for a run is if I begged one of my cousins to go running with me. After hearing from one Pinay friend who went to the Philippines last year for the first time and telling me that no one in her family was physically fit, I was disheartened and worried that would be the same for my family.
So off on BART to SFO at around 8am. The flight on Japan Airlines leaves at 12:45pm. I needed plenty of time to get there since I have never traveled overseas before. Well, I take that back. I did visit the Philippines as a two year old tot in 1975. Don't expect me to remember anything about that trip.
Got to SFO and checked in at the Japan Airline ticket desk. The clerk asked me my seating preference. I told her window since I usually take a window seat when I fly (I like to see what's out there). After checking in my suitcase, I took my trusty Timbuk2 messenger bag and wandered around the airport, noting the food court of local San Francisco eateries and stocking up on magazines and newspapers for the 2 leg, 16 hour plane trip (one leg from San Francisco to Tokyo in 12 hours and the other leg from Tokyo to Manila in 4 hours). I also had some books with me and my trusty journal so there is no lack of things for me to do to kill the time. At the store where I got my load of magazines and newspapers, I found a free internet terminal and wrote an e-mail telling everyone that I am leaving for my trip.
I got to the part of the airport where you get your carry on bag x-rayed and searched. I hand the woman my boarding pass and passport. She happened to be Filipino. After looking at my ticket and passport, she greeted me with, "Salamat po." (Thank you in Tagalog). From that moment on, my brain switched into a mode where I would rack my brain and put all the Tagalog I learned from a conversational Tagalog class from San Francisco City College to good use and trying to remember bits and pieces of it.
I headed for the gate where I would board my flight for the first leg of my trip. Most of the people waiting were Filipino. I noted a few familiar faces, the people that had big balikbayan boxes filled with goodies for their friends and family back in the Philippines at the ticket desk. I didn't have a box mostly because Ma and Ed (my mom and younger brother) already bought several boxes of stuff. I was going to meet them there since they took off a week earlier, flying out of Los Angeles down in Southern California where my family is based. Also, I didn't know what to get for my relatives since I have not met many of them. The aunts, uncles, great aunts and great uncles and cousins and nieces and nephews I will soon meet were to me at this moment in time, names tossed out in conversations with family members and photos. Only a few have ventured to meet me in the States. So it was no point in my for bringing a box simply because I didn't know who I was going to meet and what they needed or wanted.
At first when I got on the plane, I thought I was in the correct seat. I was in the right row, row 44. However, I found out that I was at 44A not 44H where I assumed. I profusely apologized to the riteful holders of the seat and shuffled my way through the bodies to the other side where I parked myself for the next 12 hours to a Japanese couple. Both the man and woman have spent a good portion of their lives in the States as I would later find out in a conversation and grew up in San Francisco proper (they now live in the suburbs) and were on their way to Japan to see their son who was living there.
The plane took off and I peeked out the window, seeing the familiar reservior where Sawyer Camp trail was at, one of the many places that I would ride my bike down to. I was trying to make out what city or place I was seeing at an altitude of thousands of feet above and soon the California coast faded into the background. I adjusted my watch to the time in Manila, 16 hours ahead of San Francisco time. It was 5am Thursday morning in Manila time when I left. I had to train my body to get adjusted so that I wouldn't get jet lagged. I knew that it was going to be late Thursday evening when I arrived at Ninoy Aquino Interational Airport in Manila when I arrived.
The first part of the trip consisted of eating (lots of food and snacks), sitting, watching movies and listening to music and the occasional journal entry. I felt like a slug, being so inactive. Luckily, the couple next to me also felt the same so when there wasn't turbulence, we were getting up and stretching, walking up and down the plane's aisles in economy class to jet the blood moving. The woman was knitting to pass the time. Soon I became sick of all the food that was being passed around. My body felt like I should burn it off, wanting to do something physical like go for a long run of 10 miles or more or a long ride on my bike. On the in flight music station, I came across a song that helped me imagine the 7 days I would go on my bike from San Francisco to Los Angeles on the many charity bike rides I have participated in through the years. At least visualizing being on my bike, seeing the scenery, feeling the sun on my arms and legs and the wind whipping through my bike helment kept me sane. Also coursing through my body were a number of drugs- drugs to prevent motion sickness, vitamins, anti-malarial medicine and antibiotics (I was fighting off a nasty infection a week before the trip and was on the last day of antibiotics when I left). I literally felt like a walking pharmacy.
I made it a point to drink a lot of water since flying dehydrates you. The drawback to this was that I made a good number of stops to the bathroom. At least the couple was understanding and were more than gracious to let me go. The only drawback to this was that when the flight crew announced that we were landing in Narita, we all went back to our seats and strapped on our seatbelts and circled in the air for a good 30 to 45 minutes. I actually got a little dizzy because I was looking out the window, searching for land and wondering why the scenery alternated between land and ocean. I also had to pee really really bad. I told the couple that I had to dash for the bathroom and they let me out first when we landed as I pushed through piles of bodies to get to the plane's bathroom. I returned to my seat and got my bag and as I was walking through the aisle, my bag smacked someone on the head. I was wondering if I apoligized to him, my mind at that time being on this very focused mode where I was concentrating on where I needed to go next and what to do.
I arrived in Tokyo at around 5pm (Tokyo time). It was raining and the skies were gray. All of us on the plane boarded on shuttles that took us from the plane to the terminal. I read on the monitor of departing flights that the flight to Manila was now boarding. I waited in another line again as men and women in crisp and pristine uniforms looked at boarding passes and x-rayed bags and carry ons. I hit the bathroom one more time and wanted to get a snack. Instead, I pulled out a Clif bar (one of many that I packed) and munched on it. I popped in another anti-motion sickness pill and headed for the gate where the last leg of my trip would be. It was one huge mob of people, no orderly line of folks going into the gate. I was a tad irritated at this, people bumping and jostling each other. I plopped into another window seat again, this time, next to a Japanese businessman who spent most of his time playing games on his palm pilot/ mobile phone unit. The middle seat was empty which was nice (I occupied the window and the businessman occupied the aisle). The plane didn't take off for 45 minutes as people were slowly dribbling in from connecting flights to catch the plane. My seatmates in front of me were a little Filipino boy and his mom and another woman. The kid was around 3 or 4 years old and was chattering lively in Tagalog. I'm making myself comprehend what was being said around me, trying to remember words left and right. I did have my conversational Tagalog textbook in my messenger bag for good measure.
The plane takes off again. Yet another round of food and snacks. I was feeling gross, making myself adjust to the time in Manila. I didn't sleep through the first leg of the trip. The final leg of the trip from Tokyo to Manila, I conked out, only to wake up for meals and landing.
There was a lot of turbulence. Pop warned me about it since he said that Ma had really bad motion sickness throughout her trip. I fared out fine while the kid in front of me was vomiting constantly. Poor kid. As the plane came to a landing in Manila, I was looking down below, seeing the lights of cars and houses and streets. I couldn't make out major landmarks. I started to tear up, wondering if this place that I am staying for the next few days will be home. I wondered and worried about a number of things- how I will handle the heat, the weather, the way of life, if I can get myself through the Philippines with the limited amount of Tagalog that I know, wondering what my relatives will think of me the American born and raised kid and wondering how many of them will ask if I have a boyfriend and/ or if I have kids.
I fill out the required forms being passed out that is needed to be processed by immigration officials, asking me questions about how many visits I have made to the Philippines and asking about what type of trip it is. The plane landed and it was past midnight Friday morning in Manila. I was really worried about whoever was going to fetch me because they were staying up late to pick me up. I arrived about an hour later than scheduled.
After I got off the plane, the first thing that hit me was the humidity heavily sented with a putrid smell of sulfur/ rotten eggs. I know that this was from the sewage of the heavily polluted Pasig River that courses through Manila. I'm surrounded by throughs of Filipinos, all of a sudden, I'm no longer short (most people are around my height) and all of them with coarse dark brown hair and shades of brown skin. I head off to the baggage claim terminal to get my suitcase. As I am waiting at the luggage carousel, I am intently focusing on one spot of the terminal, looking out for my suitcase, my hands on my hip, my messenger bag slung around my back. Pop told me about folks that would handle my baggage and people would offer to get your bags. I didn't get that type of help probably because a) I gave off this impression that I would probably end up beating them to a pulp and kicking them (intent stare, hands on hips, etc) and b) I just only had a suitcase, no balikbayan box in sight. After picking up my suitcase, I headed off to the immigration terminal and handed off my passport to her along with the required forms. She looks at my passport and my items and asked me if I had any boxes.
"Walang boxes." (No boxes) I replied in Tagalog.
She cried, "Sayang!" (What a pity!) and hurried me off. Like I said earlier in this entry, I didn't have anything to bring and not knowing who to bring stuff to.
I kept on walking, wheeling my suitcase behind me. I note the bright billboards for cell phones and housing developments around Metro Manila. One of the advertisements for one of the housing developments showed off houses that were modeled after San Francisco victorian houses like the Painted Ladies that line up along Alamo Square Park. I chuckle at this.
I see bright green signs leading me to the passenger greeting area as I head out the doors of Ninoy Aquino International. Throngs of people come and go, people hugging and greeting each other in Tagalog or some other Filipino language. I parked myself under the passenger greeting area under the sign that said for passengers with the letters D E and F in their last names. This was a very familiar situation- how I would wait to see my family for closing ceremonies from both California AIDS Ride and AIDS/ LifeCycle. I just stand and watch people drifting by back and forth. I noted a Filipino guy, around 5'7", athletic build with a white baseball cap, white t-shirt and grey athletic pants. I took note of this person because he was wearing a yellow bracelet very similar to my Lance Armstrong "LiveStrong" bracelet. I thought to myself, "Oh the LiveStrong bracelet has somewhat caught on in the Philippines." A few seconds later, the guy comes back and stands in front of me and says, "Hi Ate Edna."
I looked at this guy quizically, not knowing who he was and should I trust him. I mean he knew my name and I wasn't wearing any clothing that had my name anywhere. Then Ma and Ed popped out of the blue behind the guy along with another lean Filipino guy, around 5'8" with jeans and a polo shirt.
"Edna," Ma said. "Paolo." pointing to the guy in the baseball cap. "Alain." pointing to the guy in the polo shirt. Alain gave me a hug and greeted me as well. I just smiled mostly because I was tired from all that sitting and traveling and partially because I was wondering what to say in Tagalog. Alain takes my suitcase and Paolo offers to take the bulky messenger bag off my shoulders. I just shook my head and kept it with me. We walked a towards the parking area, me taking in the bustle of people, luggage, boxes and vendors selling goods and snacks. After a few steps, I said, "Gusto ko ng tubig." (I want water). Ma whipped out a bottle of water and I downed it quickly. My water bottle I carried with me was empty and I didn't fill it on the plane. Paul (as Paolo likes to be referred to- Paul is his birth name and Paolo was what my grandmother called him) and Alain looked at each other, a little surprised that this American cousin is speaking Tagalog. We then stopped at a rather large Ford passenger van, one that carried a good 8 to 10 people where Alain loaded my suitcase and Paul helped me up. Then we sped off into the night thorugh a throng of traffic in Manila. Ed and Alain were chatting in the front where Alain navigated the bulky van through the busy streets and Paul was just hanging back, asking me if I wanted more water. I just shook my head and just took in the sights- bright billboards advertising clothes, cell phones and toiletries, a lot of Jolliebee and McDolands and KFC food outlets and lots and lots of cars and traffic. It took us a good 45 minutes to get from the airport to my Auntie Helen's house in the Santa Ana section of Metro Manila. As we turned down to Tenorio Street, the street was full of people and kids still up and about, selling food, chatting, playing an impromptu game of hoops. The street was barely wide enough for the van to pass through and I noted that there was no sidewalk in sight. The car passes through houses build of corregated iron roofs and crumbling wood and some made of concrete. We then pull up to a three story, rather large peach colored house that was set away from the street, Auntie Helen's house.
Alain carefully parked the van in the already crowded street. About another house away was a shanti town of improptu houses that stuck out into the street made of rusting corregated iron. Alain explained that he drove the long way around, fearing that the van would not be able to move through the shanti town. He explained that the shani town was built because the occupants of the town were displaced. Behind the shanti was a vacant lot, fenced off and filled with rubble and demolished wood and concrete and corregated iron. We got out of the van, Alain fetching my suitcase and Paul fetcthing the messenger bag I put on the floor of the van, this time, letting him take it. A skinny dog, German shepard mix was on a chain leash fastened to a tree in the small driveway. She barked loudly. I crouched down in front of the dog, putting my had out for the dog to sniff, a habit that I would do when I would meet people with their dogs. The dog dashed away from me in fright and barked. I just shrugged my shoulders and went in where my Auntie Helen, better known as Doctora Helen Alegado Buduan- Ma's younger sister and the third child in Ma's family, greeted me with a hug. I have only seen her three times in my life- 1) when I was 2 years old visiting the Philippines for the first time, 2) my grandfather's funeral in 1990 when I was a junior in high school and 17 years old at the time and 3) my grandmother's funeral in 2002 when I was 29 at the time.
Auntie Helen asked me if I wanted to eat something. I shook my head and told her that I wanted to sleep. Alain and Paul took up my bags to the place upstairs that would be the room where I shared with Ed and Ma, the only room with an air conditioner to stave off the humidity.
Alain and I chatted outside of the house which happened to have Auntie Helen's clinic where she saw patients from certain hours of the day. I found out later that Autie Helen also works as one of the physicians for the Santa Ana racetrack near her house and a tobacco company where she comes in once a week to fill out paperwork and assess patient cases for the company's workers. This was after years of working at a local hospital and serveral community clincis run by the government. She left a lucarative position in the public sector to her current duties 10 to 12 years ago so that she could have more time at home to be with her 3 kids: Maria Cecila Anne (known as C-Anne to the family and friends), Paul and Brandon James (known and BJ/ Boogie/ Oggie/ Oogs depending on who you are talking to). Aunite Helen is also helping C-Anne raise her two children, Jade Arabelle who is 6 (known to everyone as Wowee) and Jeremiah Jose who is 5 (known to everyone as Barnee) while C-Anne and Jeff work full time, Jeff as an operations supervisor for a company in the Makti City in Manila and C-Anne as a customer service agent at a call center for Sprint cell phone customers in the U.S.
Alain, my other cousin, is the oldest son of my Auntie Letty, the second oldest in Ma's family. Unfortuately, Leticia Alegado Ancheta passed away in a fatal car accident in 1984. Alain was only 4 at the time. His younger sister Abigail (better known as Abby or Bee, what her father, my Uncle Ernesto, calls her) was only a baby. I don't remember the details of the accident but I think that C-Anne and Alain were in the car along with several other people. They were either on their way back to Manila or leaving Manila towards the province of Ilocos Notre on the very northernmost tip of the island of Luzon in the Philippines. The accident happened on late Holy Thursday night. She died on Good Friday.
Alain and I chatted for a bit. I would talk mostly in English with some Tagalog phrases and words in between. I forced myself to make a major effort to talk in Tagalog even though my Tagalog skills are pretty rudimentary. Alain is in his mid 20s, working at a company part of middle management and going to school at night for his MBA/ JD. I told him that I was waiting to hear from law schools and he asked me what I majored in college. I told him that I was a double major in biological sciences and social ecology empahsizing on public health and human behavior. Alain looked at me quizically and asked me if it was possible for me to go to law school with the coursework I studied. I told him that unlike in the Philippines where you are tracked into a particular line of courses that are regimented to get into a certain profession, you could go into different professional schools even though you did not study that course in college. Most Filipinos have some basic English language skills since classes are conducted in English and Tagalog in the schools and English and Tagalog are side by side in terms of laguages spoken although Tagalog is the official laguage of the Philippines. Alain asked me I remembered his mom. I shook my head and said no and explained I was only a toddler when I met her. We talked about his girlfriend, Miyumi whose mother is Japanese and her father is Filipino. He asked me about New York City and if I have visited there. I told him that I have. Miyumi has relatives in New York City and Alain asked me if it's true that New York City smells like apples. I laughed and told him not that I know of. I know that somewhere in the state of New York, McIntosh apples grow there. He asked me how I was doing from time to time and if I was getting used to the weather, especially the heat and humidity. I told him that I was used to the humidity due to summers in the East Coast when I lived in Washington, DC a few years after college. I told him that I was getting used to the smell of things. I looked at the time and it was already 1am. I asked Alain if he had work the next day and advised him to go home and get some sleep. He said, "It's OK. How often do I get to talk to my Ate Edna?" I was truly touched by this kind man who happened to be my first cousin. Ma also tried to get Alain to go but he said the same thing. Finally after about a half hour, I told Alain that I really had to get to bed even though my body didn't want to sleep. I changed clothes, brushed my teeth and headed to bed, downing a Benadryl to help me sleep. I put in some earplugs since I was sharing a bed with Ma and Ed was in another bed in the room and both of them snore rather loudly. I remember the hum of the air conditioner and the Benedryl lulling me off to sleep.
posted by Edna @ 5:23 PM
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