There is something totally exhilarating about coming home. No matter how tired you are or how long the travel time, finally getting home feels like a shot of energy driven directly into the heart.
I suppose it’s the tight embrace of daughters meeting you at the airport in spite of the ungodly arrival time and the rain; or the smile on your driver’s face as he greets you “Magandang umaga po.” For me, it was also the relief of finally being out of an airplane after 14 hours, which is really a little too long despite the pampering of a solicitous PAL crew.
Smooth and uneventful
The flight was smooth and uneventful, thank God. But as we approached Manila, I was apprehensive about the billowing, menacing clouds outside my window. Our last weather update had predicted light rain and scattered clouds. Nervously, I thought, any minute now, we will be rocking and rolling. But our genial captain James Sarmiento found the smoothest “skyway” home.
I was so happy to be on terra firma that I almost forgot the three-hour delay on our departure time and the bumpy ride on the LAX tarmac to get to our boarding gate.
The new schedule was announced on the PA system and the ground staff sounded sincerely apologetic, blaming the delay on what they called “the unfortunate closure of the Manila airport.” This alarmed more than a few passengers, who suddenly wondered about a possible emergency. I almost called home to find out.
Like many airports worldwide, Naia closes from 2 to 5 a.m. For this reason, arrivals cannot be scheduled during those three hours. They should have worded the announcement differently and saved the passengers unnecessary anxiety and themselves the tedious task and time for explanations and reassurances.
Our arrival at Naia went smoothly all the way through immigration. But it truly takes the endless patience and sense of humor of the Pinoy to put up with the chaos that greets passengers at the baggage claim area.
Free for all
There are only two carousels and there were four flights that arrived almost simultaneously from the West Coast that morning.
From the belly of the aircraft, everything is tossed on to the groaning conveyors. It’s a free-for-all! Passengers, handlers, porters all stand around watching the bags and boxes spill on to the slow-moving carousels in no order at all. And it’s “a la suerte” to find the pieces that came in your flight, with the numbers that match your baggage tags.
Tempers are short and flare up easily after little or no sleep. The people on duty sincerely work hard to make things happen. But there is only so much they can do. It is a long and nerve-wracking wait for luggage that could very well have been left behind, or worse, gotten lost in the confusion of Samsonites, Touristers, Vuittons and our own national travel brand, the balikbayan box.
At this point, it is not more fun in the Philippines. DOT, take note.
Overstaying ‘lola’
Travel is a lot of things to a lot of people. Of course, I would enjoy it more if I didn’t have to fly. I love the warm welcomes, but hate the sad good-byes.
No matter how long I stay, I can never get enough time with my grandchildren. I doubt that this feeling is truly reciprocated. Yes, even lolas can overstay their welcome.
I remember how, many visits ago, on our way to the airport, the one whose room I had occupied for three weeks (and who swore up and down that she loved me), excitedly whispered to her mother, “Do I get my room back now?”
Most of the time someone has to give up her space so you can be comfortable. I hate to do that and as they grow older, I am sure they would rather I didn’t park there for too long. I can’t say that I blame them.
Maybe it’s part of the aging process, but it seems like no matter how good a time you are having, never mind that you are with people you love, you soon start getting antsy. That’s when you know it’s time to go home.
I ached for my own things, for my bed, my own “stuff.” I couldn’t wait to lose sight of suitcases, to stop worrying about passports, itineraries, if my medications would last the whole vacation, or God forbid, what if they got lost.
Ah, the comforts of home! Be it ever so humble, there is no place like it, that’s for certain.
Seeing friends
Los Angeles weather was beautiful. The sun was out, and there was a constant cool breeze even on the warmer days.
I loved seeing a sorely missed friend in Lancaster. The long drive through desert country to feast on her delicious and all-too-familiar pancit molo was well worth it. We tried to catch up on our children, grandchildren, talked about love, heartbreak and other laughable chapters of our lives. We restored bonds that a few years back had almost broken. We parted after dinner at Thai Town, sad but happy.
I saw friends I had not seen in ages. At a dinner in one of their homes, there was conversation about their elderly mother, now in her early 90s. They had just put her in a home. No, she isn’t sick, they said. But it was getting very difficult to care for her.
I felt a lump in my throat when the two daughters argued about the wisdom of their recent move. The younger one said: “But she is not happy there. She wants to come home.” The other sister insisted that it was the best move they could have made and added: “You know Mom, she is starting to forget things. She will soon forget that she is not home.” The lump in my throat became unbearably hard and I felt the sting of tears in my eyes. I sent a prayer of thanks up to heaven.
Family time
In the course of my 2012 itinerary, I had a wonderful time with my two daughters and their children. I spent time with my one and only sister, reviewing life and stirring memories, laughing out loud and sometimes in tears. I had lunch at the Americana mall in Glendale with a granddaughter who is busy with auditions and will one day be a big star. I had Mother’s Day in Florida, celebrated a grandchild’s birthday there; loved Father’s Day brunch at the St. Ives Country Club in Johns Creek, where they served the biggest artichoke hearts I have ever seen. Delicious!
Highlight of my trip was on May 5, at the beautiful wedding of a grandniece in Cummins, Georgia. It was warm, solemn and joyful, like weddings should be. We floated hot air balloons that night, and marveled at the grand super full moon. I shared the joy of the arrival of an adorable great grandniece. I restored ties with family I have never forgotten.
What else could I ask for? Absolutely nothing. Did I have fun? Of course I did. Was it a good holiday? It was incredible.
But yes, it was good to come home.
