the airport scene

I hate going to the airport – it has always meant someone I love would be leaving me. At 4^th grade, my brother left for Riyadh. At 14, my sister left for the States. Soon, my parents followed suit. Then my other brother went to Japan. Then my other sister left for Saudi Arabia… and each time I’d tag along to the airport, as I waved goodbye and shouted out my endless wish list, I really believed I’d die crying…

 

Obviously, I lived to experience being the traveler. My sister, brother-in-law and their 2 children, Nico and Nica; plus my friends Sheila, Rod, Budoy and her husband Reggie took me to the airport. Oh, I was raring to cry like anything, I'm telling you – that is, until Rod decided to do a Gary V.

 

He, of the posh Ballestra clan who is friends with the Marcoses (yes, Borgy), decided to SING the old, pathetically ridiculous OFW song, "Babalik Ka Rin." Not only did he sing in front of the multitude of Koreans, Thais and Pinoys at the airport that day, he also did a DANCE number as he sang. A Filipiniana dance number at that, mind you.

 

So, needless to say, I, together with the airport audience, laughed so hard that I forgot I was actually leaving and won’t be seeing them for years.

 

This is why I love my friends – for stepping in when I’m about to screw up… or something. And so Rod saved me from ruining my make-up by making a total fool of himself… I just love him.

 

Then I checked in my luggage – I knew security was going to be tight – but I didn't think my belt would be so much tighter. As if playing a character in a slapstick movie by Tito, Vic and Joey, I couldn't get my freakin' belt off of its loop!

 

"Ma'am paki dalian po, may pila na."

"Wait lang, I can't take this thing off!" I said, while yanking at the freakin' belt.

 

After an American guy loudly cleared his throat and some Taiwanese woman snickered, I finally got the belt off.

 

"Ayan pukingina." Throwing the belt and swearing like a sailor.

 

Of course, the same thing happened at the Hong Kong Airport.

 

“Ma’am, you don’t have to take off the whole thing, just the buckle,” said the guy at the X-ray thingy.

The buckle, by the way, is a HUGE silver flower. Think Kamiseta – the old logo. But bigger. MUCH bigger.

 

And so I did as he suggested… to no avail, of course.

“I can’t. I’m sorry.” Biting my lower lip and wishing for the ground to open up and eat me.

 

After 10 million minutes, and several muted chuckles from behind the line, I was able to take off the cursed belt.

 

Fearing the same embarrassing nightmare would happen at the Dubai Airport, I decided not to wear the belt anymore and thought of creative ways on how to smash the damn thing to smithereens.

 

Tugging at my dropping pants, and limping with my 40-kilo luggage, I arrived at the Dubai International Airport, Oct 4, 830 pm (12:30 am, Oct 5, Manila time).

 

I stepped out of the plane and, GAWD – the heat and the stench – oh my, it was awful! And because the airport is humongous, I had to take an Indian-and-Pakistan-full of bus up to the front gates. And boy, was it hot… Like the air was coming out of an exhaust fan.

 

And so there I was, the modern Filipino hero, ready to take on the Arab world – with armpits wet, hair oiled with sweat, and panties showing… and I’ve never felt (and looked) so ‘IN.’

 

Saan ka man naroroon ngayon, Saudi, Japan o HongKong; Babalik ka rin, babalik ka rin, babalik ka rin. Ano mang layo ang narating, Singapore, Australia Europe o Amerika; babalik at babalik ka rin. 

 

Putangnang kanta yan.