Flight Number 5J 740

Last February 28, 2016, I was in an economy flight with Cebu Pacific bound for King Khaled International Airport.

But before that, I had some issues (sensitive details) with my agency that made me rethink my decision of leaving Philippines. So on the night before my flight bound for Saudi Arabia, I was scared out of my wits. I spent the entire night on my phone googling the place of my employment (google is my bestfriend) and the contact details of the Philippine Embassy in Riyadh and reading tons of blogs about the life in the kingdom. 

I was afraid that I'll get lost in the airport and some psychopath will hide me away from the rest of the world. I was afraid that I might make a silly joke because I always do or I might act as my normal crazy self and Arabs will get offended and I'll get convicted with a thousand lashes. I was afraid that I'll terribly miss Philippines and I'll go nuts out of depression because for starters, I was already extremely dramatic despite the amazing tropical weather at home. What if everything changes (because I know it will)?

I told my father that I want to cancel my flight.

He said, "You've been so dauntless your entire life almost to a point of being reckless and now you want to back out? Put your phone down and stop reading things that disturb your peace of mind. Take a rest." 

That shut me up. 

A year before I decided to go abroad, almost every nurse acquaintance that I knew was flying to Europe. United Kingdom and Ireland turned into this massive creamy chocolate cake that became too irresistable to almost half of my batchmates, friends and myself included. I badly wanted to take my own slice from it. However, just like in real life, artisan goods are in the pricey side so I have to delay it for a bit. And by a bit, that meant a 2 year contract in the Middle East so I can save up some Euros or Riyals if you prefer. 

Seven months here but I do not know where all my Riyals went (my mom's healthcare and chocolates, lots of) but I am definitely saving up crazy memories and a bunch of lessons out of my neurotic life choices. I thought Saudi life is boring. But four months before my first anniversary over here and I have already gone through one hell of a ride. 

I still get lonely often. I love long walks and random escapades which I can't do here as much as I want to. I miss wandering endlessly on unknown streets. I miss fishball and isaw. I miss the talaba (oyster), pantat (catfish) and liempo combo at Matmat's in Villa, Arevalo. I miss going back and forth Esplanade despite the awful mangrove smell. I miss randomly meeting a friend at SM City. I miss sticking my face out of a jeepney during windy rides back home. I miss midnight trips to 7/11 or Ministop for a bottle of San Miguel Light while eating Angel's burger. I miss the tall talahib grasses that dance outside my bedroom's window on windy afternoons. I miss how my mama wakes me up at 11am during my days off to eat the brunch she lovingly made for me and I miss how grumpy I get being woken up because I was such a brat. 

I miss knowing that those I love are just a 25 peso ride at maximum away from me. I miss how my greatest struggle to see the ones I love was just battling people to get into the next empty jeepney on rainy nights. 

I hated rainy nights when I was heading home, but now, to go home means waiting for two years to get an exit visa. Seeing those I love meant a 10 hour international flight and a completed two year contract.

Our lives here in the kingdom revolve mostly around our workplace and our apartment. There are days when I am not aware of what date it is because everyday is monotonous. And if you know me really well, I dislike monotomy. 

However, monotomy pushes me to see the day beyond being just an 8 hour shift. My senses get stronger and my heart gets a bit bigger. A kind word from a madame (married female) or from an aku (Arab male) or from a sadik (Pakistani for friend) brigthens my day immensely. A hug and a bosa (kiss) from a 4 year old Syrian or Pakistani makes my heart swell ten times bigger than it used to be. A meek smile and a gentle tap at the back from mama (a grandmother) reminds me of the kindness we all can offer to everyone. 

I get to spend most of my days talking to my Filipina housemates who are from different backgrounds. It's like a psychology immersion. I am used to being alone so spending my time with the same people for almost 24 hours everyday is a good way to fuel my social skills. I am obliged to deal with my issues and to look into them on a daily basis because I realized I still have a lot of growing up to do at 25.

I am actually on a two year retreat and Middle Eastern trip. I am getting paid for it. Bonus is I'm doing what I love- nursing.

Also, not everyone has the chance to set foot on the desert. You don't get to learn Arabic everyday. That's a plus one on my resume.  "Can speak English, Hiligaynon, Filipino and a mix of baroque Arabic and Pushto (Afghan/Pakistani)". Not every female gets to try the elegance of an Abaya (black cover up) partnered with a hijab (head scarf). I tell you, that shawarma and kebab you had in your local restaurant are nothing compared to the ones they have over here, fully loaded with carbs and meat. They go overboard here. Eat at your own risk.

I have always been wrong on my first impressions. The kingdom is different than the rest of the world but it is truly a beautiful country. The kind of beauty that can only be seen once you learn its culture and live with its people. 

My Gut Feels

During my entire summer vacation last 2002 or maybe 2001 (I am really bad with details),

 I remember going on regular afternoon trips with my bestfriend to a tyange (a small store) in our subdivision. As soon as the sun gets a bit toned down and it's safe to venture the streets without burning under the summer heat, 

we, two skinny schoolgirls, would excitedly run to buy our favorite summer merienda- 

1 pack of salted and MSG loaded chips and a bottle of cold Pepsi each. 

We did this routine without fail for more than a month. 

On that same summer,

 my aunt bought a dozen instant pancit canton and laid it neatly on the dining table. I remember how I stayed hidden behind the kitchen door and waited until the scene was clear before I run and hurriedly ripped open each of the 12 pack, took the MSG seasoning, all 12 of them and run towards the veranda where I snacked on them for the rest of the afternoon.

 It was a delicious, savory, completely artificial yet pure MSG buffet for me. 

12 sachets of bliss. 

Imagine my family's horror when they found out that they'll be forced to eat a dozen of pancit canton with just salt and soysauce.

Still on that same 2001 or 2002 summer,

 a week before my maybe 10th or 11th birthday (details, ughhh), we went to Aklan for a scheduled Boracay birthday gift from my aunt.

 Days before the Boracay trip,

 I woke up in the middle of the night with unexplainable stomach cramps and a demented series of vomiting where I got hold of every furniture in my grandpa's house, crying and asking for a miracle. 

Aklan was quiet and too rural back then and that meant no public transportation at 12 midnight (we don't own a car) so my aunt had to literally drag a limping, vomiting, wailing and probably hallucinating teenage girl to the nearest hospital. 

After several needle pricks and basins of puke,

 I was diagnosed with Acute Gastritis. 

I had several stomach issues thereafter. Occassionally, I would suffer from watery stools or bloating but nothing too serious. However, just last year, I noticed that I got bloated too often. The attacks were bothersome especially when they happen while I was still on duty in the hospital.  

Hunger + stress + physical exhaustion + emotional chaos + BLOATING, I tell you, equates to a very unique kind of disaster.

The bloating comes and goes. 

But when it does come, I can't live properly. 

I can't breathe like a normal human with a functional pair of lungs and a diaphragm because everything inside my tummy gets poked by a huge air and it feels like I am about to give birth to a giant hot air balloon. 

I have to forcefully make myself gag with a tounge depressor or my tooth brush just to push that ball of air out of my mouth. It is exhausting. 

Then I had tumor and gallbladder stone scare because my signs and symptoms seem to suggest that. Thankfully, the ultrasound turned out negative. But it got more frustrating. What is wrong with me then? My bilirubin is 12 times elevated than normal but all of my other laboratories are okay. 

Currently, I am hypochondriac. 

I am thinking I might have IBS or a fungal infection in my gut (thanks google for being my internist this time). I am going to jump into a strict antifungal diet of no sugar or carbohydrates and let's see if it will work. Stool gets tested tomorrow.

 Crappy gut, please get well soon.

Sunny!

Miss portable sunshine. A lot has changed. I am even looking at a different kind of sun as I write this. It is still the same sun that the Earth orbits, scientifically speaking.

 However, I am miles away from home and the tropics that I have known for 25 years and that makes the same sun a little bit less of a happy yellow than I remember it to be. The desert sun is a dusky yellow maybe because of the sand or the orange bricks buildings are made of or chemistry or sorcery and I do not really love it this way.

 They tell me, "You've chosen the wrong country." 

But do we all have the luxury of choosing? When does a choice become the better option? Does its value become better if we base it on our needs rather than our desires or the other way around?

 The lucky ones seem to have it both though or is it another case of seeing the cup as half full rather than half empty?

 I do have a lot of "or" and "maybe" on my writing these days because I am so unsure of so many things. Or maybe because I have learned that this story, as I see it, is way different than how the Indian man sitting next to me sees it. 

Whatever comes after this and though it may turn out to be a bit off yellow or a bit much of an orange, I still would like to keep that same sun. 

And I am claiming this, I am and will still be, miss portable sunshine.

Memory Pills on Sale

I promised that I'd buy you a happy meal from Jollibee. 

I had my chicken joy and spaghetti. 

Almost went home without your take away.

 I forgot.

I'm supposed to buy you a banana nutella crepe in the park.

 I had a burger, a pizza and fries.

Went home without your crepe.

 I forgot.

I got a new key for the apartment. 

Was glad the doorknob was fixed. 

You came home with your old key and were locked out. 

I forgot.

I'm supposed to cook for the two of us. 

Made a meal for one and you're forced to eat the food from last night. 

I forgot.

My memory is mixed up. 

I got loneliness, anxiety, 50 pages of pep talk, frustration, thirst for adventure, 

homesickness and a brokenheart stuck in my temporal lobe. 

They took the space away from 

bring the keys, turn off the gas range, wash the pots, sign the overtime sheet and buy her the bread reminders.

You are not unimportant. 

I am just much more important to me.

 No. 

Not egotism.

 My pride is a 10 ml free sample compared to those 1 liter vanity kits others carry around with them.

I can swallow my pride, bottoms up, all the way. 

'Til the last drop.

But.

 "I am" is my foundation. 

Because I took care of me.

 I cooked crappy meals for me for years.

 I took me to boring and cheap dates on my birthdays.

 I hugged me with every heartbreak. 

I gave me a gentle pat on the back before and after many awkward job interviews. 

I made me several warm mugs of hot chocolate on lonely nights. 

It has always been me. 

So sorry if I am failing on my human being skills too often.

I forgot it's not just me this time.

 I forgot I am not the only one needing a warm drink or a pat on the back. 

Sorry, I forgot.