Moving Borders

I stared blankly at the mirror, uncertain of what might unfold. My arms hung lifelessly as I searched for assurance. I breathed hard, so hard it echoed through the walls but was still not enough to deafen the drumbeats in my chest. My cold palms numbed. Beads of sweat formed on my forehead. Water drops on a half-filled pail seemed endless. Long breaths and faster heartbeats; the door swung open.

Image taken here

 
An airport cleaner brought me back to reality. I sighed, fixed my messy hair and hurried out of the restroom. Outside, I saw people of different races passing by. Some strolled with their luggage while others held their coats. I made my way back to the waiting area. I sat beside my dad, who was then asking an official for the cause of the flight delay. We should be boarding at 10 p.m. but it was already quarter to 11. For a first timer, the wait was nerve-wracking.

Months before I sat in the waiting area, I had already been hearing talks at home about my mom and dad working overseas. The need to sustain my brother and I’s education alongside other demands pushed my mom to teach overseas with my dad. I was in first year high school then while my brother, who was two years ahead of me, was studying in Philippine Science High School.

My mom originally planned to leave alone and my dad would follow, while my brother and I would stay. But because her work entitled her to a good number of benefits including free accommodation, ticket fares and government-sponsored tuition for her children, she decided to take me with her but left my brother so he could finish in the science high school. Just imagine my face when I learned about it. My mom’s leaving was already too difficult to bear; what more my leaving the country too?

To be fair with the Philippines, I feel really comfortable in it despite the unstable economy, corrupt government and congested roads. Perhaps it’s because this is where I grew up or where memories of my childhood were formed. I could keep reasoning how much I love the country, but deep inside I knew my hesitation had something to do with the idea of change.

Leaving the country meant leaving my comfort zones. And that was scary for a 12-year-old boy. I was aware that I had to adapt to the lifestyle there; worse, to use English when speaking. I guess it added more to my fear of moving because I was never good in English then. Regardless of what reason, I refused to leave.

But fate thought otherwise. My mother called up a few weeks after she had left for Papua New Guinea. She asked my aunt to arrange my documents as soon as possible so I could follow her in the summer, and told me not to worry because my dad could accompany me during the flight.

Not to worry…yes. Perhaps that was the best I could do. After all, I could find new friends there and create more fun memories. I could probably enjoy schooling there and experience what I might not in the Philippines. And most of all, I would get to be with my mom again. I guess I just had to be optimistic about things.

So there I was with a hundred others, sitting on the white plastic benches, looking at the huge screen in front us and waiting for the plane to arrive. All I could do was look around, worry, observe, worry, and look at the screen. I did not talk to my dad because we are not close and there was not much to talk about really. So I guess I just made a few trips to the restroom where I repeatedly asked myself if what I was about to do would do me any good. But every time I did, a cleaner, a businessman or a simple traveller would come in and derail my train of thought (or train of worry, in my case).

It was way past 11 in the evening and the thick green sweater I wore could not stop me from getting chills. My dad, silent as he forever was, had fallen into sleep. A few others getting agitated started walking back and forth while children played over and under the benches. Then a lady in a blue green blazer topped with an eccentric scarf, holding a microphone in her left hand, asked for our attention.

Not long after the announcement, people started making a beeline for the tube. My heart beat faster; my hands grew colder. I took a deep breath and woke up my dad as I unfurled the bag handles. We followed on, presented our boarding passes, and finally, we were greeted with a smile by a flight attendant.

I remember searching for our seats while getting excited to be inside a plane. As we sat, I quickly looked at what other people were doing. I saw a magazine, travel guides, a headset and a barf bag. I chuckled because I knew I might need it. When I had settled down, my worries started rushing through my mind again. But this time, I was also worried for the flight. What if someone hijacked the plane or the pilot lost control and we all crashed into the mountains or into the ocean? I know. I was terribly paranoid. First time jitters.

I could not remember what happened next. All I knew was that the plane took off, which made me tighten my grip on the armrests. I must have looked funny then.

                                   

Temporarily, my mind shut off. I could not think of anything else because I was feeling unwell. I thought I better stop overthinking. I was not even sure if that or my first plane ride had caused it. All I was sure of that night was I needed a rest—or a quick trip to the restroom (this happens whenever I get nervous).

Almost five hours had passed—my eyes still adjusting to the sunlight beaming through the windows—when we heard the captain speak, greeting us a pleasant morning as we neared the Jacksons Airport in Port Moresby, the capital of Papua New Guinea.

Finally, we landed safely, take some wobbling here and there but it was just fine. I sighed. I guess that was it. I was already 2300 miles away from Manila. There was no turning back.

A few immigration check-ups more, and my dad and I walked slowly out of the airport, as if assessing whether or not the place was safe. There was my mom, smiling as she hugged me, as if telling me everything would be fine.

But the engine of my train of thought and worry had just begun to churn u again, ready for another excruciating trip as we hopped into the car of my mom’s neighbor.  I could feel myself aboard the train—physically—looking as every corner, curve, highs and lows of Port Moresby welcome me, slowly revealing untold pieces of Papua New Guinea.

Unlike most people, I was not clueless about that country. In fact, I had been hearing about it since I was 7 years old. Why?  Five other relatives had gone to work there; my mom and dad were the latest addition. I had also seen the people and places there by browsing through the Paradise, Air Niugini’s in-flight magazine. There I saw local people in their traditional and tribal dresses: some women were topless while men were without pants. In short, I had a vague picture of what Papua New Guinea was like—a much lesser version of the Philippines.

But as the car drove further on the traffic-free roads, I realized Papua New Guinea was not that far behind. I must admit, it was never globally popular, which causes people to think that it was a primitive and uncivilized place where cannibalism exists and electricity does not (well, I cannot say much about the former except that I heard it really does).

I thought maybe I would do just fine there. That if it felt like living in the Philippines, then I would find no problems in being happy. But I knew it. I knew I was right about what I felt the very first time I heard about our moving.

Adjusting to a new setting, environment and lifestyle was never easy especially for a shy boy like me. There I learned how it felt like to be bullied and laughed at. There I experienced eating alone during breaks, if ever I had the appetite for one. There I realized how sad it was being an outcast. But it was also there where I learned to take all the disapprovals and use them to motivate and inspire me to better myself. And after that, I enjoyed bit by bit living in Papua New Guinea with my family and new friends.

Honestly, I believe I would not be the person I am now had I not gone through the tough times I faced in Papua New Guinea. I would not view things the way I do now had I not seen the world through another lens. I would not speak of words I speak now had I not listened to different tongues. And I would not think the way I do now had I not come out of my shell.

The car engine stopped. We got out of the car and started unloading our luggage. I was left outside standing in front of our house, looking at every detail, as if telling it to take care of me.

Five years after, I was at the very same spot, reminiscing about how much I had grown with and in the same house. But this time, thanking it for listening to my every story, for letting me be who I am, and for sheltering my family against odds.

Right then and there, I could feel myself shivering, taking long deep breaths as my heart began to pound harder. My mind was once again full of what ifs, exactly how I was in the restroom minutes before my first flight. What if university life back home would be different from what I had already been used to? What if I could not fit in to the pop culture anymore? With so many questions in mind, I just smiled. I told myself that if I was able to survive living in a different place, what more at home.

The car honk broke my line of thought. I ran toward the car. We did not want to be late for our 3 p.m. flight back to Manila.


This article was originally posted in The Feature Book, a collection of feature articles of J111 students.