"I'll Be Back"

Much has transpired in the seven months since my last post; I've changed continents, changed cultures, and starkly changed my day to day way of living.  There is so much to write about, but I can't write about what I am currently thinking until I bring this blog up to the present day.  So here is the first entry of a multi-part rundown of the past few months of my life.

Just before my flight at Ninoy Aquino 
International Airport in Manila

August 16th of last year, I boarded a plane in Manila bound for the United States.   I bid a tearful good-bye to a group of friends--and way of life--that had become as much a part of me as my left hand.  Throughout the weeks preceding this event, the words: "I'll be back" had become a kind of mantra for me.  It was not so much a statement of fact as it was a reassurance for myself, helping me to hold myself together while I undertook the tying-up loose ends both socially and with my work at APNTS.  There was far too much to be done; falling apart emotionally would certainly not aide the tasks at hand.   And so, I came to that final night when I left the Philippines.   Myself  and about 10 of my closest friends piled into a van and made our way to the airport.   The conversation in the van was exactly what is to be expected in Pinoy culture during times of heavy emotion:

Jokes.  Sarcasm. And side-splitting laughter. 

This is something that I have come to both love and be annoyed by--and something that I greatly miss.  In Filipino culture, more often than not, when the mood is too sullen for too long---people instinctively start cutting up.  As much as I wanted to wallow in the sadness of leaving, my friends would not allow it.   I made it through the car ride, the hugs, and the final goodbyes.  It wasn't until we parted and I stepped through the doors of the airport that the waterworks cut loose.   I tried to hide it, but the tears were no-doubt obvious--far too strong to pass off as a random flair-up of allergies; as much as I hated it, I was crying.  I dealt with my emotions by striking up conversations in the terminal with anyone who would have it, and savoring what few minutes I had left to use Tagalog--a language that would be all but useless once I arrived in the states.  

Mindlessly, I stood in lines and went through the motions of passing though security, checking my luggage and exchanging my colorful Philippine Pesos for the familiar monochromatic American greenbacks.  I boarded my flight and started the first of five flights eastward, each one carrying me a bit farther from the people and places that I couldn't seem to shake from my mind.  I was ever-mindful of my "I'll be back" mantra of the past few weeks. I knew I would be back.  But when?  And under what auspices?     

After some 15 hours of prayer and melancholic reflection over the Pacific, I landed in Texas with a fresh mind, excited about the few days to come.  I had done something on this trip that I had always wanted to do:

I had kept my return home a secret from my mom and brother.  

At the time, my family had been on vacation in Garden City Beach, South Carolina.   I had made arrangements with my sister, Leah, and planned to meet her at the airport in Myrtle Beach.  Leah had slipped away from our condo stating that she had needed some "alone time".   The entire ordeal of sneaking around and orchestrating an international transition across social networks and the globe without leaving clues on Facebook left me feeling a bit like James Bond or Jason Borne (at least, I liked to pretend that it was so).  And---apart from a small "farewell" left on my Facebook wall (thankfully, in Tagalog) the plot of secrecy had worked!   

We had it all worked out.  Leah picked me up and we drove to a small Ocean Front restaurant just a few doors down from where my family was staying.   We grabbed a table and my sister left to meet my family to come to dinner where I was patiently waiting.   A half an hour later, as my family walked down the beach to the Cafe, I headed down to the sand in front of the restaurant, acting as if I had been there all along and didn't know them.  Leah had tried to get Mom's attention by getting her to look at this guy on the beach that looked just like her son.  After a few awkward and confused glances, her face was priceless. 

Thankfully, Leah caught it on video:

My first three days in the states were spent at the beach with my family re-living old, archived memories of vacations past.   They were a great few days; and, as I remember them, almost surreal as my mind lagged to adjust to the dramatic the change in culture, timezone and the faces that surrounded me.  

I was back. 

It was great to be with my family and spend some much needed time catching up with them.  However, I was still unsure of what being back meant.   What now?