Thursday, December 13, 2007

WTF?!?! [PAL version]

If this was charged to experience, I paid bucks.

The plane back to Davao was huge. I'm sure I have not ridden anything like it. Not once. 40K, there goes my seat. Wow, I thought, this is a huge aircraft.

I got hold of Jonathan Safran Foer and read away. This is going to be a great flight. I'm sure it would be cloudy, which is always a sight I like to behold. The safety instructions card indicates the plane is Boeing 747. I felt weirded out.

Fifteen minutes or so after, the pilot apologizes for the delay of the departure. He said they're still waiting for some passengers. Stupid, I thought, thinking about the late passengers and the discomfiture they're causing to the early birds.

No wait. I'm dead sure it was just about 4pm. How come they're late. The plane should leave 430, it's still 30 minutes early. Ok, I think they're just trying to be cute. Are there VVIPs in the aircraft?

I read. More minutes ticked.

Another announcement from the pilot. He says with finality that really, this is the final boarding on the flight to Mactan International Airport Cebu. Hahaha, the pilot's got to be kidding, right. Is he drunk? It's a bad joke, come to think of it.

I laughed in my mind. Imagine, if I landed in Cebu, I would finally see Aina and Roan. But then I can't text them because my bat is empty.

"Sir, excuse me, tama ho ba yung narinig ko? Mactan, Cebu ho itong flight na 'to?" I asked feeling like an idiot, but asked anyway.

"Sa'n ka pala?" "Davao, ho." "Naku, pa-Cebu ito." The man sitted next to the empty chair beside me frantically called the attention of the steward. "May naiwan dito, Davao daw flight niya, baka maiwan ng flight 'to."

What the fuck. This isn't happening.

"Sir, dali po kayo baka maiwan na talaga kayo, sunod po kayo sa'kin,"
the steward, trying to be concerned. I tried my best to explain that I entered the correct gate. The plane switched gates. I didn't know. Perhaps I was still outside, had they made an announcement. But what the fuck, I tried to calm myself because I was goddamn sure it wasn't my fault.

"Naku Sir, kakalipad lang ho nito," the pretty stewardess said, in a voice, which I thought was trying to mock me and my stupidity. The other steward said, "Sir, baba na lang po kayo sa runway, baka tinatawag na po yung pangalan niyo." This is an aircraft full of fucking jokers.

Is he serious? Now he is really embarassing me. I didn't have lunch and breakfast was eons ago and I swear I could've passed out at that moment. I felt dizzy but I ran like I've never ran before. I can see a plane closing its doors and the tube slowly pulling away. Could it be it? Am I doomed? Am I stuck in this jungle full of demeaning looks?

It was not. I am saved. It's a good thing I don't like to sleep in airplanes.

Sunday, December 09, 2007

The Jungle

At 23, I am terrified of going to Manila. I have constantly shoved out the idea of me working there and the planned work-related trips I had with my previous employer always ended up canceled. For someone who's greatest ambition is to be a travel writer unpredictably marauding the whole world, it's such a big, glaring, slap-in-the-face irony. I know I'm such a chickenshit and for someone who has embraced [post]postmodern theories, mine is such a backward probinsyano mentality. In fact, this is such a mockery to the "new" probinsyano/na mentality, which is venturing into the urban jungle, the clearest, most popular vision would be Manila.

And in a matter of 3 hours, I will be at the airport aboard the 1:30 flight to Manila. You can just imagine how many butterflies are in my tummy right now.

Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family, Choose a f—king big television. Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose a three piece suit on hire purchased in a range of f—king fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the f—k you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing f—king junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, f—ked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself. Choose a future. Choose life . . . But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose somethin’ else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you’ve got heroin?

Renton, Trainspotting