OFW

The Ninoy Aquino International Airport is probably one of the most emotionally-charged departure areas in the world. 

It’s a melting pot of emotions.

On one hand, you have the many tourists who flock to the country. They’re easy to pinpoint in the departure area. All bubbly from their adventures, tanned and most probably of foreign descent.

On the other hand, you have long, solemn faces in the throng. Tear-streaked cheeks, bloodshot eyes, their expressions are markedly different from the happy visitors leaving the country. Unlike the others, these ones usually have large send-off parties armed with handkerchiefs and little towels for tears uncontrollably welling up in their eyes. There are many hugs, rubs on shoulders and backs. They cling to each other. You can hear departing loved ones reassuring those left behind in voices that give away their own struggle with finding the strength to leave to work in a foreign land.

And on that fateful morning 6 weeks ago, I was of the crowd trying very hard to pry myself away from the city that served as the backdrop of my growth into adulthood and the people whose company I value the most. 

If I were featured in Humans of New York  (Hi, Brandon! I love you!) that early morning of July, my photo’s caption would be: I am moving to a new country for work. And, I think, for the first time ever, I am truly afraid for myself. 

A smile would be on my lips but it would not reach my eyes. My eyes would be too busy crying.

I know that, by far, my circumstances are better than most of the Filipinos who get shipped off abroad. For one, my employer is legitimate and they provided assistance for the relocation — a lot of it. Plus, I have very good friends in the country I am moving to. I would be taken care of and I would not be alone. My job will be in an international corporation where I am a manager. People would give so much to be in my place.

Still, all these did not make the blow of separation any less painful.

It was not about being scared of not surviving abroad. Neither was it primarily about what I’m leaving behind. To me, it was the dread of feeling unanchored once again. I thought I could finally settle somewhere and really grow roots. I thought that maybe, at long last, my life of constantly moving from one home to another was done and I could make myself a permanent home. But life seemed to have another plan for me. I knew I was going to be subjected to another gruelling bout of transition and finding stability in a new place. I was miserable.

So to distract myself, as I was currently in the pre-departure area exhausting myself with sobs, I thought of the people riding the plane with me.

I looked around and I felt a mix of pride and sadness. Most were OFWs who, like me, were dabbing on their eyes with tissues, handkerchiefs or towelettes.

Our countrymen are shipped off to many countries in the world because we are mostly preferred over other nationalities. We’ve heard this countless times. We speak well. We work well. We know how to relate to superiors. Generally, we’re a likeable bunch. And that gives me pride even if the jobs offered to Filipinos range from domestic helpers and manual labourers to doctors, nurses and bankers.

But then, we are a country that boasts of its excellent tourism with an economy sustained primarily by Overseas Filipino Workers (OFWs). How ironic is it that our own country welcomes and invites the world to its shores but cannot keep its own people in their own homes?

At that moment in the airport, in the midst of texting sappy goodbyes to loved ones who were asleep at that hour and in the presence of fellow adventurers, I promised myself that though I was flying out with a very heavy heart, I would make this next segment in my life fun (as my favourite uncle said, we make our own fun wherever we go). Also, to make it less about myself, I’ll do it for the Filipinos, too. I am the only Filipino in my team and the rest are a mix of people hailing from all continents of the world. There is a certain desire to prove myself for my race.

Above all, as cheesy as it is, I vowed to myself that this stint should fuel what I know to be the life I dream of. Just like any true OFW — not an expat but an OFW.

It took me months to tame my emotions about the move. I barely cry nowadays and the homesickness is not as crippling as before. Thus, I believe I am ready to write again.

I officially begin my Hong Kong series here.