United colors of the OFW

I was at Hong Kong’s Chek Lap Kok airport on a Wednesday morning some weeks back, eagerly awaiting my flight back to Manila. I was dog-tired and homesick even only after two nights in the former Crown Colony, where I attended a product launch/demo of an international computer company.

I was at the counter before the regulation two-hours-before-the-flight rule. I placed my lone piece of check-in luggage on the weighing scale and requested the lady behind the counter for a window seat as I handed her my ticket and passport.

A couple of minutes ticked by, then a couple more as the pale-skinned, slim woman pressed keys frantically at her computer terminal. Then she tried calling a number on the phone on her right. Paranoia started tugging at me. This didn’t look good at all.

"I’m trying to get you a seat. The flight to Manila seems to be full," she said, a bit apologetic (but it was no comfort to my healthy dose of paranoia). She commenced typing again, and this time I could almost smell the exasperation. "I’ll try to get you in, but I can’t guarantee a window seat," the lady declared, still not looking up at me.

As long as I can go home," I said, the foreboding still thick and almost palpable. I had previously been left behind by a Manila flight at this very airport, and even though we were billeted at a nearby hotel for free and with spending money, I just couldn’t possibly care. Dammit, I want to go home! Cold beads of sweat made their way out of my forehead and my hands started getting clammy. I looked up and mumbled a prayer.

Just when I was conditioning myself to be ready to pitch in for the night, the kindly ground staffer struck gold got me a seat. I could have kissed her. I was going home!

I sat just outside the gate and waited for the boarding call. The lounge seats were filled by an excited throng of Pinoys. I was too tired that I didn’t even have the strength to plug in my headphones. I stared blankly ahead and, consequently, heard so many stories at the airport.

The Pinoys were generally in very high spirits, and talked of their employers, their plans once they got back to the Philippines, and the date of their return to Hong Kong.

Many of our kababayans were apparently dressed to impress – various pieces of jewelry over what appeared to be brand-new clothes. The guy beside me was in leather pants, never mind that he seemed uncomfortable in them.

Then it struck me.

We often make fun of how we can spot the balikbayans among a crowd. The gaudily dressed, gaily colored, loudly talking Pinoys in a sea of brown-skinned brothers. But close to my desperate hour that day in Chek Lap Kok, I had an epiphany of sorts. I realized was so lucky to have the luxury of not having to go abroad (at least, for the moment) to earn a decent amount of money. I mean, I was in Hong Kong for two days and I could have suffered an embolism because I was already pining for home (and my love).

How many of our countrymen have to look to distant shores for the job and future that our government owes them in the first place? It has gone beyond brain drain. We’re suffering from an acute case of Pinoy drain. While the Japanese are the global tourists, Pinoys have become the global workers – refugees that flee a troubled land of economic warfare. Philippine society is waging a battle that only few can now win. So it is sad that many are forced to wage their economic war elsewhere.

I recently talked to a self-confessed former activist, who now finds himself making a living in capitalist heaven.

"Things change," he said, with a shrug of his shoulders.

I guess when a life depends upon you to deliver, you don’t get picky. You don’t get on a soap box and rant. You deliver. There are so many things that people give up for love. It can even provide you with a totally new template of thinking with which you can paint and draw a different depiction of yourself. Now if other people can’t understand, then it shouldn’t be too much of a surprise.

My friend thought wistfully as he continued to regale me with stories of his days of pakikibaka.

But now, he is contemplating (guess what?) going abroad for an elusive dream of plenty and comfort for his family. Who could ever blame our fellow Pinoys for wanting to hightail it out of here? Why, just take a cursory look at our headlines and you would want to leave, too. Our dose of daily evil and depravation makes for a real-life soap opera that quickly gets tiring because we are always the api. Maybe that’s why we need to watch the interminable soaps. We need to identify with the poor protagonist who prevails in the end and stands over the carcass of the "slaughtered" rich. Even if our own life story sucks big time, maybe Yna stands a chance to get back at all the mega bitches and spit in their eye.

I believe there is always a measure of reckless courage in all of us – not just the young. This self-preservation instinct keeps us fighting and ensures we remain steadfast in belief and even keep trying to change what we cannot. Well, you might think we’re deluding ourselves into a false sense of empowerment. But we should never ever think otherwise. We need the courage to keep the faith or the Pinoys won’t just drain from the Philippines, the republic itself will go down, down, down the drain.

In summation, we should really f___g mean it when we call the OFWs "heroes." They go through the pain of uprooting themselves from the motherland and people they love. Remember that next time you get impatient about how they stand up from their seats to retrieve their luggage – even if the seatbelt sign is still off.

And, just keep wearing the most colorful clothes you can find, kabayan. You earned that right.