Leaving on a jet plane

SINGAPORE – We had the sad luck of being assigned a stewardess who seemed to think she would be charged a fine if she so much as smiled. I was the unfortunate schmuck who got allocated an aisle seat, and was subjected to her "Please re-cross your legs." I was launched thrice out of sleep by her finger on the seat recliner, and have been the recipient of evil stares because of (gasp!) a bag strap on the aisle. It was followed by her high-heeled shoe kicking it over to under the seat. May God grant her mercy.

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I am the proud owner of one suitcase, a big black rolling monstrosity that weighs five kilos. It has come with me to every debate tournament, and seems to have the capacity to absorb enormous amounts of clothing (four skirts, 10 shirts, four dresses), footwear (12 and counting), jewelry (all genuinely fake and weighing a total of two kilos) and quantities of cheap clothing I pick up on shopping expeditions. I have had the dubious pleasure of being stuffed into the suitcase and zipped inside, and have decided to keep it for use in case I find it necessary to immigrate illegally into America. It has been sat on, manhandled, dragged up flights of stairs and carried by various males of various nationalities. Some have wrestled it away from me after my gee-I’m-so-helpless-but-I’ll-try-because-I-don’t-want-to-put-out-anyone "No, it’s okay, I can carry it" routine. More often than not, the hapless members of the stronger sex succumb to bribery, threats, and the desire to stop my whining.

For this tournament, I brought the same suitcase. Its immensity stops people on their tracks, especially since I knew this would only be a seven-day trip. I explain that the 12 pairs of shoes are absolutely essential to ensure the quality of my debate performance. Besides, I’m not the only debater obsessed with wardrobe. I know a guy who spent an entire afternoon trying on every clothing combination in his closet to find the perfect seven outfits (complete with beads and appropriate footwear), and a girl who zip-locks her shirts individually for fear of getting them wrinkled. Hey, it’s a free country.

I live by the principle that, like, it doesn’t matter if you, like, y’know, lose a debate, if you like, look good anyway.

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It’s awful to be a writer in a strange place and dependent on a computer to write. A pen and paper produce a crumpled sheet with the words "Today’s Column" printed on top and a mass of unintelligible sentences crossed and re-crossed. It comes to a point where hours past the deadline, the desperation leads to a willingness to pay anything, give anything, and smile for anyone just for three hours of precious uninterrupted computer time.

In London, I spent a pound an hour in a corner café on Internet access, attempting to type with half-frozen fingers encased in thick wool gloves. In Sydney, I sat at what I call an Internet vending monster. You sit before what looks like an ATM machine in the hotel lobby, and feed the greedy little creature coins for every measly minute of use. The worst was in Malaysia. I couldn’t find a single Internet café or computer rental, and was thrilled by the news that the hotel had free Internet access. The thrill, however, was momentary. Access is worth P500 – for every five minutes. After a long search, I found myself sitting for six hours in the Sony store at KLCC mall, pounding away at their sample laptops while pretending to ignore disgruntled Malaysians cursing while in line behind me.

When I’m rich and famous and have already saved the world (my current buoyant mood doesn’t allow for ifs), my first act will be to buy one of those Mac laptops that are so skinny you can shove them into a shoulder bag. Then I will laugh at the poor schmuck who wandered around the Petronas Towers hoping to stumble on an Internet café (read: me).

Right now, I’m sitting in a room with a square footage bigger than my house’s, lined with cubicles stocked with beautiful Samsung computers. Nanyang Technological University (NTU) is hosting the first Asian Universities Debating Championships (AUDC). Their computer room, where I’m working now, provides free access to students/debaters. Yes, yes, this may be normal too for Ateneo and La Salle, but this kid from UP is astounded by the outrageousness of the idea. Only exclamation points can articulate my emotions. Imagine! Free access! The shock! The thrill! The air-conditioning!

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We begin debating tomorrow. I sometimes wonder if athletes still get scared after a thousand laps, or if ballerinas of a hundred recitals are still afraid. Before every speech, every debate, most of us are afraid one way or another. It’s excruciating to be told by a judge that you were ridiculous, illogical and unconvincing after you spent a hellish 30 minutes thinking of arguments for a topic you either know nothing about or are personally against.

We debaters are a strange lot; we glory in the challenge and seem like the most self-assured people in the world but, on losing, swear never to subject self to the crushing pressure again. Then we come back because the "seven-minute-rush" we get during a speech is incomparable.

Ateneo de Manila, De La Salle, Santo Tomas, College of St. Benilde, Ateneo de Davao and UP campuses Diliman and Manila have all managed to gather and grovel for funding enough to keep us in Singapore for a week – a triumph in itself. Tomorrow, we’ll be representing our various universities against other Asian schools. Whichever university wins, we hope it will be a team that carries the Philippine flag.

Here’s to hoping that the force will be strong in all of us – as we shoot for the stars.

UP – fight! * * * The writer has been recently frustrated in her attempts to catch Episode 3, and apologizes for the pun. Send comments to pat.evangelista@gmail.com.