Kitty Litter
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
Auntie 'Em! There's No Place Like Home!
They say the best part of traveling is going home, and I'm inclined to agree, except for the turbulence.
I would've kissed the ground as soon as the plane landed except 1) I'm not the late beloved Pope John Paul, who made a habit of kissing soil wherever he went; 2) PAL is smart enough to make sure passengers like me can never touch the tarmac; and 3) I'm not sure I want my lips to make contact with ground trodden on by god-knows-who. And what was the reason for such enthusiasm? Turbulence. Air pockets. Call it what you like; I say goddamnit, I hate them.
Wynn roused himself at the ungodly hour of 3 am just to get me from the airport some time later. The sad part is that the only time I ever got discriminated against was when I came home; an officious customs clerk yelled at me, then in the next breath was honey-sweet with a Caucasian foreigner who came after me. And to think I came from the South in the US!
Every time I go abroad (twice, and never again, I hope), I lose weight because I pine for the silliest things: tapsilog, stray cats, Tagalog curses, kare-kare (wait, I pine for that even at home...). You never think of yourself as a foreigner in another land; you think of everyone else as being a tourist, and you do things you would never do back home for fear of having what's left of your good name ruined.
But I think what matters most about journeys is when you discover things about yourself. I thought I was fairly open-minded; that is, until I was thrown into the lap of a male dancer on Castro Street in San Francisco and discovered the meaning of "want a taste?" It was not as pleasant as they make it out to be in the movies; I like handsome men as much as the next woman, but coming face to face with the "goods" made me miss Wynn even more.
We made up for lost time on our first drive out. Prior to leaving for the US, my car had been struck by the driver of a Hyundai van who reasoned that, between a new Innova and my old but faithful Mazda, it would be cheaper to hit me. (He has fled; any information leading to the owner or driver of a Hyundai with plate number REF 890 will be much appreciated.)
Driving down E Rodriguez, we were crossing with the green light on our side when we encountered an arrogant teen pedestrian, palm held out in the disdainful "HOLD IT!" gesture all drivers are familiar with (and would love to run over), crossing against the light in a "WALANG TAWIRAN NAKAMAMAMATAY" (don't you just love that?) zone. I honked to warn the ugly boy when he flashed us the finger.
In a flash, Wynn was out of the car. To say he was a frightening sight, with his long hair unbound, an arnis stick in one hand and a menacing expression on his face, is an understatement but it will suffice for now. On his way to chase the ugly teen down, Wynn zoomed past a pushcart team, the members of which clutched at their hearts and plastered themselves against the wall to avoid him.
I followed, and was just in time to hear the leader of the pushcart team say, "Uy, may away. Nood tayo!"
There's no place like home indeed.
I would've kissed the ground as soon as the plane landed except 1) I'm not the late beloved Pope John Paul, who made a habit of kissing soil wherever he went; 2) PAL is smart enough to make sure passengers like me can never touch the tarmac; and 3) I'm not sure I want my lips to make contact with ground trodden on by god-knows-who. And what was the reason for such enthusiasm? Turbulence. Air pockets. Call it what you like; I say goddamnit, I hate them.
Wynn roused himself at the ungodly hour of 3 am just to get me from the airport some time later. The sad part is that the only time I ever got discriminated against was when I came home; an officious customs clerk yelled at me, then in the next breath was honey-sweet with a Caucasian foreigner who came after me. And to think I came from the South in the US!
Every time I go abroad (twice, and never again, I hope), I lose weight because I pine for the silliest things: tapsilog, stray cats, Tagalog curses, kare-kare (wait, I pine for that even at home...). You never think of yourself as a foreigner in another land; you think of everyone else as being a tourist, and you do things you would never do back home for fear of having what's left of your good name ruined.
But I think what matters most about journeys is when you discover things about yourself. I thought I was fairly open-minded; that is, until I was thrown into the lap of a male dancer on Castro Street in San Francisco and discovered the meaning of "want a taste?" It was not as pleasant as they make it out to be in the movies; I like handsome men as much as the next woman, but coming face to face with the "goods" made me miss Wynn even more.
We made up for lost time on our first drive out. Prior to leaving for the US, my car had been struck by the driver of a Hyundai van who reasoned that, between a new Innova and my old but faithful Mazda, it would be cheaper to hit me. (He has fled; any information leading to the owner or driver of a Hyundai with plate number REF 890 will be much appreciated.)
Driving down E Rodriguez, we were crossing with the green light on our side when we encountered an arrogant teen pedestrian, palm held out in the disdainful "HOLD IT!" gesture all drivers are familiar with (and would love to run over), crossing against the light in a "WALANG TAWIRAN NAKAMAMAMATAY" (don't you just love that?) zone. I honked to warn the ugly boy when he flashed us the finger.
In a flash, Wynn was out of the car. To say he was a frightening sight, with his long hair unbound, an arnis stick in one hand and a menacing expression on his face, is an understatement but it will suffice for now. On his way to chase the ugly teen down, Wynn zoomed past a pushcart team, the members of which clutched at their hearts and plastered themselves against the wall to avoid him.
I followed, and was just in time to hear the leader of the pushcart team say, "Uy, may away. Nood tayo!"
There's no place like home indeed.
Labels: funny fights, Wynn
posted by Kitty Litter at 1:14 PM
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