In Transit
In Transit
Jet lag is slowly claiming my senses, and I could very well fall asleep right here, right now, on this plastic bench. I've become adept at stealing a nap while sitting upright: I've done it in airplanes and airports, trains and train stations, buses and bus terminals. I've dozed off while waiting to leave and waiting to arrive, these pockets of time I spend in transit serving as precious opportunities to rest. I am again waiting now, but not to get to another destination. I am waiting for news, and I do not wish to sleep.
I'm sitting next to my mother, my shoulder leaning against hers as she does a Sudoku puzzle in today's newspaper. We are right outside double doors with a sign declaring that the Cardiac Catheterization Laboratory lies within, a special operating room for heart patients. I stare at the wall in front of us. The gleam of fluorescent light reflecting off the glossy white paint in this hospital corridor, combined with the frigid air-conditioning blasting through the vents, reminds me of the icy sidewalks I was skidding across thirty-seven hours ago, when I was trying to hail a cab. I feel cold – a constant feeling lately – so I am no longer regretting the thick cashmere turtleneck I have been wearing for a day and a half now, the way I had regretted it upon landing at Ninoy Aquino International Airport earlier this morning, shocked by the humidity, reminded that February in Manila no longer brought with it pleasantly cool weather.
Waiting in line at immigration, wool overcoat and pashmina draped over one arm, I had constantly tugged at the turtleneck, pulling it away from my damp skin, annoyed at myself because I had worn nothing underneath it except a ridiculously lacy bra. In the pre-dawn queue in the crowded arrival hall, I was surrounded by fellow balikbayans also complaining about the heat. The past several months of going back and forth from Manila to Washington, DC had already taught me to dress prepared for the changes in
Jet lag is slowly claiming my senses, and I could very well fall asleep right here, right now, on this plastic bench. I've become adept at stealing a nap while sitting upright: I've done it in airplanes and airports, trains and train stations, buses and bus terminals. I've dozed off while waiting to leave and waiting to arrive, these pockets of time I spend in transit serving as precious opportunities to rest. I am again waiting now, but not to get to another destination. I am waiting for news, and I do not wish to sleep.
I'm sitting next to my mother, my shoulder leaning against hers as she does a Sudoku puzzle in today's newspaper. We are right outside double doors with a sign declaring that the Cardiac Catheterization Laboratory lies within, a special operating room for heart patients. I stare at the wall in front of us. The gleam of fluorescent light reflecting off the glossy white paint in this hospital corridor, combined with the frigid air-conditioning blasting through the vents, reminds me of the icy sidewalks I was skidding across thirty-seven hours ago, when I was trying to hail a cab. I feel cold – a constant feeling lately – so I am no longer regretting the thick cashmere turtleneck I have been wearing for a day and a half now, the way I had regretted it upon landing at Ninoy Aquino International Airport earlier this morning, shocked by the humidity, reminded that February in Manila no longer brought with it pleasantly cool weather.
Waiting in line at immigration, wool overcoat and pashmina draped over one arm, I had constantly tugged at the turtleneck, pulling it away from my damp skin, annoyed at myself because I had worn nothing underneath it except a ridiculously lacy bra. In the pre-dawn queue in the crowded arrival hall, I was surrounded by fellow balikbayans also complaining about the heat. The past several months of going back and forth from Manila to Washington, DC had already taught me to dress prepared for the changes in