Monday night

Here I am, in my dorm. On my bed. With my laptop. Writing a blog when I should be doing Problem Set 2 for Chemistry...

But I can't. Just can't.

You see, my heart is breaking again.

I just miss home so much.

My flight from Cagayan de Oro to here in Manila was this morning, at 6:15. Opening the gates of my house, I saw through the leaves of the mango tree in our yard the 5 o'clock sky: dark blue, gloomy, but with traces of sunlight peeking out from behind Sa-ku's house. It was almost the exact same sky I was looking at when I left home in the first place on June 6.

Oh, I remember the car ride to the airport on that day. On June 6, I mean. My world was falling apart in the back seat of  the family Vios. Mom and dad were up front, and I was just quietly drinking in all the Cagayan buildings and scenery, as I knew that I would not be seeing them in a long while.

I felt like I was going to a place of no return, full of despair and darkness. I felt like I was going to die. I thought I'd be going to hell. And my parents were the ones taking me there themselves - all because it was MY decision to come to Manila, and, being the awesome parents they are, can never not support me in any of my decisions.

In the car that day, I just knew that none of us wanted me to go to Manila. More importantly, I knew that all I had to do was say, "STOP! I don't want to go. Please let me stay here," and my parents would turn the car around and we'd be headed for home without any hesitation.

But, I didn't. Because that would be irrational, I knew. And they knew it too. We all understood that it was too late to turn back.

. . .

Ugh. Nostalgia kills.

Today I had to ride the airplane alone, and it was my very first time. (Oh boy. Does this read like the writings of a fifth grader or WHAT?)

Yeah, my mom and dad brought me to the airport again. It was a lot different this time though, because I'd be going through the airport gates by myself, and not with Mom, like I did on June 6th.

Obviously, I managed.

(If it is not so obvious why I put the word obviously in that sentence, well, you already know for a fact that I am in Manila right now, and that I am writing this blog. Using these two facts, one can infer that a.) I'm alive, and b.) I'm alive and in Manila.)

I hate being on airplanes though. I was pretty much miserable the whole plane ride coming here. No one to talk to, no shoulder to sleep on. No nice music to occupy myself with. Okay, so that last one is partly my fault for not bringing a music player that ISN'T a cellphone. But still, I was miserable.

Miserable, and dizzy, and fidgety. You can't put me in a cramped little space with little to no leg room for an hour and a half and expect me to be happy. Well, unless that cramped little space was on a commercial plane going back home, then yes, I'd be extremely happy. But if it's a plane that's going to Manila, like the one I was on this morning -

Like I said. MISERABLE. DIZZY. FIDGETY.

. . .

At NAIA, I thought maybe I'd go to the restroom to relieve myself. No, I'm not talking about peeing. I mean relieving myself of what little breakfast I had eaten by vomiting. It's not that I had a bumpy ride on the plane. It's just that prolonged discomfort makes my stomach nervous like that.

Yet another bodily fact about me you didn't need to know about.

The sign in one of the women's restrooms in NAIA. OH, THE INJUSTICE!!!

I was able to find my way through NAIA all right. I had been there (specifically, at the Cebu Pacific Arrivals area) last April with my entire family, and I knew where to go.

Actually, I didn't know. I just did what my mom told me and walked towards where everyone else was walking.

I ended up in the place where you pick up your luggage from a conveyor belt. But since all my bags were hand-carried, I just proceeded past that into the lobby, where some airport official with a walkie-talkie asked me, "Taxi, ma'am?"

I said, "Yes please. Sa Ateneo po." He took out this laminated chart thing where all the rates were printed. He scanned it with his finger, and then located the box with words like, Loyola Heights, UP Diliman...

"950 po," he said. I nodded and said, "Okay, thank you. Teka lang po..."

At which point I took out my phone and dialed Mom's number. HOW CAN A TAXI TO ATENEO COST P950!? That's almost as much as an airplane ticket!

After I talked to mom, everything was all sorted out, and I cancelled the P950-taxi thing. The airport official seemed to understand. He must get that a lot.

I took a Yellow Taxi instead, and ended up paying P398. Well, P400, because the driver was such a nice guy. 

. . .

And here I am, blogging and nodding off at the same time, when I should be doing my homework and studying for a Math test. Argh. 

*taps heels three times* I wish I were home. I wish I were home. I wish I were home.

(Is it me, or did this post get off to a promising start and then fail to come through in the end?)