Flights

If they are making another OFW movie, this time based on the story of my OFW life on Guam, the film can start with this scene: Claudine Barretto wakes up in her car in the parking lot of Tumon, the nightlife district of Guam. She looks at her watch. It’s 6 a.m. “Gosh, what the hell am I doing here? Dito ako natulog?” she asks herself, rhetorically.
Claudine is playing me in the movie on my mind.
That morning I paused to remember what happened the night before. I had had too much to drink—beers and three tequilla shots. My friends offered to give me a ride home but I assured them that I could drive and insisted that they let me drive myself home, two villages away. So they all left. Guam is a safe place, anyway. It’s not like they kill drunks in the parking lot at random. I turned out to be too wasted to even manage to put the key into the ignition.
The morning after, I looked around. My car was the only one left in the parking lot, which was jam-packed the night before. The party’s over and everybody had gone home– “home” where their families were waiting. Which I don’t have here.
I turned on the radio. “I’ll be home for Christmas,” was playing. If that was a joke, it wasn’t funny.
I got depressed all day after that morning.
Stop before you pass judgment on what might seem to be an irresponsible decision to sack out in my car in a public parking lot.
I hate to be so dramatic but that drunken episode highlighted my loneliness and feeling of insignificance. I drank the night away, knowing that no one was waiting for me at my empty house. No one needed my attention. No one to cook dinner for. No one to ask me for school allowance. No one to remind me about tomorrow’s PTA meeting. No one to watch TV with. No one other than my own dirty laundry.
Coming home to an empty nest means coming home to emptiness. Dating is not even an option that excites me.
You probably have no idea what it’s like to be an economic exile. But if you’re a mother, who have experienced being many miles away from your children, you’d know what I am talking about.
I’ve been on Guam working for two years, writing for Marianas Variety, a local paper that circulates in Micronesia. This is the second time that I’ve been away from home. The first time, I was away to work for a Saipan newspaper for three years. My older son Nakni was five and my second son Ico was three when I first left. I was robbed of three of motherhood. When I came back I made up for the irretrievable time lost, vowing not to leave them ever again.
But, as they say, times are hard. Being a single mother receiving no child support, the new opportunity to earn dollars was difficult for me to pass up.
“You’re leaving them for money?” one of my best friends asked in an accusatory tone.
I was hurt, especially since the accusation came from somebody who lives in a house where money seems to stream from the faucet.
What can I say? Some people are just luckier than the others.

THE last time I saw my children was during my annual vacation last September. Nakni is now 14, and Ico is 12. I have just been robbed of two more years of their lives. My whole month of stay with them was priceless, especially after realizing that despite my physical absence—and with the help of my mother–I have been able to raise two fine young gentlemen. I must admit that despite the deep regrets, seeing what have become of them has lessened my guilt, and I guess, vindicated my decision.
The end of my vacation was most painful. I could not even turn by head to look back when I boarded the cab on the way to the airport.
On the plane, I took out the photographs to recapture my vacation when even an otherwise mundane activity such as picking them up from the school was a Kodak moment.
Hours later, I’m back in my empty nest, the mothering routine suddenly disrupted again. This is one of those strange times when I actually long to do what I normally detest, such as attending PTA meetings. I miss my son begging me to please come to the meeting in a “normal outfit.” “Huwag kang mahikaw ng malaki at huwag kang magsuot ng damit na weird.”
I find solace in the fact that we are just a three-hour flight apart. And thank God for technology, a 40-cent text message on mobile phones, the Yahoo messenger and a single click on the “send “command can shorten the distance. My budget includes long-distance phone cards. I invested in a webcam so I could watch how they grow.
If a businessman can do business transactions online and doctors can treat patients via Internet, then I guess cyber-mothering is one option available for me.
“Anong kinain nyo for lunch?”
“Masarap, kaldereta. Ikaw, mommy, anong kinain mo?”
“McDonalds lang. Nagawa mo na ang assignment mo?”
“Yung math di ko pa tapos.”
“O, tapusin bago matulog ha.”
“Mommy pwede mo bang dagdagn yung baon ko?
“Depende kung mataas ang grades mo.”
I signed up with Friendster, of which Nakni is a member. That way, I could see what kind of friends he is hanging out with.
I know that telephone and Internet mothering is not the same as mothering in real time, but it’s sort of filling up the vacuum and I am pleased that it’s working.
In my most recent online chat with him, the last message that Nakni wrote read: “O, wag mag-da-drive kapag naka-inom ka ha, he-he J.”
It was embarrassing to hear that from my own son. Well, he knows that his mom is a hippie. I laughed. Tears rolled down my cheeks. Then I remembered: 1,500 ocean miles away, I have a home where two wonderful children are always patiently waiting.
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This entry was posted on Tuesday, November 22nd, 2005 at 7:37 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.