Taking flight

I HAVE always loved airports. With a father working abroad, I felt that going there meant welcoming him home or sending him off. Of course, the former was always preferred as it would include a quick stop at Duty Free for chocolates and the next few months with a complete household.

On the other hand, seeing him leave would be rough as I was never a fan of long-distance calls. But, if it was done to provide for our family, how could I complain? Besides, I knew he would come back. I was always sure he would come back.

Plot twist: he didn’t. Well, technically, he did. But, four years ago, the man we sent off came back as a cold body in a wooden casket. The skies matched the somber mood as we waited in the cargo area instead of the usual arrivals bay. We were at an airport, but hated every second of it.

The months after made me wonder if I would always just be a fraction of who I once was after losing someone that important. I rooted myself in what I found familiar, and I had forgotten that it could disappear if fate wills it to. It made me despise the idea of any kind of departure. Why let people move around if it meant even the slightest chance of never coming back? I didn’t get an answer. But, after a lot of self destruction, I found my footing again. This time, no airports, no chocolates, no calls—just one blind step at a time to get my life together.

Then, I had to fly to Manila to further pursue my education.

Like everyone else, I was ecstatic. It was this excitement that almost made me forget about what I would have to face.

Suddenly, I was in an airport bound for a new city. Years had passed at this point, but my hands were just as clammy at the mere sight of the structure. There were too many scenarios playing in my head, each one holding a memory of my dad in the very same halls. The urge to take a step back was strong, but it took everything in me to brave through and do what I had to.

As of writing, I have been to the airport more in the past months than in the last few years combined. Getting my ID and flight itinerary ready to show guards became second nature. Packing bags felt like a routine. Waiting lounges turned to safe spaces. Sometimes, I don’t even notice the plane taking off anymore. It is a constant process, but like a lot of things, airports now hold new meanings for me. I was glad that it brought me to a different world, yet at times it would also make me feel guilty. I was now getting too familiar with airports, flights, and even cargo. It made me wonder if this implied that I was slowly forgetting home. Was I forsaking my grief and my dad’s memory every time I looked forward to departures?

The analects

LEI P. MACARANAS

Coming out? No, letting people in

FOR THE younger me, studying in a Catholic all-girls school for more than a decade stood as an acceptable reason to not acknowledge the fact that my sexuality was unconventional. The idea that it may be just a phase led me to believe that I didn’t have to tell people who or what I am. After all, I thought that there was always the chance I would eventually return to the default—that is, wanting the opposite sex.

I felt like I didn’t have to conform to anything. This is why as early as fifth grade, I started dressing and appearing masculine. I started investing in hobbies that were thought of as masculine. I had shameless crushes on my cute classmates. Not putting a label on my sexuality then gave me the freedom to fully express myself in any way I wanted to. However, once I matured, I realized that not explicitly telling people I was gay was just a sign of me being in denial.

I didn’t tell people I was gay because I had this inner feeling of obligation to return to being straight. Other than that, I definitely didn’t want to give other people the power to label me, put me in a certain box, and dictate whom I can like or not like. I struggled with the thought that I would have to tell every person in my that dying could be something a little more predictable, like old age. But, that day, I learned that death could happen to anyone, anywhere, anytime, and I told myself to always live life to the fullest.

Despite that, I didn’t tell anyone about my condition in fear of being the butt of the joke, just like my old classmate. I would take my medications in secret, party like there was no tomorrow, and stay up until the ungodly hours of the night with my friends. After a year of being medication-free, I felt invincible. I did things that I couldn’t normally do like party in clubs and ride on roller coasters, and eventually I forgot I even had my condition. But, that’s how I learned an important lesson that even if the mind suppresses memories, the body remembers trauma.

In 2022, I went out on a trip with my closest friends. The day was normal, and we were ready to play mahjong and make core memories. Little did I know, I would become the core memory. In true déjà vu fashion, I was a little short on sleep and decided to take a long blink— I’m pretty sure you know what came next. I woke up in an ambulance, with my friend’s hand on mine calming me down with a damaged smile. “Not again,” I said to myself as my body contracted and my eyes teared up from the fear of dying again. I most certainly conditioned myself to forget that I went through something like this, but the feeling in my body was all too familiar. I didn’t like it—

I despised it—but now I’ve realized that this is a part of me. Perhaps the uncertainty of death comes to me in the form of my disorder. It’s a blessing and a curse to be aware of it as it teaches me to live life to the fullest. But, am I living life to the fullest in hopes of making today matter or in fear that there won’t be a tomorrow? Every day I wake up to a bed and thank God that it isn’t a hospital bed again, and every day I relish the fact that every blink isn’t the last one. When you’re more aware of the things that make your life worth living, then no bodily disorder can hold you back. My advice? “Seize” the day as they all say. And, make sure that even if you’re unaware that you’re living the last day of your life, you’re living your life happily and making every second matter.

Maybe it was for the best

Hours in airports made me reflect on this. My whole life I was convinced that I was defined by what I find familiar. And, while that may be true, it does not mean that I am caged by it. Yes, certain places hold painful memories, but we take whatever chance we get to make the hurt subside. Maybe that’s why roundtrip tickets are a thing. You go somewhere new and explore to your heart’s content. Then, you use that experience to go back to where you came from—only this time a little less naive of the world around you.

I thought my life would remain broken after losing my father, but I am allowed to find things that make me feel whole again. What distinguishes me is not what I go through, but how I deal with it. Perhaps my true identity is one I’m still building.

Taking flight has become an integral part of my life now, and slowly, I have become more and more at ease. I don’t know where my next destination may be, but what matters is that I have found an appreciation for the hustle and bustle of it all. I find myself smiling over every trip, grateful that it is possible. I imagine every view of the heavens is a mile closer to wherever my dad may be. I have allowed myself to take on new heights, knowing full well that I will always land when the flight is over.

And, just like that, I learned to love airports again.

life about my sexuality because then, I would have to emotionally and mentally prepare myself each time for their reaction.

I already told my parents about it. Even though I had a good “coming out” experience compared to others, it still took a lot of sleepless nights and overthinking before taking that ultimate leap of faith.

Now that I’ve truly accepted that I’ll never be the “default” society expects of me, I’ve realized that I don’t have to come out to everyone. I don’t have to prove that I have no problem with showing who I am. Instead of taking on that tough task—and the repetitive, demanding feeling of needing to come out— I would rather let people in.

The mindset of having to make these grand announcements about my sexuality initially felt obligating and pressuring. Now, I would rather embrace

I STILL vividly remember our conversation at the dinner table, long after everyone else went upstairs: “You know Gap, there really are lessons in life I only could have learned after my mom died.” Barely 10 years old at the time, I didn’t know why I was being told something so morbid.

My mom was diagnosed with Stage 4 Colon Cancer back in 2006. After an additional five cancer recurrences, 11 years of chemotherapy, and countless visits to the hospital, my mom passed away on July 3, 2017. In retrospect, I guess it made sense why she was preparing me for the worst—she had gone through it and came out an even stronger person.

Although a considerable amount of time has passed since, I can’t say that dealing with the grief has been any easier. There are days that are harder than others. On some, calling a friend in tears and blabbering incomprehensibly is all I can do to try and alleviate the pain. On others, the grief stays like a candlelit flame, alive and burning, yet a little bit warm as well. While it hasn’t always been this way, I started to find warmth in my grief once I thought about the kind of person I had to become without my mom around anymore.

When it came to my academics, my mom was a staunch believer that diligence preceded excellence. I was taught how to manage my screen time, to keep the opportunity to choose who enters my life and who gets to know the part of me that I’ve been delicate with for a long time.

Once I realized this new perspective, I continued to confidently express myself. Only this time, the big difference was I didn’t have the lingering thought of explaining. Instead, I opened up to the people I trusted, the people whom I deemed worthy to really know me. Then, I certainly enjoyed the intimate connections and getting-to-knows that went beyond the normative labels and standards.

The frustrating need for me to constantly validate myself and my confidence eventually disappeared. In its place, there emerged a new need for me to be surrounded by people who love and accept me. The beautiful thing about letting the right people in was that soon, I realized consistent tabs on my grades, and not to procrastinate. While I’m a far cry from that picture-perfect student that she wanted me to be, I eventually learned to become independent for the benefit of my studies. their support and comfort led me to more love and acceptance for who I am.

As for household duties, I had to pick up a lot of responsibilities at home. These were tasks that, when handed to me, were second nature, mainly because I already had the chance to observe my mom do the same.

Even down to the little things, I know that who I am today is greatly attributed to the fact that my mom can’t physically be here anymore. I see it in the way I carry around a medicine stash at all times, on the off chance someone might need it, just like she did. I see it in food as our shared love language, especially since cooking and feeding the people that mean the most to me is how I show my affection. I even see it in our incomparable level of judgmentalness, in our shared side-eyes and eyebrow-raises when we used to have our weekday mall dates.

While these quirks—good and bad—act as a reminder that Mommy might not be around anymore, they are little bits and pieces of her I choose to carry within me. Looking at it from a different perspective, who I am today is greatly shaped by her physical absence—a desire to fill in the Pilar-shaped hole that she left.

Don’t get me wrong—other members of the LGBTQ+ community might feel more comfortable with the notion of coming out. I don’t disagree with them on that. Everyone has the freedom to come to terms with their sexuality in their own unique way; the only thing that matters is that they feel empowered to act on their own volition.

If my younger self could only see how much I’ve grown, she would see that letting people in also means letting herself in. You are allowed to take the time to discover who you are and the kind of people you want to be surrounded with.

It’s a long and arduous process but it’s nothing short of fulfilling—because now, you feel more open and welcoming of yourself than ever.

To me, one of the primary reasons I am who I am today is because of her death.

It might sound absurd, but I have always felt the need to reconcile an idea of me that also “died” with my mom and the person standing here today. There has always been this polarizing tension: words cannot describe how much I miss my mom, but at the same time, I can’t ascertain wanting her to have stayed either.

Hear me out, I would not wish the passing of a parent on my worst enemy. I just think that my experience of grief was always more complicated than pangs of sadness and I-miss-you’s. It included living a life in spite of my loved one’s death and navigating through a world where they could not physically share the same space with me like they used to. It also became about taking the time to appreciate the me that emerged, amidst all that darkness.

That being said, there are a lot of things in my life or characteristics about me that I know could have ended up better if my mom were around. Despite all these chinks in my own being that have surfaced over the years, I’m still content with how far I’ve come.

This year marks the fifth of many to come. I miss my mom dearly, but I’ve also grown to be proud of the person I had to become, now that she isn’t around anymore.

Two cents

DERICK M. GABRILLO

NEOLIBERALISM IS a term often misunderstood and thrown around as a catch-all for everything wrong in society. In the simplest terms, “Neoliberalism” describes policies that give the market a free hand to operate while maintaining a strong state. This means relaxed regulations, heightened state security, and free trade that all result in lower prices, improved quality of life, and reduced poverty—in theory. In practice, it is a deeply flawed system that worsens inequality among nations and classes. The latter is often the center of everyday discussions on the matter but it is often forgotten that neoliberalism, at least in the Philippines, has been a force for freedom and for good.

The People Power Revolution of 1986 saw not only former President Ferdinand Marcos Sr. ousted from power but also sought the liberation of national industry. It was not just the government that needed restructuring at the time but the economy too. The Marcosera oligarchy funneled public money through state-owned enterprises into the pockets of cronies. This resulted in grave inefficiencies, especially in public utilities that every Filipino relied on. The revolution was, in part, a response to these economic injustices imposed by the dictatorship.

It was only natural that citizens and economic planners were averse to government controls on the market, fearing corruption and mismanagement. International financial institutions also required liberalization as a condition for access to foreign capital. A lighter touch was needed to escape the debt and refill the empty coffers that