We arrived in Manila the same way we left it 16 months ago — flailing through the complete and utter chaos of the Ninoy Aquino International Airport, drenched in sweat amidst 35–40°C (95–104° F) temperatures, besieged by the myriad of (sometimes noxious) sounds and smells characteristic of the overpopulated city, and getting stuck in an hour-long traffic jam in what would have otherwise been only a 10-minute ride back home.
I am absolutely exhausted, my head is spinning, and my body is utterly confused about the drastic change of when night and day are supposed to happen (there is an almost exact 12-hour time difference b/w Eastern Canada and the Philippines), but despite all that, everything in me feels like I am finally exactly where I need to be.
Our journey took all of 38 hours, taking us through 4 airports, 3 aircrafts, across 2 continents and 1 ocean. It was a long journey, and one that came with its own share of feels, introspections and milestones.
Saying Goodbye (or Until We Meet Again?)
It was barely dawn when we stepped out onto the streets of St. John’s, Newfoundland, maybe for the last time.
As we loaded our luggage onto the back of our friend’s SUV, the icy wind whipped against our faces, and the chill of the night air seeped past our protective clothing to seemingly enfold us in a cold embrace — as though it were the province’s way of saying goodbye and sending us off with a final but potent reminder of the 15 months…