Short stories: A narrow escape

Finally, I had made it to Manila. The bus ride from the Mountains seemed like forever. It was raining and I knew I needed to get to the Travel Agent in order to procure my passport. I was nervous leaving with this lady, but the head of the College I worked at assured me it would be ok. I just had to go to this Korean house and it would be waiting for me with the extension promised.

I wasn’t supposed to have left this early, but something inside told me it was time to go home, so I listened. It was a blow to the students in my class, and the community I lived. I too was very sad to leave after only ten month’s. I had learned to love the Filipino way at looking at life. I also will miss the various foods, fruits, and vegetables I knew I wouldn’t be able to get back home.

Watching the beautiful countryside of the Philippines go by was hard. I knew if I turned around I would be welcomed back with open arms, all be it with the expected I told you so’s. Everyone told me I would be back, they meant soon, I wasn’t so sure.

Now the bus ride was finally coming to an end. Before you hit Manila the road is four lane and what you see is beautiful rolling rice fields. When you enter the City, your reminded why most people here want to leave. The roads are narrow, crowded with public transportation belching out exhaust from their outdated diesel engines. You have to wash your face after every time you step out because of the exhaust which collects on your face, in your nose, on your clothes etc.. I still will miss this jewel of Asia.

It’s people are what are truly amazing. The more I visit, this was my third time, the more I realize how much of an amazing place it is. Without this deep burning to get home that had entered my heart, I think I could’ve stayed here for minimum five years. The MTS are so pristine, the vegetables healthy and good. I loved every minute of my stay.

As I left the bus, I was accosted by three or four people demanding I allow them to carry my bags. My companion and I try to tell them we can manage, but the become so insistent they try to grab my bags out of my hands. I am used to this and smile and tell them no we are men we can handle it. They frown, try again then go to the next unsuspecting passenger. My friend and I then collect my oversize backpack and head to the row of taxi’s waiting outside the bus station.

As I enter the taxi I remember why I love the Mts. The Air conditioning is on full and the driver is still covered in sweat. He