An Ally at Aquino

by Austin Bartenstein (United States of America)

I didn't expect to find Philippines

You know those movies that culminate in an intense battle scene, where one of the heroes gets stabbed, but perhaps not fatally, until, of course, he pulls the sword out and dies from blood loss, clutching the hand of his companion, maybe leaving with some inspiring words? All conventional armchair doctor wisdom knows you leave...the sword...in. Amateurs... When you stomp on glass at a beach bar in Boracay, Philippines, you forget this wisdom--your years of training from movies--and you yank that sucker out. Let’s fast forward through the blood regrettably left behind on the dance floor and the piggyback ride to the one-room clinic on the island. Let’s forget about the doctor spreading my heel open and asking my moral support team, “you see any more glass in there?” Forget the all-day bus ride to the island airport and the multiple missed flights. Let’s breathe. After a couple years of living in Taiwan and traveling around Asia, I could roll with the punches; I was battle-tested. I could brush off my cancelled week-long trip around the Philippines. I could allow the lack of sympathy from airline employees to wash over me. "Sorry sir, we know your foot looks like a first grader’s papier mache project, but you can’t make your flight." But when I looked up at the clock in Manila Ninoy Aquino International, then glanced helplessly at the almost empty departure board, I faced a new battle: I was sleeping in the airport tonight with a bad injury. I hobbled past the sea of neon yellow Cebu Pacific signs to empty cushioned seats. I attempted to revive my dead phone, but found my charger was broken. I slumped against my camping backpack, sulking in defeat. Sitting there with my head in my crossed forearms, I slipped into a cycle of anger and self pity: "Am I still cut out for this living-abroad thing?" "Stop feeling sorry for yourself, you’re lucky to have this opportunity. You have friends in Taiwan who care about you." "But am I allowed to feel bad about this?" "No, you’re not. People have way worse problems in the world, stop being so--" ”Do you need help?” Interrupting my thoughts of pure loneliness, a woman leaned over from the seat next to me, her deep brown eyes showing pity. An aspiring nurse from the Philippines, Rosette got some practice on this sad sack. “What do you need?” I perked up from my slouch, and she handed me her phone charger. She glanced down at my foot, sprung into nurse mode, yanked a handkerchief from her backpack, and added reinforcements to my wound. “Are you hungry?” I guess I really looked down on my luck. Rosette escorted me to the famous golden arches, a questionable inheritance of American culture, yet a constant beacon for travelers in need of a free bathroom or WiFi. It was the only open restaurant within hobbling distance. I popped her charger into an outlet as we sat down. She handed me her phone to call my best bud in Taiwan, who booked me a flight leaving the next morning. “What are you doing in Manila?” I attempted to explain ultimate frisbee was a sport, and we laughed as I asserted that people traveled the world for it. Rosette was on break from school in Cebu, visiting family. When the time came for her to catch the last flight out of Manila, she insisted on paying for the meal before I went off to “bed.” I awoke on the airport floor to the buzz of travelers pacing by. I’d rate my stay there one star, but Rosette’s kindness revived a can-do attitude in me. With a spring in my (left) step, I practically bounded toward my flight home to Taipei. Battles were easier with allies. I could always count on those in Taiwan. And I had an ally in this kind stranger, who, in a sense, held my hand through the pain. That was the last I saw of Rosette, but it wasn’t the last I heard. A year later, she found me on Facebook: “Hello my friend, it’s me Rosette, remember the stranger girl back in Manila? How’s the foot?”