Viajero

Now, this blog post can also cater to the rich! I am talking about planes, after riding planes! If you are among the ultra rich who have their own planes, go to forbes.com or something else. hehe

I recently took a trip to Malaysia. I won't be talking about commuting in Malaysia, which is, by the way, a whole lot more convenient than in our sweet Manila; instead I want to talk about the trip from our airport.

 A KL street

Going home, after being away for some time, is something to look forward to. I could never get tired of looking out of the plane to see Manila's 'smoggy' yet welcoming skyline. The adage 'no place like home' has never been more true to a person whose identity was stamped as 'tourist from the third world' for a brief time. But this label I am proud of! I was a tourist; I contributed to my host country's economy, and it was not just a cheap contribution if I may add. It was hard-earned money. My tourist money made me see their country's beautiful spots which happened to be just about every nook and cranny of Kuala Lumpur. This got me thinking about Pinas. When we landed at Ninoy Aquino International Airport, I looked around hoping to be impressed by what I would see. I wanted to see beauty, and I managed to see some. The Filipino in me wanted that the same impression I got from KL should also be what foreign tourists would feel when they visit our country. The airport, though not as modern, was clean and cold;  the airport's security and information personnel were helpful. Good enough I said.

In KL

Out of the airport and into Manila, I conditioned my mind into thinking like a tourist. My question was, "If I were a tourist who was on a first-time visit to Manila, what impression would the city streets give me?" The route I took led me home in Paranaque. The answer to my own question was sad. The streets reflected what we are as a country. Along the way, there were efforts to conceal eyesores using billboards and superficial painting. Would my impression change had my house been in Makati or in Quezon City? I don't think so. I feel bad for my country. But when I heard the jeepney horns and laughter and saw ladies with plastic bags running across the streets, I was quickly reminded of the charm my country had over the others. Despite our poverty, we are able to laugh boisterously at just about anything; our dinners are filled with laughter and stories; beautiful men and women populate the streets; our freedom is not restricted. When I think about these, I feel glad I am home although I cannot completely stop myself from hoping....