Open Letter: From Manila to Shanghai, with Love

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I'm zoning out. The speaker's ineffective way of talking about resiliency during these troubled times makes me want to jump off the window. I feel tired. And confused. This mandatory training isn't making my situation any better. I have to stay here, also secretly listening to my favorite Ken Chu song, looking at the blue and white skies, waiting for planes to fly by. Plus, I haven't eaten breakfast, yet, but I already want to barf my entire life force out. Shout out to my eating disorder, I guess.

I found myself wandering about pixelated spaces and checking old compositions, memories I haven't given a thought of in ages.

Here's one of them. This page on my virtual notepad. I was supposed to write to you, for you before your birthday three years ago. Then, tragedy struck its mighty hand all around the world. The world stopped on its tracks, inertia causing its people to get launched off their feet at a thousand miles per hour, without a safe, soft landing ahead. I wish it wouldn't stop. Not now. Not when I can't be around to know you are safe. Not when I want quieter commutes to work.

I should've left, with you. That's what I kept on saying again and again. It was supposed to be our thing. Our escape from Motherland.

I hated the fact I couldn't do anything for you, 1,849 kilometers away from me, in a foreign country that just so happens to be the source of the raging virus wiping out our population. We both thought I would be there. With you. Not here. Not now. I couldn't leave for some reason. Mental health, they said. Plus, I am not sure if I can be matured enough to leave my Manila nest. But you, you were made of something tougher. Something more indestructible and courageous. Balls to the walls! I don't know if it's your strong Christian faith or just your good, kind-hearted nature, but man, oh man, you went and did it. I couldn't be even more proud. I was a tad heart-broken though, that you left to tell me about your departure at the very last minute. I get it. You wanted privacy, but I thought we were, you know, closer than that. "Problem"-buddies. Unlikely college pals. The we-were-going-to-get-through-this-together besties.

And as I checked out all your pre-departure and post plane departure photos, I wondered what lies ahead of you, out there. If you will be okay.

We didn't get to talk much after that. Maybe it was the distance, or maybe it was the fact that we had a lot on both our shoulders. You, especially you. I don't need to give a presentation of what you have been telling me about your family for the times that you did, you know, before you started being more secretive. We already know. I am happy for your new hero's journey, the new challenge you were taking on. Who knows what kind of new people, new skills, and new places you'll encounter up there. I was very excited for you but I know deep down I felt something else. You might get sick. Some of your students were from THAT part of the country. What if you get lost or get taken advantage of by the locals there? What if the communists find you and challenge your loud ideas and beliefs? You might not make it through them all. I fear these and many more things, like a wild helicopter parent out of her element.

When I want to reach out to you, I make great efforts to come up with an excuse to, because I know you may be busy. You must be busy. With the amount of worry I have, heaven knows what I could do more and beyond. But you constantly assure me you can do it. You got it. You can handle it. I think I project my own insecurities on you whenever I ask if there's anything I can help you with. There may be. There must be! Oh, the displeasure there is in not being able to be of assistance! I feel like I'm not being a good enough friend. I constantly ask myself how I can reach and let you know I remain available, open, and willing to lend ears to listen to you, shoulders for you to lean on, and hands to pull you out the ravines of despair. More memes? More niche links that lead to videos that either land you on a Hank Green Shorts or old videos about something only language nerds would probably appreciate. I wish you were here so I could show them to you in person, and you'd flash an eyebrow up to the heavens in cringe. I wish you could see the smile I still have, never changing, always the vampire I have been (thank neoteny and my eyeshadow). There might just be a chance for us to eat out in some cubbyhole cafe where the food will surprisingly be the one thing we've been craving for in a while.

Might even share all the poetry I've been hiding for years now...

Some part of me believes you are alright, despite the constant "I'm okay's" you send me, even when things aren't looking good in the city where you stay and work. Because I know you are strong, and if you ever needed help, you would ask for it. You know how much you can push yourself and when to drop the act and hurriedly look for a person to cry on. At least, that's how I have known you before. I hope if I'm wrong, you wouldn't think twice to drop a few words in my messages.

And if there was ever a second take for that scene where we were looking forward to what to do next, I would've flown away with you, off to that distant foreign land. Ready to take on anything the world could ever spew at us. But as it stands, I will continue to be here, listening to my favorite Penny Tai song, looking at the blue and white skies, waiting for planes to fly by. Maybe, you would see them pass by there, too, up the East's metropolitan utopia.

You can always count on me, even with the seas and smog between us.