By Milwida M. Guevara

It was the day after Christmas.  Our house was in disarray.  Christmas wrappings were strewn everywhere.  Ribbons which daintily adorned boxes looked forlorn  in a corner.  The bottles of wine were empty.  But the merriment yesterday still rang  in my ears.  The "wows" and  the "oohs" of the children when they received their presents gave our  house a bright luster.  There were also tears which came  when Basti skidded on the floor and when Gavin wanted the teddy bear which belonged to his baby brother.

I was several pesos poorer.  My Christmas bonus was willingly shared with  hordes  of relatives, children, traffic enforcers, and strangers who came yesterday. But there was no regret. I found myself even thanking them for coming.  Indeed, giving is receiving.

I wanted to dilly-dally in tidying the after-Christmas mess.  But I was catching a plane to the US to visit a relative and had to finish my tasks fast.  I noticed that I was already feeling homesick even if I have not left the Philippines.  This feeling could not just have stemmed from my fear of adventure.  It must have come from a great sense of security that the company of friends and family provides.

Los Angeles airport has never been a favorite of mine.  I get truly lost in long queues of people from all walks of life, and the directives of the airport staff who goad you to step up and move forward. I was directed to a line which led to rows of machines.  Non-residents were all expected to get a clearance slip using the machines without any benefit of guidance.  I mustered enough courage to ask an assistant in uniform to help me.  With the clearance  slip in hand, I had no trouble with the Immigration Officer. I felt free as a bird.  I never expected that more excitement awaited me.

A friend of a friend was picking me up from the airport.  I did not know him from Adam, but I was truly happy to see him waving a piece of paper with my name on it.  I boarded his vehicle and we were about to go, but not before a burly cop stopped us.  He called for back-ups and in no time at all, we were surrounded by 3 additional police cars: One on the side and two at the back.  Being the normal me, I approached the burly cop to ask what was happening.  He asked for my passport and inquired why I was carrying three (I had a new one, and two old passports that had immigration stamps and visas.) He flipped through every page, and being the usual me again,  I went to him to explain.  He snapped back and said "You do not talk to a police Officer.  You need to stay behind my back."  I cannot explain why I did not feel scared; rather, I felt amused and imagined myself taking part in a TV series. I pitied the Nigerian, the friend of my friend, who was told to stay.

After the burly cop waved me off, a couple approached me and asked, "Ate, are you  in trouble?"  Joey  and Sharon are nurses from  San Diego who sensed that I was in trouble. Without  being asked, they offered to take me to my destination.  It was out of their way, but they assured me that it was no bother.  They told me that I would probably have done the same if the situation was reversed. I felt I was in the Philippines once more.  Why is empathy so natural among the Filipinos? What gives them an instinct to respond to a non-verbal call for help? Why do they think that the problem of others is their own?  Where does concern and kindness for others spring from? Why do they think that they are responsible for sharing the plight of others? Why is almost natural for them to extend a helping hand?

I feel truly proud  in being a Filipino. Truly, the Philippines is where the heart is.

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