February 3rd, 1985: Back In The Philippines

***Posted by Alan, Part 2 of our 25th anniversary series.

Flying westward over the Pacific Ocean at night is kind of a surreal experience.  It’s not like flying from Salt Lake to San Francisco when you can spot familiar landmarks like Wendover or Lake Tahoe.  You just fly and fly and fly for hours and hours and hours through the darkness, seeing nothing but the colored beacon at the end of the wing.

And you’re racing the opposite direction of the sunrise, significantly extending the duration of the night.  But what’s really odd is that, because you cross the International Dateline, when the sun finally does comes up, you’ve missed an entire day.  And so in February of 1985 I had the opposite experience of Phil Conners (Bill Murray), who experienced Ground Hog day over and over again.  I didn’t have a February 2^nd.

As you might imagine, the flight to the Philippines is quite long and exhausting.  We had one in-flight movie, “The Woman in Red” staring Gene Wilder.  I laughed my butt off as every other passenger in the plane, all Filipino, sat in stone-faced silence, apparently not paying attention or not getting the American humor.

After leaving San Francisco about an hour late Friday night and a one hour layover in Honolulu that actually lasted two hours, I was worried about making my connection in Manila to Cebu.  The sun finally rose but out the window there was nothing to see below but blue.  It’s hard to comprehend that you might be in the vicinity of Saipan or Iwo Jima. 

When Philippine Airlines Flight 107 arrived at Manila International Airport it was just after 8:30 a.m. Sunday, February 3^rd.  Except for a one hour nap on the plane, I had been up for about 37 hours.  My flight to Cebu was scheduled to depart at 10 a.m. and I still had to clear customs and catch a taxi for the one-mile journey to the Manila Domestic Airport.  It wasn’t looking good.

If you’ve ever taken an international flight you know clearing customs is not a speedy process.  But finally I emerged from the airport and into the muggy Manila morning.  To my surprise, a young man I had baptized in Cebu, Herman Lajato, was now living in Manila and greeted me outside.  I was delighted but made it clear:  I had to get to the Domestic Terminal immediately.  But first I had to find another party of people.  Besides the package for Carmen Nunez I was also carrying a package for the family of our Filipina friend from Provo, Lynn Nielsen.  Somehow, her mother and sister spotted me and told me they had a taxi waiting.  Perfect!  Once inside the Taxi however, I learned there had been a miscommunication.  They were planning to take me to their home in Quezon City for dinner.  They were completely understanding when I explained that the plan was that it would be on my return home that I would be staying with them in Quezon City.  But right now I had a plane to catch.

It was around 9:50 a.m. when I arrived at the check-in counter for my flight to Cebu.  I was too late.  The plane was right there, I could see it.  But boarding was closed and they were pulling away from the gate.  I begged them to let me board and even offered the ticket agent money.  It wasn’t to be.  The next flight was in three hours.  What could I do?  I knew Marivic and her family would be waiting for the 10 a.m. flight in Cebu.  I wouldn’t be on it and I had no way of communicating that to them.

Herman and I left on foot, darted across the street through the busy traffic to a restaurant and ate breakfast.  It gave me a chance to calm down and recognize that I was back in the Philippines.  I love the Philippines.  I loved the fact that I didn’t feel like a stranger.  I had lived in this country.  And I thought it was really cool that, this time, I wasn’t wearing a white shirt and tie.

A few hours later I was in the air, aboard the familiar Philippine Airlines BAC 111, bound for Cebu’s Mactan Airport.  As the plane dropped over the island of Cebu I began to recognize all the familiar landmarks:  Mandaue-Mactan Bridge, Cebu Plaza Hotel, Iglesia Ni Cristo Church.  We landed from the south over Lapu Lapu City.  On final approach I could see the coconut trees, the jeepneys and tricycles (two common forms of public transportation) on the streets below.  Suddenly I felt weird.  “I’m back, yet I was just here.”  Was I supposed to be here?  Most missionaries leave their missions and never return.  I’d been gone less than ten months which meant there were missionaries I had crossed paths with, including two former companions, still serving in the mission.

The plane landed and passengers began making their way down the steps and across the tarmac.  By this point my heart was pounding.  “This is it.  This is freaking it!”  It was a little after two p.m.  I entered the terminal and there was my girl joined by her mother and father and best friend, Milcah.

This was the same spot we had last seen each other, June 15^th, 1983, the day Marivic departed for her mission; the day we shook hands goodbye, each having unspoken feelings for the other, but assuming we would never see each other again.  Now, 19 months later, those feelings had grown into love and that love was out in the open.  There we stood before each other with smiles on our faces.  I had dreamed of this moment for a very long time and now it had arrived.  So what did I do next?  Conscious of the culture, and her parents’ presence, I went straight into missionary mode and shook her hand.  I’m a dork!

The momentary awkwardness faded immediately.  I was so grateful to be speaking face to face with the girl I’d wanted to be with for so long.  I apologized for missing my first flight and asked what they all thought when I wasn’t on it.  It turns out there were a number of people on my flight from San Francisco heading to Cebu and word spread quickly at Mactan that the international flight arrived too late.

We collected my luggage, piled into taxis and began the half-hour journey to the Nunez home.  If there was going to be a time that I felt uncomfortable, out of place, or that this whole thing was crazy this might have been it, but that didn’t happen.  I belonged in that taxi with that girl at that moment and I knew it.  Marivic was not a stranger but in fact the girl I became acquainted with in the spring of ’83 and the one with whom I became so familiar through all those many months of exchanging letters.

As we approached the Nunez home I couldn’t get over how narrow the street was and how lush the vegetation.  Yes, I had spent six months of my mission walking this street but I had just come from wintertime Utah.  We received a warm welcome from the Nunez family upon arrival.  I had not had a shower since West Bountiful, so that was the first order of business.  I was shown to my room where I discovered Marivic had left a sweet note for me.  I still have that note but I’ll keep its contents between her and me.

Now refreshed and wearing fresh clothes, I broke out the American chocolate for everyone and then it was off to the Cuyos home in the Go Chan Hills subdivision about a kilometer away.  I had walked these streets so many times with my missionary companion.  Now I was going to the Cuyos house, not for a 20 minute visit with church members, but as the boyfriend of their daughter.  I would not eventually be heading for the giant, and by Filipino standards, luxurious Mission Home that night.  And though these thoughts did enter my brain, it didn’t matter to me.  This was all good, really good.  In fact, it was great.

Marivic and I finally got to spend some time alone, well, sort of alone.  We just chatted and talked about what we’d be doing in the coming weeks there in Cebu.  Thankfully, my newly returned missionary girlfriend made it clear she wasn’t a missionary anymore and that she was indeed my girlfriend.  Don’t worry; I’m just talking about hand-holding kinda stuff.

By around 6 p.m. the exhaustion took over.  The last time I slept in a bed was 47 hours earlier, back home in West Bountiful.  Since then I had wandered the streets of San Francisco, stressed out over getting a visa, had my first extra-large fries and McDonalds, flown eight thousand miles only to miss my flight to Cebu, and had to reacquaint myself with a place and people I never thought I’d see again.  But man it was all worth it.  I was so happy to be with Marivic and thrilled with anticipation for the coming weeks.

Marivic and her family walked with me through the narrow streets of Go Chan Hills as the daylight faded.  When we got to Escario Street we parted for the night and I made my way back to the Nunez home.  In my room I turned on the fan and lay down to sleep.  When my head hit the pillow you would think the overwhelming events of the day swirling through my head would make it difficult to sleep.  Nope.  I was out like a light.

Part 3, "The Announcement:Do You Know What You're Doing?" :-) by Marivic will be posted Friday, February 12 for those interested.