A few minutes after 4
o’clock in the morning, I was standing in one of the corners of
terminal 3, NAIA. I did have checked already my roller bag in in the
counter of Cebu Pacific Airline. Now, I supposed to be going to a station
for paying my terminal fee but I did not or “could not” to be more
accurate. I realized I no longer had enough money to pay for it. I had
paid much for my excess baggage.
So my standing there in the
corner was a “do or die” thing. It wasn’t all for savouring the
excitement and joy being the first time in an airport nor was I looking
for some hot chicks. In fact, it was all the total reverse. I was
sweating in that big air-conditioned building and was eyeing for an old
compassionate-looking woman to seek for help. I waited there. I waited
for almost an hour. Alas! I saw one with a teenage girl (probably
her daughter) going toward the terminal fee station. I had the second
thought at first to approach them. But I finally did. I wore the best
smile I had as I was going near them then greeted them with the good
manner I was taught in my family. Quickly, I confided to the old woman
my problem but she just simply rejected me and went on. I looked at them
with embarrassment on my face then headed back to the corner, head bow
and with heavy heart. Again, I waited.
It was just the
first heart-aching rejection I encountered. There was another with a
lone woman with her late forty who just simply ignored me while hurrying
toward the terminal fee station. I almost dropped my tears in shame but
I determined myself not to.
Back in the corner, I was
thinking deeply with the instances I was rejected. Perhaps, I looked
unbelievable and was mere kidding them since I was smiling talking to
them. Maybe I better present myself otherwise, serious and pitiful so
they would believe in me. I began to pity myself and lose my hope. It
was already more or less 30 minutes before my scheduled flight. I began
to panic. My fear of rejection grew intensely. I had the temptation of
not begging anymore but I persisted over it.
I walked around
inside the building observing my fellow passengers I came across and
those in the corners until I saw a nun at a distance. I hurried towards
her and cried, “Sister!”, as she was about to enter into the other
terminal fee station. She turned and saw me heading towards her. I
directly introduced myself without timidity and confessed to her what
troubled me and my urgent need. She then asked for my ID. I presented to
her my school ID card. She examined it, looked at me, and back to my ID
card. I wished to banish quickly while she was doing that. I sensed
another kind of rejection. But she took out her wallet and reached out
to me a two hundred bill, the exact money I was asking for. I never knew
exactly how to thank her then. Because of much joy, I asked for her
name and number so I could extend more of my gratitude to her in the
future through texts or another meeting. But she refused and chose to be
an unnamed person to me, though I insisted.
I intently
looked at her hoping that I could remember her in the course of time.
But her face simply faded gradually in my memory and the only thing
which remained was my conviction that she is sent by God, someone to
save me from my misery.
Though I never thought of a bible
passage at that time—one thing for sure I know—I now better understand
the salvific act of Jesus—“to give his life in ransom for many” (Mark:
10:45).
