OFWs and Repatriation

This news here is sad.

I remember when I left for Dubai more than two years ago. Even before that, I told myself, I am not going to leave my country under a false name. I reasoned that it's the only thing that belongs to me and only ME and I don't want to leave it here.

But anyway, when I got there and got a job, and I have been counting a few months already, there is only one thing I worry about. When I finally got my working permit and residence visa, I was glad to be working legally. But I still worry about one thing. And I have seen this happen to a lot of OFWs. They die somewhere and their bodies could not be brought back here because of financial issues.

I guess I am a little lucky that I worked for an insurance company and my boss decided to get us Workmen's Compensation.

My room mates from Dubai knows that this was a big deal for me. I used to tell them to get it out of their pockets if their employer could not give. I constantly remind them to try to squeeze it in on their budget. But all I get from them is their thought; they think I am weird to be thinking about that at all. They say that it's a morbid thing to discuss in the first place.

But weird things happen wherever you are. And I didn't want to end up trapped not only in that box, but in a country that couldn't bring me home because I did not pre-book my airfare.

NOTE:

Repatriaton does not only cover your ticket when you accidentally landed in that box. It also shoulders your air ticket when you lost your job and couldn't go home. Try to check it with your insurance consultants though.

Three Questions

I am sad.

I received a message today that a dear friend of mine passed away last night. She has been fighting cancer for quite some time now, and I could say that it was a good fight.

We never really met, although we've been talking to each other for years now. If I am not mistaken, we met around year 2000 online and I think the communication was unintentionally broken somewhere around 2004 or 2005 when I kinda went offline most of the time. Then, I think we rekindled our communication when our friend succumbed to cancer I think in 2006. She was the one who broke the news to me. But the communication stopped there again.

We found each other again on Facebook last year. At that time, I have been seeing her updates and I thought I always saw something more than what she said. But I didn't ask. I learned to respect other people's different ways of dealing with whatever they are going through, so I figured it best to just let it be.

Until.

Until that time that she heard that I was on the same boat with her. I, too was diagnosed of the big C but was cleared after my December CT Scan. I got a message from her inquiring about my condition, replied that I am 'off the hook' and asked her how was it to be in this roller coaster ride. We called it 'our roller coaster ride' because we find it awkward to call it cancer. I asked how it was like to be in the ride longer than I have just been. She never really answered the question directly, but we started to talk about a lot of things. After a while, for some reason, we moved to e-mailing. Chatting was never our choice anymore. We found it more convenient to e-mail. And since it's not like we know each other personally and that we have yet to know more, we eventually wrote on our e-mails' subject: Three Questions. This is a move I initiated. On each e-mail, I could ask three questions about anything about her.

The only thing I feel like saying is the answer to this question: What is the newest thing you own? She said: pants and pullovers and a blue Samsonite shoulder bag. I colored it red because that's how she answers my e-mails. She inserts it in my letter and colors it red to signify that it's her reply.

My last question to her was: How was your summer when you were young? (I'm sure this would be worth more than three questions.)

She never got to answer this. But I got one last group e-mail from her for April. She wasn't pretending she was fine, nor was she pretending she was sick. It was just an update.

On her March update (a group e-mail again), she ended it with hoping for better days.

Now, she's gone.

And I still hope for better days.

My friend, here's to our happy, sad, roller coaster ride.

Moved

Three months ago, I shared a room with about twelve people in the OB-GYNE ward of the hospital where I was admitted for an operation.

Three of them are of the same case like mine. We were all due for an operation to have our ovaries removed.

The night after my operation, one of the patients passed away for some reasons that I'd rather not discuss. What I remember was that she was restless and started to probably feel nauseous and started vomiting; later on losing consciousness and reviving her didn't help.

I was discharged Thursday after being operated the Monday before. I left the other three since they still weren't fit enough to go home yet.

Last Christmas, one of the twelve people's daughter sent us a text message wishing us for the season. Then again, this Valentine's. We were so glad to hear that her mom is okay and back to work and normal life.

This morning, I got a text message from my sister who was on her way to town, saying that she rode the same ride with one of these twelve people's son. His mother was one of those that I left behind, and I heard that she was discharged after two more days. Today is his mother's funeral day. She suffered stroke and didn't make it.

I was deeply moved by the news. My sister and I longed to hear about these room mates with whom we shared a very important part of our lives. But this isn't the kind of update that we wanted.

These are the strangers who became a part of my life for a little while but made deep marks in my memory, since we all shared one common fate. One common fate, at least in each of our own lifetimes.

*There is just something sentimental that I find in this song.