My head is in the clouds reading the biography of, ‘The Wright Brothers.’ Or at least it was. Orville had declined to take the American president for a spin on the grounds of safety when, to the audience’s horror, that very same afternoon he came a cropper, killing his passenger and almost writing himself off. And then my ears become attuned to Daisy’s melodic and honey-smooth rendition of Gabriel’s Oboe as sung by Hayley Westenra. My Filipina angel was serenading me.
She’s like that is Daisy, my Filipina angel. They say it’s typical of Filipinas or for that matter Filipinos in general and I find it enchanting. It’s not new to me. Daisy would often serenade me while we talked on skype. For no apparent reason she would break into song and seduce me into a soulful happiness for quite some while; one song after another, Western love songs for the most part that is, until she’d smile and return to the former conversation. She always sang word perfect to the lyrics of the original – her English fluency outstanding – until she returned to our chat. Perhaps she should sing to me all the time, we could make like we are living within an opera and I might understand her better.
Oh, quit being so gooey and romantic.
An especially noisy pedi-bike roars by in the distance disturbing the moment and bringing me down from my Filipina angel and her harp.
She has flown; fled the Koop, (excuse mixed metaphors) at least for a day and a half. She felt unwell on Monday so I persuaded Daisy to delay her trip to Cebu. (Easier said than done let me tell you.) The good result was that we journeyed to Immigration together and I did not need to battle the language barrier to find my way home. (That last bit was my killer rationale to get her not to travel on Monday.)
The tiny quarters that are home to the Dumaguete office for the Bureau of Immigration were packed as tight as riders on a Jeepney. Had this crowd comprised a hundred fair and most youthful Filipinas as would be the case on a Jeepney, then the tight squeeze would have been quite charming. As it was, the predominance were grumpy old white men complaining, tactlessly, of local ways and frankly inviting instant deportation I thought. I tried to edge away and disassociate.
Thank goodness the office has a ‘take-a-number system because without that Anglo/Filipino relations might have been tested. In any event, Daisy’s trip postponement meant that I had her present to mop my furrowed brow and whisper to me sweet, calming poetry. As suspected I had insufficient cash on hand for a 6 month visa and in any case it was explained, to secure the six month edition would require a trip to Cebu, Manila even, some US$350 away. Quantities of 6 month forms, with attendant instructions, have yet to reach Dumaguete.
Still and all, everything seemed in order. We return Wednesday afternoon, or later, to collect my passport with its shiny new stamp, embossed therein.
I have attached a photo of your fearless author accompanied by beautiful angel. You will notice the most acceptable, I think, 65c haircut – if a bit windswept – and if you peer very closely, or enlarge the photo on your screen you will search for hitherto black spot on my left cheek, in vain. My talented barista/dermatologist knows how to brew more than a fine cup of java
No scar either.