Travel with my Father
Winston C.
Pagador
©
Copyright 2018 by Winston C. Pagador
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I
wanted to see travels through my father’s perspective, and
perhaps to discover something new.
Seated
in the window, I found him staring the vast Malay Peninsula that lay
spread beneath us, his eyes taking in the small dotted islands that
seemed swimming against the blue ocean and then buildings, roads and
houses visible as the aircraft decreased altitude, readying its final
descent. ‘How is it possible that at six in the evening, the
sky is still bright enough here?’ said my father. His face
beamed with excitement and disbelief. I told him that in this part of
the world at this time of the year, the sun belatedly sets and rises
than in our country. I took a swallow. I did not see his query
coming, as I was unprepared of my answer bare of any scientific
explanation. It was his first time to travel outside the Philippines
and my first to travel with him. The feeling was both surreal and
unfamiliar to us. At sixty-two years old, Father who once was a
formidable, full of vigor and robust man had now passed his prime and
may no longer had the energy he once had, which I found
disconcerting. Yes, he had lived his life the he way he wanted it to
be. For him, traveling was a luxury as it was unnecessary. There were
more pressing matters to attend to and travel was at the bottom pit
of his priorities. But I found an opportunity to convince him to
travel with me in Kuala Lumpur. Father was a boxing enthusiast and
when it was announced that Senator Manny Pacquiao was to fight in a
city relatively accessible from where we live, I pleaded to him to
process his passport because we are going to watch the fight and he
obliged.
My
travel anthology started in the year 2014 when my means allowed it.
My parents were adamant. They were largely concerned about my safety.
But at 27, I convinced them that I could bona fide
take good
care of myself. As a grown up man with a stable job and a promising
profession, I should have insisted that I do not need their
permission anymore but only to inform them of my plans but that would
only hurt their feelings. Filipino family never worked that way. The
least I could do was to assure them that everything was going to be
all right. I explored the world of backpacking and I was blown away
by its capacity to liberate oneself by chasing the unknown. After a
series of backpacking for nearly four years, I now had a repository
of exhilarating and intimate experiences that I would never be able
to forget. I will always be grateful to that Malaysian woman who
helped me by treating me for a meal and a train ride because I had no
available ringgit and money changers at Selatan terminal opens at
about seven in the morning; that Cambodian guy I sat with on the bus
from Phnom Penh to Siem Reap who gladly offered me to use his
cellphone so that I could contact my hostel to confirm my stay and
fetch me at the bus stop; that Thai host who willingly accepted my
couch request albeit last minute in Bangkok; that security guard at
Hanoi airport who, upon noticing that many taxi drivers were cajoling
me to ride with them, covertly suggested that I should stay inside
the airport and let the dawn pass before heading to the city center.
Few
days before our trip, I gave Father some tips as to how to go about
the immigration process upon departure and on arrival. ‘As long
as you answer their questions confidently and you have your flight
tickets ready and you have no criminal record, you are good to go,’
I assured him. In Davao airport, he passed it smoothly without any
issue. As we were nearing the K.L. immigration on arrival, I reviewed
to him those points I emphasized and to breathe normally. When it was
his time to face the officer, I reckoned seriousness all over his
face. He turned up stiff and pensive. From afar, I observed the
officer asked him to remove his cap and to have his index fingers
printed on a machine. When the officer handed to him back his
passport, I felt overjoyed and I thought he must have felt
triumphant. He made it.
While
waiting for our baggage at the carousel, I began to take photographs
of him and immediately sent them to my brother working in Qatar, to
my sister in China and my youngest sibling back home. They were all
equally thrilled that Father had come travel this far. When Father
asked me the details of our accommodation in K.L., I told him that we
will be staying at my friend’s house I met before through
Couchsurfing. He refrained from further inquiry and
I did not
elaborate more as I wanted him to experience it. Mr. Tien, our
Malaysian host, fetched us at the airport and he was delighted to
meet Father. Tien brought us to an Indian restaurant near his home in
Subang Jaya and we devoured their famous Roti Canai and Teh Tarik.
Father’s palate had well adjusted that to my surprise he seemed
to be enjoying the taste. At Tien’s house, we continued to
exchange pleasantries, our voices eager to catch up where we left
off. I noticed Father holding back his voice, calculating his
English, like someone in a spelling contest cautiously avoiding
misspelled words. As he was not accustomed to speaking English in a
conversation even though he knew well the basics, I urged him to talk
to Tien, to ask him questions. Later, I recorded, with their
permission, some of their casual conversations and it was fascinating
to hear Father showing off his command of the English language, terse
and confident. We called it a night and as I closed my eyes I thought
how Father must have absorbed all these, like a sponge, taking all
in, observing, and overcoming. But it occurred to me that perhaps his
greatest discernment was, for the first time, he was away with my
mother and how he missed her.
Our
excursion started off at the Merdeka Square suffused by several
historical buildings, our perfect snapshot backdrops. Tien told us
that the Malaysian independence was declared in that square in 1957.
The place was busy, tourists meandering around and taking pictures
under a fair weather and a clear sky. We headed to the imposing
Petronas Twin Towers and I recalled the last time I had been here and
still mesmerized by these whooping structures. Father was equally
amazed. He was speechless for a moment. Looking up, he wondered how
was this even possible. Finding a spot, we took a photo together
substantially capturing the towers behind us. It was one of the best
photos I had with him. Tien suggested that we go to Thean Hou Temple
and then went on explaining that Malaysia draws on varied ethnicities
largely composed of the Malays, Chinese, and Indians. The temple also
known as the Temple of the Goddess of Heaven blended the traditional
style to that of contemporary architectural design with equal force.
We walked towards the giant Chinese animal zodiac statues at the
temple grounds. We went looking for our zodiacs. Father made his way
to a Tiger with a big open mouth displaying enormous canine teeth.
Like a child, he inserted his hands to the Tiger’s mouth
bluffing like he was bitten, his face contorted with pain. He asked
me to take a photo of him in that position. We strolled around,
climbing up the six-tiered Buddhist temple, colorful Chinese lanterns
hanging in a row. Father opted to rest at a bench while Tien and I
proceeded to the prayer hall. I thought of the day I had been to Kek
Lok Si Temple in Penang about a year ago. How prominent and solemn
these Buddhist temples were! We removed our shoes and entered the
hall. Tien encouraged me to pray the Buddhist way. I collected and
lit four joss sticks, held them in my hands, knelt and silently
uttered my prayers and then I placed the sticks in a large vase. Late
at noon, we were famished and had to indulge ourselves with a mixture
of Chinese and Malay dishes. Before the day ended, we went to a local
shop to buy some pasalubong or souvenirs for
friends and
family to bring back home. I felt an immense pride for Father that
day. His face radiated a sense of excitement. He, too, enjoyed the
experience.
We
woke up the next day feeling rested, the thrill now settled alongside
it, like we were opening up to the reality of the moment. It was also
the day of the boxing press conference that Father had been looking
forward and just four days before the bout. We headed to the venue
and with the help of a friend who was part of the promotional team we
entered the hall and ushered to sit near enough the stage. It was
jam-packed and the people of different colors, races and languages
gathered together either as boxing aficionados or casual observers.
When the conference kicked off, the crowd surged forward capturing
the exuberant cheering and applauding throughout for both fighters.
Father seemed preoccupied and unable to contain his emotions that
finally, after decades of following series of boxing highlights on
television, he was living in the moment. He took out his phone to
record the occasion. I took mine to record him recording the moment.
I told him to reserve his energy on the day of the fight. Was it not
the reason why we are here? Later that day, we had a chance to meet
up close and personal the Senator on his suite and we seized a photo
opportunity with him. The Senator’s humility and congeniality
was remarkable that had so enthralled us.
I
promised Father that I would take him to Genting Highland, one of the
places in Malaysia that I love to visit as I did two years ago. After
meeting with the Senator, we headed to KL Sentral to take a bus going
to Genting Skyway where we would catch a cable car up to the resort.
While we endured long lines at the skyway and waited for over an
hour, the temperature cooperated giving us a welcome breeze, a
prelude to a cooler weather at Genting Resort. I had an apprehension
of Father riding a cable car up to 6000 feet as he had a fear of
heights but my desire to let him experience such an amazing trip
outweighed his acrophobic tendencies. Upon entering the gondola, he
sat down hesitantly. He flinched as our ride started to take off and
when he turned around and that there was no going back, his face was
enveloped with fear. I guiltily enjoyed the look of uneasiness on his
face but I concealed such emotion for I guaranteed him that at the
end of the trip he would be gratified. As the cable moved
continuously up, I diverted his attention to the spectacular lush
tropical rainforest beneath us in which everything became startling
shades of green. Tentatively, almost shyly, he calmed down and even
boasted that he was enjoying it after all, a childish sense of joy
came up in him. He scrutinized the other cable cars traveling in the
opposite direction, hoping to also get a glimpse of the passengers
but they were fast moving. As we approached the end station, the
gondola slowed right down and we alighted after the door opened
automatically, conscious that it was still moving. It was an
eleven-minute thrill of a ride that I ended up putting it on a live
video so that friends and family may share with our adventure. We
were both exhausted, the day already fading and so we pushed our way
through the labyrinth of passageways and corridors of the resort to
find and check-in our booked hotel. Later that night, Father had the
occasion to video-chat with his children recounting to them the
atmosphere at the press conference, how the Senator welcomed us, and
could they keep on a gondola ride traveling up the mountain so high
he was blown away.
Our
trip in Genting was spent mostly at Chin Swee Temple, save only for
some sightseeing inside the Resort’s World to look for bargain
shops and food stalls. As a welcome refuge from the heat and humidity
of the lowlands, Genting enjoys low temperatures all year round and
packed with lots of tourists. Only a
10-minute
bus-ride away from Genting Highlands, the Chin Swee Temple
exuded a vibrant energy that I found solace in it, in the timeless
red terra-cotta tiles glazed in red, in the iconic pagoda towering
high above the surrounding structures, in the imposing statue of
Buddha, all trying to keep everything in balance, fortifying their
place in this part of the world. On this high promontory with a
breathtaking view, I wanted Father to appreciate the wonders of
nature, to worry less and to care more, to wander into aimlessness,
and to feel the time loses its meaning.
Feeling
invigorated from the cool breeze of Genting, we headed back to Kuala
Lumpur on the eve of the boxing bout. Father’s mood was bright
but I sensed that he was nervously excited about the clash, carefully
weighing the highs and lows, ups and downs of both fighters, like an
implacable boxing analyst. On the anticipated day, we went early in
the morning to Axiata Arena where the match was to be held. Outside,
the crowd was thick and jubilant, engaging themselves in a
spontaneous conversation about the event. The sky promised a clear
day despite a few scattering clouds. Filipinos and Argentinians were
displaying their respective flags with great pride. I wondered how
Father was taking in these movements, these motions, when, at last,
he was part of it all. As predicted by Father, Senator Pacquiao won
via knockout. It was a clean, all-action thrilling fight throughout
and both athletes showed unwavering sportsmanship. From the first
bell, Father was on edge of his seat, cheering and exclaiming but he
seemed very calm. The initial fear I had with him utterly overwhelmed
by his emotions that would lead to hypertension had waned off. He
knew from the start who was to bring home the bacon. He was there to
feel the moment, to be part of the moment.
Towards
the tail end of our travel and before we packed our things, Tien
showed us around Putrajaya, the federal administrative center of
Malaysia. We basked in the warmth of the sun while we explored the
Putra Mosque, the façade of Perdana Putra, the monumental
square, all harmoniously arranged in this planned city around a
beautiful man-made lake.
Traveling
with my father was one of the best decisions I had made. Here was a
man who believed in me. Here was a man who provided for me to become
who I am today. At first, I though that it was the time I will help
him understand my wanderlust malady and how it becomes incurable, to
show that I can handle myself on the road, to show off the cleverness
and knowledge I acquired through my own travels. But it was Father
who reminded me to reunite with him, to confer him strength, and to
guide him. He opened me up to the reality that he was now growing old
while I was in a rush of growing up. It was fascinating to discover
how we had come to switch positions. How at one time I was vulnerable
and weak and he was the source of relentless strength and protection.
For the first time in my life, I felt a deep sense of communion with
him that I did not realize I had been so yearning for. I did not know
how our travel transformed my Father. I knew he had a story to tell
and to me that was more than enough.
Winston
C. Pagador, 31, is a Philippine lawyer from Glan, Sarangani Province.
He currently lives in General Santos City.
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