Smell that? That’s the scent of anxiety coming from all these people waiting for their flights to be called. Okay, maybe it’s just me. You can’t blame me – in a few hours I’ll be touching down on my home base in the Philippines after exactly 2 years, 2 months and 24 days of working here in Riyadh. I’ve always loved airports. When I’m in one, I can always sense the feel of adventure that comes with the standing in line, checking in, getting a boarding pass, having the passport stamped, and waiting for the airline’s call for boarding. Perhaps, the only thing I don’t like, because of the slight inconvenience, is having to do the pseudo-striptease every time I go through the x-ray machines where it is required to take off your watch, belt, jacket, or any other article of clothing with metals on them, in addition to surrendering your mobile phones, cameras, and the like. We’re flying economy, and therefore, do not have the privilege of lounging in the.. well, lounges, and as I scan the waiting area full of thobe-clad Arab men, women in abayas, and the mass of iPhones, iPads, Samsung Galaxys, Motorola Xooms, Macbooks, multi-branded laptops and other electronic devices relative to them, on the hands of the men and women in business-looking attires (this is a Dubai-bound flight after all), I am overwhelmed with feelings of excitement, and yes, I admit anxiety. Not because I’m waiting for our flight number to be called, but because I might be arriving home at a slightly wrong timing. I have been informed by my mother that they are currently experiencing typhoon signal # 2 back home, and might not be able to make it to Manila in time for the surprise summer getaway I planned for them.
“Please Lord, let everything happen as I planned. I already paid for those non-rebookable, non-refundable tickets. Please. :)”
I’m listening to this to keep me a bit distracted:
Well, I’ll leave you to it. See you in Manila. 
