After flying for about 10 hours, I finally arrive on the other side of the world in Tokyo. Already the culture shock is creeping in, as I’m waded through a see of people waiting to pass yet another security point. Apparently, the Japanese (actually, Asians in general) don’t believe in lines.
The smell is also something that is very distinct. Not only because you’re in a different country, but the people just have very distinguishable odors. The smell while waiting in line with a large group of Japanese, is drastically different than the smell I sensed while waiting for my connecting flight to Manila surrounded by other Filipinos. It makes me wonder if Americans have an aroma. If so, does it smell like cheeseburgers and hope?
My mom told me to look for a guy named Tino who would be holding a sign with my name on it. When I saw him after getting off the plane, it was a bit surreal. I’ve never had anyone hold a sign with my name on it, let alone someone who could easily be one of my many cousins. He passed me on to another guy who took my papers, and we quickly made our way around the huge masses surrounding the customs agents straight to the “Special Assistance” area. With his help, we got through customs faster than you can say “mabuhay”.
After getting my luggage, we went outside and that’s when the culture shock hit me like a speeding jeepney. The humidity, the smog, the crowds of people, the sea of balikbayan boxes… it was all so foreign, yet so familiar. I was relieved to see my mom. My cousin Joey brought the car around, and we headed to the house.
First Day in P.I.
After flying for about 10 hours, I finally arrive on the other side of the world in Tokyo. Already the culture shock is creeping in, as I’m waded through a see of people waiting to pass yet another security point. Apparently, the Japanese (actually, Asians in general) don’t believe in lines.
The smell is also something that is very distinct. Not only because you’re in a different country, but the people just have very distinguishable odors. The smell while waiting in line with a large group of Japanese, is drastically different than the smell I sensed while waiting for my connecting flight to Manila surrounded by other Filipinos. It makes me wonder if Americans have an aroma. If so, does it smell like cheeseburgers and hope?
My mom told me to look for a guy named Tino who would be holding a sign with my name on it. When I saw him after getting off the plane, it was a bit surreal. I’ve never had anyone hold a sign with my name on it, let alone someone who could easily be one of my many cousins. He passed me on to another guy who took my papers, and we quickly made our way around the huge masses surrounding the customs agents straight to the “Special Assistance” area. With his help, we got through customs faster than you can say “mabuhay”.
After getting my luggage, we went outside and that’s when the culture shock hit me like a speeding jeepney. The humidity, the smog, the crowds of people, the sea of balikbayan boxes… it was all so foreign, yet so familiar. I was relieved to see my mom. My cousin Joey brought the car around, and we headed to the house.