A/N: Hello! Thank you so much for checking out my story. I hope you enjoy. Before you read, a glossary of Tagalog words is below. Glossaries before chapters will be used often.
"Tatay": Dad
"Nanay": Mom
"Tito": Uncle
"Tita": Aunt
"Kuya": Used to address older brothers or male relatives/people who are older than you.
"Ate": This word has the same use as "kuya", but it is used by women.
"Anak": Tagalog for "My child."
"Lola": Grandmother
"Apo": Used affectionately by Filipino grandparents for their grandchildren.
"Paalam": Tagalog for "Goodbye"
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"Flight 479 to the Tokyo International Airport will depart in fifteen minutes."
A voice, crisp and clear, brings me back to a place teeming and crowded with activity. The one and only LAX.
I've been here plenty of times, but today's hustle and bustle seem to be too overwhelming. Babies bawl for food, people groan at their delayed flights, and plane engines scream from outside. It only seems to get louder the more I look.
Amid the chaos is my family. Countless relatives — titas, titos, ates, and kuyas — all patiently wait their turn for a goodbye. After a few short, tearful exchanges with each of them, I come upon my sisters, Jalena and Jaide. Clinging to each other, they weep, crying like I'm being shipped off to war. I try to comfort them by joining the embrace, placing my arms around their quivering shoulders. Afterward, I look to Nanay. Her oval face, framed by a short, jet-black bob, is painted in composure. I see it in the stillness of her eyebrows and the quiet in her brown eyes. But the paint peels. Her lips tremble slightly.
I feel sorry — sorry that she has to see her only son leave like this. Quickly averting my eyes, I opt to stare at the drab tiled floor.
'Why am I even here...'
"JJ?" Nanay's familiar voice calls. I look up. She walks closer to me. "Is everything alright?"
I jerk my head back down. "U-uh, yeah, Mom. Everything's good."
She lifts my face a little. Avoiding eye contact the best I can, I feel a pair of eyes attempting to catch me. Motherly, nonverbal probing soon passes as Nanay lets go. My head finds its focus back on the floor.
"Really, Jeremiah Jante Cabrera? Very convincing."
"Ah... it's just...," I struggle. "...pre-flight butterflies, Mom. Nothing to worry about." Somehow, I'm courageous enough to look at her.
Mom raises an eyebrow, unconvinced. "You're a bad liar, anak. I can see right through you, don't forget."
I chuckle but let out a sigh soon after. We just stand there for a bit, neither of us saying anything. Nanay breaks the silence.
"JJ, before you go, Lola Amor has a little something for you."
From beside Nanay, Lola Amor — without a cane — makes her way to me. Lola looks like Nanay — just older. Her gray hair is pulled into a neat bun. Lines of proud age grace her face, and, unlike Nanay, not a hint of worry breaks through it. Lola meets me with calm eyes. She gives me a gentle smile, offering an aged hand to me. I gingerly take it and bring it to my forehead — a sign of respect called the mano po. I let her hand go.
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