It was a humid afternoon last Thursday, and I was walking through the Academic Oval to get to my next class at the CAL New Building. I wasn’t rushing. I have a free time of 1 hour to get to my class. Ever since the start of the semester, I allotted that time to think and reflect about the day’s experience and to entertain selfish thoughts and pointless goals that makes me think I exist as a human being – and no, I was not thinking of how I will write an essay about a very general term, development. In fact, I was thinking of latter events that day.
After my class in German, I was rushing to get to the MRT. I fared a jeep going to the station and sat through the traffic and smoke of Quezon Avenue. I was very anxious because I might run late for a flight scheduled at 9 o’clock.
Riding the MRT is very stressful. It was the peak hours of commuters and I think around 400 people (a bit of exaggeration) are trying to seek a space in a very limited capacity of the train. A lot of pushing is involved and there is no distinction between women and men as the doors of the train opens. People just try get past everyone just to take the most comfortable seat or the most accessible poles to grab onto while standing. It is a bizarre thing to see and observe in a public transportation system that often symbolizes development.
I got off the train at the last station and looked for the shuttle heading towards the NAIA Terminal 3, and in minutes, we were passing along the nightclub-infested, full-of-litter road to the Terminal – a far unimpressive feat.
Luckily, I made it in time. My family was waiting for me at the airport and we ate our dinner. We talked about the day and discussed how I was very lucky to catch the flight. After the small talks were over and our dinner’s feast was no more, we headed to our designated gate. We were instructed to board the plane. We took our seats and settled in. Suddenly, the captain spoke through the speaker system and all the passengers were instructed to deplane. The flight was delayed for an hour. We were pissed. We were tired. We were desperate. We can do nothing. We waited until the hour was finished, and we again boarded the same plane.
It was roughly 3 hours when we started to descend. We were about to land on Malaysia. We are on-board the Cebu Pacific so we are bound to land on the Low Cost Carrier Terminal (LCCT) of the Kuala Lumpur International Airport. When we got off the plane we had the chance to see the rest of the airport. My mom, who has been to NAIA Terminal 1 for her international flights, commented saying, “Mas maganda pa ito sa NAIA 1.” And mind you, reader, that according to locals, it was the least beautiful terminal in Kuala Lumpur.
We haven’t been to the main airport of Kuala Lumpur (KL) but I think I already know what it looks like: competitive architecture, cozy lightings, and a structure that Malaysians can be proud of.
Of course, we have to go to our hotel in KL to stay the night. We got on a bus and we headed our way. It took about 40 minutes driving through the nice highways, with a very nice view of the surrounding community, from the airport to the KL Central, where our hotel was located. Communities appear to be very well zoned and planned. It appears to have a good flow with the landscape and looked really well designed for efficiency and aesthetic purposes. We arrived at our hotel. It was so-so. We slept for the remaining hours of night.
The day after, we headed down KL Central. We saw high-rise buildings and nice establishments. We saw their famed buildings, the Petronas Twin Towers and the KL Tower. We saw how beautiful it is with very intricate designs that make someone like me, from the Philippines, feel small. They have this monorail that goes around KL Central which has stations in popular stops and destinations.
We have to go out of Kuala Lumpur for we have a reservation at a different hotel outside the city. We hailed a taxi, and luckily enough it was the same local who drove my parents earlier that morning. He became very well acquainted to us and he offered us an inexpensive fare to where we are going. We gladly accepted the offer and rode the taxi through a mild traffic down one of their highways. My parents and the driver was chatting the whole time and I was just listening and enjoying as I hear them converse. However, my mom asked a question to which our driver’s answer surprised me. My mom asked, “I noticed you don’t use your horns. Why is that?” Our driver replied, “Yes that is right. If you use your horn, you don’t respect people.” That was shocking for me. I remembered those jeeps and buses in the Philippines that blow their horns like you are miles away from them, desperate to be heard; those pesky drivers that cuts you on the road and all you can do is cuss out of frustration, and those jaywalkers who act like they own the road.
I sat back in silence; reflecting on what I just heard. I was asking myself questions that seem to require elusive answers. It was supposed to be a happy trip, but why was I feeling burdened? I should be feeling excited for it was my first time outside the country but why was I feeling bitter and left-out? Why did I even bother to entertain these thoughts?
We arrived to our new hotel. It was way better than the last hotel we checked-in at. I went up to the room, leaving the rest behind at the lobby, busy taking photos and absorbing the luxury of the place. I sat alone in the room, still sulking on what I just thought about. I was so frustrated that I felt ashamed for my country. I was so burdened by questions that haunted me as I kept on reflecting: how come my country is not like this? How come it is very easy to see that my country is lagging far behind of its neighbours? How come a country considered as one of the poorest in South East Asia before the 1980s be this developed after roughly 30 years? Was it good and effective policies? Was it a stable political environment? Was it a surge of national and international investments? Was it something to do with the race and nationality? Or was it a unified burden of every citizen who principled on the same standards as their neighbours to bring themselves to a better state of living?
I was afraid to tackle these questions, fearing that its answers will never leave me peaceful at night. I was afraid that answers might be the very thing lacking to all those aspirations and goals for the Philippines to be great again.
Although, I was lucky my mind put me at rest with a realization and a deeper understanding of development. While it is important that economic growth should be realized and that measurable statistics should be satisfied to be counted as a developed country, it is only an effect of a goal, rather than the very goal itself, to which I would guess that no concrete measurements would suffice to measure. In Malaysia, it is very evident that they have a strong economy and really a surging market of trade. Establishments, foreign and local, are all over the place and one would easily infer that it only has a great future ahead of it. Of course it might have been effective policies and efficient government interventions that lead to their present economic state. Or maybe social development really was the key. Whatever the real answer is, I didn’t have the luxury to know for I believe it would take time to analyze it.
I am excited for my country. For when it’s our time, I bet we’ll have it like a well-planned wedding, expected and euphoric, and more importantly, long-lasting.
We had a great time in Malaysia; very nice place filled with accommodating locals. All in all it was a great trip. It was a good vacation for me, who was his first time out of the country. We headed back to Manila with satisfied faces – very eager to go back home.
