The Green Suitcase

                                                     The Green Suitcase

A message from my travel agent asking me to check my email woke me in the early morning. I rolled over on the right side of my bed while my left hand frantically fumbled for the wall outlet. I plugged in my nearly dead phone and opened my email right away. Attached to the email was my electronic airplane ticket, bound for Japan. The time of departure is 7:45 a.m. in NAIA Terminal 3. I saved the ticket and sent a thank-you message to my agent. I put my phone down and stared at the ceiling while my left palm was on my chest trying to calm my heart down from beating too fast. Yes, I was excited. This is the moment that I have been waiting for. I applied for a study program in Japan back in 2020 just after the start of the pandemic. I have waited for this for more than a year. My mind envisioned countless possible scenarios of what my life in Japan would be like once I moved there. I thought of cherry blossoms, and riding my bike in the countryside with fresh flowers in the basket. I couldn't help but smile. As I found myself lost in daydreams, the gentle scratching and soft whimpers of my dog at the door brought me back to reality. It was a reminder that it was time to wake up. I went directly to the kitchen, I walked past my dad in the living room, where he was watching the morning news in his worn-out rocking chair. The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. I made my way to the dining table and made a cup of coffee. My Mom was standing next to our wood stove and was frying salted dried fish. She was still not talking to me.

A week ago, my Mom and I had an argument and I couldn't exactly tell who won. We've always been like this whenever we have disagreements about some things. We let our pride take over and we don't talk to each other which usually takes days. My Dad knows about this and sometimes tries to patch things up between us. 

After a hearty breakfast, I started preparing. I first made a list of what I needed. I started sorting my things like clothes for winter, special gatherings, and other normal days. I brought out my shoes, my learning books, emergency items like medicines, and others. I laid everything on my bed. Then I brought out my old suitcase. It was a hand-me-down suitcase from a cousin who had just returned abroad. It was an old green suitcase. There were scratches around the bottom part of the luggage. Old and torn baggage tags were still hanging around the suitcase's handle. As I was cleaning it, I noticed that the small front wheel on the left side was stuck. I called my Dad. He was not answering. I stepped outside to see how he was doing and found him huddled in his quaint wooden shed. There he was, surrounded by a jumble of tools and scattered parts, diligently working on his old, battered Jeep - the kind that seemed to have more history than reliability. The vehicle, with its faded paint and stubbornly rusted edges, was a testament to countless repairs. It is so old that with a good cleaning, I might even uncover a dinosaur egg inside! I called him and asked him to help me fix the broken suitcase wheel. I brought the green suitcase into the living room and my Dad brought out his tools. He asked me to help with the flashlight because he couldn't see clearly. My Dad has a very poor eyesight. This brought me back to when I was very much younger whenever my Dad would ask me to help with the flashlight he would get angry because I wasn't "holding" the light properly. And in my mind, I was like "Dude, chill, I'm 6." Anyway, he was able to fix the broken wheel. My Mom walked past us in the living room and she was still not talking to me.

The next day, I tried packing everything. My green suitcase was filled to the brim with coats and jackets. I couldn't fit everything. As a last resort, I sealed vinyl bags with a vacuum and placed all the clothes inside, but it didn't work. I didn't want to buy another suitcase because I was trying to save money. But there was no other option. At this point, my Mom saw me struggle. She was still not talking to me. I went downtown to buy a new suitcase. I found one at an affordable price. When I got home, I saw my coats, jackets, and outerwear neatly packed in my green suitcase. The rest of my unpacked clothes lay neatly folded next to the green suitcase. My shoes and books were also rolled up. I remember everything was in disarray when I left because I was in a hurry to buy a new suitcase. I glanced around and spotted my mom in the backyard, gently scrubbing my dog Basya with a soapy old rag. The afternoon sun glinted off the water droplets as she worked, and although she noticed my presence, she completely ignored me and continued her task without saying a word. I turned and headed back inside, where I carefully placed the brand new suitcase, its gleaming surface still pristine, next to the well-worn old green one.

The next day, I received another email from my travel agent. She advised us not to have a farewell party as the risk of contracting COVID-19 was quite high at that time. We have to be cautious, as we do not want to risk possible delay or cancellation. I heard rattling noises in the living room. There, I saw my Mom packing my shoes, books, and other things in my suitcase while my Dad looked on. The TV was on. A documentary about rural life in Japan was being shown. Since the news of my move to Japan was told, my parents especially my Dad had been watching news and documentaries about Japan. I often heard them talking about Japan late at night while watching documentaries. My Mom saw me approaching and she started showing me where all my things were stored in my suitcase. She explained to me which compartments in the suitcase contained my socks, underwear, and medicines. My shoes were wrapped in plastic bags and were laid neatly on the bottom of the suitcase. She even prepared a blanket in case I needed it. My Mom packed everything while my Dad and I just looked on. The TV was still playing in the background. And just like that the no-talk barrier has been broken.

Every morning, I would wake up to the sight of my Mom busying herself with the suitcases. With a cloth in hand, she meticulously wiped down each one. She weighed them in over and over to make sure the luggage did not exceed the weight limit. My dog Basya would hover around and rub her soft body against the green suitcase. It was as though she understood on some level that something significant was on the horizon. But my Mom would always pick her up and ask her if she knew I was leaving. It felt like they were comforting each other. 

On the day I was set to leave for Manila, I woke up early to an unusually quiet house. The soft rays of sunlight filtered through the windows, casting a warm glow in the living room. My parents were already outside on the porch, sitting together, sipping their steaming mugs of coffee and exchanging friendly greetings with the neighbors and passersby, their voices mingling with the gentle rustle of leaves. When they saw me turn on the TV, my mom stood up and called everyone to breakfast. It was a simple meal: fluffy white rice, fragrant spiced sausage (longganisa) filled the air with mouthwatering aroma, bright red tomatoes dipped in savory fermented fish (bagoong Ilocano), and a warm bowl of last night's chicken soup (tinolang manok). We ate together while my mom reminded me to be careful with my passport, cards, money, and other important documents. After the delicious breakfast, she presented me with a knitted pouch in vibrant reggae colors to keep my valuables safe. I hesitated at first, feeling that it didn't truly reflect my style, but her insistence softened my resolve as she said, "I know you always forget your things, so use this for safety." My dad on the other hand remained mostly silent, only occasionally inquiring about the time of my ride to Manila. Interestingly, that morning was not chaotic at all. Everything felt so well-organized that we even had the opportunity to converse with a few relatives who stopped by to check on me.

When the van arrived, my mom helped the driver carry the suitcases. She insisted that I go inside and find my seat instead of carrying anything. My dad, who has a paralyzed right foot, just watched. My dog appeared agitated, following my mom and making soft whimpers clearly sensing the change. I said goodbye, and my mom waved her hand, reminding me to be careful. I found my seat at the back of the van. As the van started moving, I glanced back and saw my mom and my dog standing side by side. My mom wiped her tears while she carried my barking dog back to our house, and my dad watched with sad but hopeful eyes.

As the van drove along the highway, I looked out the window and a realization resonated. Though everyone appeared composed, deep inside, worries, sadness, and strings of what-if scenarios filled their hearts. A sigh of relief escaped me; my Mom and I may not have apologized for our past disagreements, but we had begun to communicate again. Despite the countless arguments we may face, her unwavering love for me always prevails. The green suitcase stands as a testament to this bond.