Isolation (Manila, Philippines)

“The ambulance will be there soon to pick you up,” my local company’s HR representative said over phone. “So you need to pack your belongings and get ready.”

“Okay,” I said compliantly in a hushed tone. Suddenly the reality of everything was coming to me.

“You okay?” he asked.

I snapped out of my funk. “Yeah, I feel fantastic. Funny today has been my best day and now it’s become my worst.”

“Don’t worry. Everything will work out.”

Just then someone rang the doorbell to my room. “I think they are here.” I said.

“I will talk to you later, okay? And remember, don’t worry,” the HR representative said.

I hung up without goodbye. I grabbed my mobile on the table and went to the door. And just like that – there were two people in hazmat uniforms like the ones that had boarded my flight in Shanghai when we landed. But this time – they spoke in Tagalog and with a thick Filipino accent as they spoke English. Their hands were busy with medical instruments and documents to fill out.

“Mister Jackson?” the woman in the hazmat uniform asked.

“Yes?”

“We are here to take you to isolation.”

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Positive (Manila, Philippines)

As the airplane touched down in Manila, my cough was tickling harder but I tried to swallow it down – especially as I was filling out the Health Form.

But I didn’t hide my symptoms. I checked yes that I had a cough. I checked yes that I had a runny nose. And I put all the countries I had visited in the last 7 days: India, China, and Hong Kong.

Unlike China, there was no hazmat team that boarded first and pointed their plastic temperature taking guns. Instead, we were ushered off the plane quite quickly. Then just outside the gate as we turned left towards immigration was a uninterested, heavy man leaning on an iron railing asking you for your health forms. He kept a messy batch under his unused arm and his action arm gathered together the others.

He asked us no questions and he seemed to be put off by being assigned as the single health official. He didn’t even look people in the eyes as we passed – handing him our forms.

At the next level of health inspection – walking in front of the thermal temperature taking television screens – was even easier. The booth was not manned.

I found it hard to keep in my coughing as I stood in the immigration line. I was now self-conscious of my condition – and held it back as much as possible. But the people in lines were more excited about being in the Philippines and ignored me. Most of them seemed like American college students coming over for holiday.

I was afraid the immigration inspector might deny my entry. Instead when I got to her desk she made a comment that she thought my tie made me look handsome. I smiled back, felt a tickle, and let out a little cough.

The lady smiled back and stamped my passport.

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Quarantined (Shanghai)

When the Dragon Air flight touched down, we were instructed to stay in our seats because a surgical team would be onboard to check everyone’s temperature onboard before we could depart.

Some didn’t care and stood up as if they were going to make a hasty getaway. But after ten minutes of standing, people began giving up. Then the pilot came back on the overhead to tell us the surgical team was delayed and it would be a couple of minutes.

So we sat there idling. I think sometime I dozed off. Suddenly I felt motion and woke up just in time to see a person in a hazmat uniform and surgical mask come racing by. Everyone in the aisles turned quickly to watch. Then again, there were two more on the other aisle racing to the back of the plane.

Then there was a slow mover who had a gray plastic device that looked like a toy gun. The lady wearing the white hazmat uniform would point the gray plastic device and a laser sight would appear on someone’s forehead and apparently a read out showed up on the back display. Then they would move to the next person.

Suddenly, I felt a tickle in my throat and wanted to cough but was afraid to bring attention to myself. And I saw as people all followed the hazmat teams as they pointed, lit the laser point, read the reading, and moved on. The people watching were witnessing in a accusing way – as if to be revealed the person who had snuck onboard to endanger everyone’s life.

I swallowed hard and tried to use my mind over matter to ignore the tickle in my throat. Then I felt my forehead getting hot and sweaty and the hazmat lady was nearing me. What if the readout was faulty, or if my forehead sweat showed up as a bad sign.

I could hear my heart race and I couldn’t catch my breath. But then I started thinking about how relaxing a seven day quarantine might be. Just when I secretly longed for a false positive, the lady in the white hazmat uniform had me in her sights.

I saw the red being projected. She barely looked down on the display and went to the guy sitting beside me. And just like that she was gone.

Finally when we deplaned, we went through two more screenings. One was a thermal temperature check and the last one was a forty five minute wait in a long, snaking line through another temperature reading device that looked like a metal detector.

Almost entering the device, I thought again – how rewarding a seven day holiday would be. But then just like that, the security guard wearing a surgical mask motioned for me to come through.

And just like that, I was normal.

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Destiny Now (Mumbai)

We wanted to celebrate the prohibition of drinking Red Bull in Hong Kong by partaking in Vodka and Red Bull. Our purpose had a bit of urgency. Because if it had been banned in Taipei, Hong Kong, some parts of North America – we didn’t know how much longer it would be freely available.

It broke Manish and I’s heart. I was torn about what drink I would become my new drink of choice when I returned in Hong Kong. I guess I would have to go my second choice that I learned to drink in Melbourne, Australia – Vodka and Cherry Coke.

Ajay had never had it before and now because it might be on the verge of being illegal – he wanted to try it. So all three of us walked out of the office which was chilled by the wall air conditioners out into to the stifling afternoon heat of Mumbai – on the cusp of the rainy season – I had to take my glasses off because they steamed up.

Dodging taxis, playing human “Frogger” through a round-a-bout, we moved toward the beach front and opposite of the ocean, we entered Hotel Marine Plaza. Just past the lobby was Geoffrey’s the Pub.

We didn’t wait for the bartender to hand out menus, “Three Vodka and Red Bulls please,” I said.

The bartender seemed a bit shocked but gathered the drink menus back to his chest and wrote down our orders.

“So how you like being married?” I said looking at Manish.

He smiled wide. “It’s great.”

“So how did you find her?”

“An ad.” Manish looked smug.

“But it wasn’t online. He put an advertisement in a marriage magazine. That makes for a smaller demographic – a more local demographic.” Ajay added.

“Yeah, Ajay, he put an ad online for his wife.”

“Yeah, I wanted a broader search.” Ajaya admitted.

I laughed. “You wanted more selection.”

“I wanted many makes and models,” he said just as the bartender returned with slender glasses filled at the bottom with transparent vodka and the small, beautiful cans of silver and blue Red Bull.

We were like kids seeing them mix our liquid cocaines – giddy. And soon as they were ready, we clinked our glasses quickly and took down big gulps.

I turned to Ajay to see his face. He was looking through his beverage as if he could spot the ingredients while swallowing down what he had in his mouth. “What do you think?”

“Not bad,” and he took another gulp.

“You are now an addict, my friend.” I said and all three of us toasted again.

“Here’s to hoping so.” Ajay answered.

“So what do you put on your ad? Do you have to come up with a cool catchy tag line – like something to market yourself?” I asked Manish.

He shook his head. “No its not a dating service. This is a service where people mean business. You just put your age, your career, the city you live, and your name.”

“So you can choose anybody?”

“Oh no, your family chooses.”

“Wow, you didn’t choose her?” I said taking a deep drink.

Ajay spoke up. “Actually I was different. I didn’t trust my parents. So my marriage was arranged – by me.”

“Very entrepreneurial of you. A self-proprietor of your marriage.”

“Exactly. But of course they have to confirm the choice I made.” And he took another drink.

“You know guys, I think you have the right thing going here. Look at me – I got to choose my wife naturally – and it fell apart. And look at you guys – arranged and very happy.”

Manish beamed. “Yes, very happy.”

“Do you still feel she’s your destiny?” I asked honestly.

He paused to lift his drink to his mouth. “Absolutely. She was my match perfectly. The only difference is we chose when our destinies would be revealed to us.”

“Destiny now.” Ajay summarized.

I smiled and I lifted my drink again and we toasted again – and all at the same time we emptied our glasses. Manish rose his hand to order another round before he put down the empty one.

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Sacrifice (Hong Kong)

Sophia and I walked fast hand in hand to the IFC. We were both late. She was running to catch her flight and I was running to my photo shoot and open mic at TakeOutComedy.com.

At where the escalators went down, I pulled her close and kissed her. “Be careful. See you in a couple of weeks,” I said.

“I miss you already,” she said and looked at me sadly.

“It’s the sacrifice we must make.” I hugged her. “You need to get going, you are already late. You cannot miss the next Airport Express train – or then you will miss your flight.”

“Why are you such in a hurry to get me out of Hong Kong?” she asked pointedly.

I was taken back. “What do you mean?”

“You are in an awful hurry to get me out of here.”

I was angry. I didn’t like what she was alluding to. “Look, I am late for my photo shoot. I promised Jami I would be there before 9.”

“Okay,” and she leaned in and kissed me hard.

And we pulled away – felt the gravity of us – still yank us towards each other – and then I went off spinning in the opposite direction towards the SoHo escalator.

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Debut (Hong Kong)

I sat uncomfortably in the waiting room holding the 600 HKD x-ray of my foot in my hand. It was so cold that I was sweating under my arms and on my palms.

Finally the nursing station window slid back, “Mister Jackson, the doctor will see you now.”

I nodded and got up.

The door to the doctor’s office was closed so I knocked before entering. “Please come in,” said the voice behind it.

I walked in and he was a plump Chinese doctor in a suit and he was standing to greet me. He held out his hand and instantly took the x-ray. He switched on the fluorescent light for the display. He took the black plastic paper out and stabbed it to the top of the display.

He looked it over quickly and I sat down.

“Mmm,” he said and touched the spot where my ankle was. “That’s where the growth is and as you can see – we don’t see it.” He let out a breath. “So I don’t think there is anything to worry about. You are going to be okay.”

I sighed.

“However, if you want to remove that off your ankle we can do it. It would only take an hour and we can remove it right here in my office.”

“But would I be able to walk out of here?” I asked.

“Of course. It might be a little discomfort but no problems. But seriously, unless you are embarrassed by the growth – there is no need to worry about it.”

“I am not worried about it. I think it gives me character.”

He smiled. “Well, then I think it’s settled.” He switched off the display and returned the x-ray back to its manila envelope. Then the doctor handed it back to me. “This is yours.”

“Thank you.”

“Only if it grows larger should we consider removing it. But if everything stays the same, nothing to worry about.”

“Okay,” I said. “I was very worried.”

He smiled his doctor smile. “No need to worry.” And then settling in his leather chair he changed to small talk. “What do you do?”

“I work for an IT company and I travel a lot. So this was going to severely impact my travel schedule.”

“Of course.”

“And I have a debut.”

“A debut?”

“Yes, I do standup comedy to get rid of the stress. And my debut is Saturday night.”

He laughed. “Well do me a favor and don’t make a joke about me.”

“If we were in Thailand, it would be easier to do that.”

He looked confused. “What do you mean?”

“In Thailand, get more value with the doctors there. Go to remove a tumor and return with a vagina.”

He chuckled. “I think your debut will be fine.”

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Save the Last Dance for Me (Hong Kong)

I met with Joey early on a Sunday morning at Starbucks in the IFC. I felt half dead to be up before eight o’clock on a Sunday morning. Even God rested on Sunday. But she was a former choreographer and dance was part of my three chamber heart: writing, dancing, and teaching. So I felt it was important enough to set my alarm and drag myself out of bed.

We were going to meet to discuss a potential dance – audio / visual - collaboration.

And as this was our first meeting, we spent the beginning warming up to one another. We discussed our checkered pasts, our failures, and our hopes. But for a stranger she trumped me in her transparency about her past. She had just broken off an engagement to a drug addict. She was fighting cancer and had just finished her last round of chemotherapy. And apparently, returning to smoking cigarettes alleviates constipation.

And she was point blank – “Doctor says I only have eight or nine months to live.” And then she adjusted in her seat and pushed her curly black hair back in her bandanna. Then she looked at my face to get my reaction.

“I am sorry,” I said finally.

She smiled. “Don’t worry. Everyone dies.”

I shifted uncomfortably in my wooden chair. “Wow. A collaboration with you has a strict timetable.”

She laughed. “Yeah a little. But I need the work. I want to pay my way out of this city. I want to leave it behind. I want to start over. I want to return to Malaysia. But a cancer patient doesn’t have a lot of job opportunities. Especially when the cancer is terminal.”

“Yeah, I can imagine.”

She was quiet but then added coldly, “Actually you can’t.”

“I guess maybe I can’t.” I scratched my head. “But what I can do is offer the opportunity for you to tell your story to others. I always tell people to write their story down. Document their lives. And you are a living example of: don’t let a tombstone be the only proof you were alive.”

She was quiet, “Okay, go on. What are you suggesting?”

“Write your life down. Not the mistakes of your past but from this point on. Change your karma.”

“You mean write my death down?” She said with a half sad smile.
“Okay, if that’s how you want to look at it.”

“Look,” she began. “I don’t mean to be rude. But I need help. I am selling everything I have. I just want to get out of here and get closer to my family and my cancer doctor. And I think writing my story down is a good. I am interested definitely. But how does that make me money? I have no money to eat.”

I was in disbelief. “What about your family? I mean, you have nobody to help you?”

“My family disowned me.”

“I am sorry. But you know I had a situation like this before in Boca Raton, Florida. I had a friend tell me almost the same story. The details were different. But the plight and suffering was the same. But my friend ended up being addicted to crack and they eventually ran off with a lot of my money and stole my car.”

She started putting things in her purse and began to stand, “Look, I am not here to be insulted. I am looking for opportunities. And if you do not want to believe me, you don’t have to. No one cares – and I wouldn’t assume you would either.”

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