Sombi

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NAIA is said to be one of the world’s worst airports. But the plane’s crew members were nice; some were pretty and some were downright ugly. The food… well, the

food sucked, to be frank. The facilities in the plane itself were also good, aside from the fact that there was no toilet paper when I took a dump. Overall I didn’t think it was the

worst… until we landed.

It’s been like… 10 days. 10 days since I became stuck in this god-forsaken airplane bathroom eating nothing but cans and cans of “Cow Ulam” of different

flavors and drinking nothing but this “Xtra Diyos” mixed in CLEAN toilet water. Well… I wasn’t wow’ed by the food and beverage but being stranded in a zombie

apocalypse doesn’t really give you a buffet of food to eat.

For entertainment, the only thing I’ve got are these couple of books, Libro ng Wika at Gramatikang Filipino and Diksyunaryo. These were all that I had with me when IT happened. During this 10-day bonding time with these books I learned—s**t!—I learned nothing.

Let me first introduce myself: my name is Joe delos Reyes, a Fil-Am from New York. My father is a Filipino; he met my mom in the States. They got divorced a while back and my dad

won the custody battle recently. He planned on taking me back to the Philippines. “Our home” as my father said.

My father and I really weren’t that close. He didn’t teach me anything about “our home” or the Philippine language for that matter. But he DID teach me

something. Years ago he saw a friend, a Filipino too, and they greeted each other with these exact words:

Dad: “Hoy Alvin! P*tang*na mo, ang gwapo mo na!”

Alvin:“P*tang*na mo rin, pre, mas gwapo ka, haha.”

The moment they finished talking I asked what they greeted each other with. He responded with “Oh, I just said to him that I missed him and that he became handsome.”

That was my first knowledge of the Philippine language: “P*tang*na mo,” a Philippine greeting saying you’ve missed someone.

As we landed in Manila, s**t got bad fast. The captain came out of the cockpit all pale and bloodied. We thought he had just gotten a horrible case of air sickness, but no. Hell

no.

He charged at the nearest person next to him. I think she was a celebrity because people were whispering “Siya si Janet Napoleon, di ba? Yung sa Baboy

Barrel.” Baboy Barrel must’ve been a blockbuster here since almost everyone says it. Well, the pilot mauled and ate her and then proceeded to

eat another. It was chaotic: the doors weren’t opening and people were panicking.

The people bitten earlier suddenly rose and started feasting on still others just like how I feasted on “Cow Ulam” for days. Dad understood what was going on and so did

I. It was what we had been witnessing in video games, movies and television: a zombie apocalypse.

He grabbed me and threw me inside the plane’s bathroom and said “Stay there!” before shoving a box of canned goods and a bag of powdered energy drink at me, which

he got from the plane’s pantry. Somehow I knew that that was the last I would ever see of him. But I wish it wasn’t. I never liked my father but I would choose him over being alone,

especially in times like this. I hope he lives.

Outside I heard people screaming “P*tang*na! Takbo!” How could they greet each other so much amidst this chaos? Filipinos are so

unpredictable.

The screaming didn’t die down for hours. After that, all I heard were moans from the undead.

It’s time I moved out of this bathroom. It will be either death from starvation or death from zombie bites. I sure as hell won’t die from starvation. Starvation would

have to take my life over my dead body or whatever.

Let me clear up something first. I’m not one you could call “fit”. I’m 5’5” short. I’m somewhat chubby, probably 140 pounds. Physically, I

look like a Smurf but my face is damn irresistible. Brown eyes, thick clean eyebrows, surprisingly well-groomed hair. I am one to look at but I am not one to be with especially during times of

moving and doing things. In short, I’m lazy. I’d rather lay back and let the zombies eat my fat, waiting for them to slim me down rather than fight them. Zombies are the last thing I

want to deal with the moment I step outside.

I open the door and there are no zombies in sight... Dad isn’t here too.

Dad… I wonder what happened to you. I never really cared about you. I’m sure you don’t care about me too. #daddyissues. The last, best memory I have of him is

when he was persuading me to learn Filipino. He would talk to me in Filipino all day and he would say things like “Bibili kita ng mga laruan. Gusto mo? Oo o

hinde?” or “Gusto mo ng isang libong dolyar?” God knows what opportunities I have missed. He said that learning Filipino would be

“fun”.

Wrong.

It’s not that I find it difficult to learn, it’s because it’s, well, baduy, as dad would’ve said.

Anyway, I smell bad and need a change of clothes. And there it was, a pink t-shirt with the words “TV&J” printed on its back. In front was a picture of three

middle-aged men, one of whom looked like a potential politician. I saw a black hoodie too. The temperature here in the Philippines is hotter than back home but I like being covered in clothing and

I especially like jackets. They make me feel like I’m being hugged.

I love hugs.

After changing, I grabbed whatever supplies I could including the two books. I made a weapon out of a 2x2-inch piece of wood I had inside the comfort room and some clothing

material. I wrapped one end of the wood with a cloth to make sure it wouldn’t slip. Genius.

I went to see if there were any zombies in sight; there weren’t any. I looked on and saw that chaos did ensue in the Philippines. A land I was very unfamiliar with.

I would’ve welcomed a zombie apocalypse on any occasion. But not this time. Not when in a land where the only thing I know how to say in the native language is a greeting

about missing someone.

Not in a land where I’m alone.

“P*tangina my mom.”

“P*tangina my friends.”

“P*tangina my dad.”

And here I stand at the entrance of an airplane, facing a world I’ve yet to explore with a language I’ve yet to understand.

*Bang!* *Bang!*

From out of nowhere came, “Sombi! Sombi o! Dali tirahin niyo.”

“Sombi? The hell is that?” For a second I thought they were talking about zombies. They were. Zombies were near me or running in my

direction.

*Bang!* *Bang!*

I feel the bullets zing by me. I hear the airplane windows shatter and I also hear bullets bouncing through metal. They must think I’M a “sombi” or whatever it is they call zombies here in this country.

Blood starts to drip from my right arm: I was grazed by a shot. I recall one of the words I saw in the dictionary: “masaket” I think it

was. It means “painful”. The shots continue once again. This time I know I have to run away from this plane. I’m a sitting duck here.

All I can think of is “s**t,masakit.”