Page 12 of Rescuing Mia
I don’t know what that might be, but it’s going to be great.
Until I figure it out, however, I’m taking a sabbatical from life, and Stormy is going to stay with my sister and her husband.
The moment I step into the house, the aroma of freshly baked bread fills the air, and I’m transported back to my childhood.
After ten years, I’m finally home, yet I’ll be leaving it first thing in the morning.
Chapter Seven
RIGEL
The flightto Manila is long, the hours stretching out endlessly. I pass the time by reviewing the itinerary of the ship, dreaming about my dive plans, and studying guides that detail the underwater wonders I hope to capture with my camera.
As we begin our descent into Manila, the city sprawls out beneath me, a teeming metropolis of gleaming skyscrapers and winding streets. The heat hits me like a wall the second I step out of the airport.
The first breath I take outside is a deep dive into the essence of Manila. The air is a blend of contrasts—humid enough to wear like a second skin yet carrying the refreshing tang of the sea skirting the city’s edges.
The sun, a relentless orb in the sky, bathes everything in a harsh, brilliant light that sharpens the edges of the world.
The city’s pulse is palpable, a rhythm driven by the constant hum of activity. Streets buzz with honking jeepneys; their vibrant, graffiti-laden exteriors starkly contrast with the sleek lines of modern cars weaving through traffic.
Sidewalk vendors add their chorus to the mix, calling out over the din. Their stands are a riot of color with exotic fruits andhandmade goods. The smell of sizzling street food—a unique blend of garlic, soy, and sweet-spicy sauces—permeates the air, mingling with the less savory, but equally potent, odors of the city: the exhaust, the sweat, and the undefinable scent of hundreds of thousands of lives intersecting.
People move everywhere, a ceaseless flow of humanity that seems to carry the city on its back. The faces of all those around me reflect a spectrum of emotions—hurried, joyful, frustrated, content—as they navigate the labyrinthine streets, each person a story in motion.
I feel a little out of place, towering over the majority of the crowd. My height and broad shoulders, honed by years of military training, make me stand out.
But for once, I don’t mind.
There’s a lightness in my step, a sense of freedom that’s been missing for far too long.
The Navy—the teams—were my life for so long, but now, with that chapter closed, I can finally breathe again.
This trip, this dive adventure, is a new beginning. A chance to find myself outside of the uniform.
As I wander the streets, taking in the sights and sounds, I can’t help but fall into old habits. I spot an elderly woman struggling to navigate the crowded sidewalk, her small frame buffeted by the rushing pedestrians. Without a second thought, I’m at her side, offering my arm and guiding her safely to her destination.
A few blocks later, I hear a child’s cry rising above the din. A little boy, no more than five or six, stands sobbing, his face red and his eyes wide with fear. He’s lost, separated from his mother in the crush of bodies.
I approach him slowly, kneeling down to his level. “Hey there, buddy,” I say softly, my Tagalog rusty but serviceable. “What’s wrong?”
Through his tears, he manages to tell me that he can’t find his mom. My heart aches for him, remembering the fear of being lost in a crowd when I was young.
An idea strikes me, and I smile. “I tell you what. Why don’t youhop up on my shoulders? From up there, you’ll be able to see over everyone’s heads. Just point out your mom when you spot her, and I’ll take you right to her.”
His eyes widen, the tears slowing as he considers my offer. Then, with a sniffle and a nod, he reaches out his arms.
I hoist him up easily, settling him on my shoulders. He’s as light as a feather to me, and he laughs in delight as he finds himself suddenly towering over the crowd.
We move through the throng of people, his small hands gripping my hair for balance. I wince slightly but keep my pace steady, scanning the faces around us.
“There!” he cries out suddenly, his voice high and excited. “That’s my mama!”
I follow his pointing finger and spot a woman with the same dark eyes frantically searching the crowd, her face etched with worry.
I approach her, the boy bouncing on my shoulders, his earlier distress forgotten. The woman’s worried gaze lands on me, but relief washes over her features when she sees her son.
“Karlo!” she cries out, rushing forward.