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On friendships that matter

In my line of work as a law enforcer at the international airport, we encounter a lot of dramatic incidents, complicated scenarios and interesting stories of all kinds.         

One night, a European guy in his mid-20s, traveling alone, was subjected to the  secondary inspection.

It was the passenger’s first time in our capital city. He had a hotel accommodation and a confirmed return ticket. He declared he was a a young IT professional but he could not present any document to prove so. He was here to join friends for pleasure. 

He had no credit cards and had the minimum cash at hand for a ten-day pleasure stay. Per our policy and standards, his admission to enter the country was hanging in the balance.

One factor would help him pass through the borders — if he had sponsors, relatives or friends who could vouch for him, people of good immigration standing in the country who knew him.

As he was in fact joining friends for this vacation, he was relieved and ecstatic.  He showed us pictures on his phone with his friends whom he was meeting in Manila - photos of them in parties, bars and fun places. He was confident of his bond with them and started calling them, confident of their support.

I personally talked to a male and a female over the phone, both of his nationality. I explained to them that they could help their friend if they can attest to have invited him, and if they could send us copies of their passports, visas or verifiable documents. They seemed to be decent people.

The passenger was on the phone for some time. None of his friends vouched for him, no invitation arrived. The guy was denied admission and was immediately sent back to where he came from.

I was sad about his exclusion. Not so much because he missed to enjoy my tropical country. This is a big world with so many beautiful places to visit. 

I was sad for him because at the moment when he needed someone, anyone the most — none showed up.   

Outside the family, I have very few true and real friends. I prefer and I love to be alone. I have a poor social life. I may even be socially inept. I do not know which is more tragic — to seem to have few or no friends or to believe that you have plenty and none showing up at your most critical times. 

The passenger above left with a wounded soul.    

After all, it is not how many friends we can count - but how many we can count on.

. . .

 Before you go -

In times of great need - who will show up for you? Who would you show up for?

People and time are precious—let us not squander ourselves on those who don’t value us.

. . .

Thank you for reading my essay. My name is Abigail Ortega. I write warm, poignant essays and short stories. I also paint simple artworks. If you like to read more of my work, you may join our newsletter here:  https://afto.myflodesk.com/qj13kigo4b.