[british_boy]

"Please," I said to the secutity guard, willing him to find some human kindness. "I need to find my girlfriend. I need to use the payphone."
"Pay phone in Arrivals," he snapped.
"Yes, in Arrivals. Exactly. Can I go back in?"
"No, you go to Arrivals."
"But this IS Arrivals; I've just arrived."
But even as I said it, I realised something. Nobody was waiting or meeting here. It was just a noisy taxi rank and exit point. The security guard indicated a ramp across the road, which seemed to lead to a lower level. "Arrivals," he said slowly, as if speaking to an idiot. "There."

The doubt and despair fell away, I grabbed my bags, and with a renewed sense of urgency I darted across the road. Who knew that Manila was the only airport in existance where Arrivals is not actually in Arrivals? I emerged into the sub level to a crowd of hundreds; entire families waiting for returning husbands and fathers. I glanced around but couldn't see her. Was I too late? I'd told her eleven, and it was already pushing midninght. Then I saw lettered signs: A B C; D E F; G H I. Jesus, it was so chaotic here that people had to wait in alphabetical order. Assuming these were the first letters of passengers' surnames, I made for the later letters. With my eyes scanning this sea of people like the Terminator's, I suddenly heard my name cut through the fog of humidity and fatigue. I turned, and suddenly she was there. No make-up, just her bobbed black hair pushed back; yellow t-shirt, blue jeans and flip flops. She was beautiful. Like a wave, the relief swept over me, and washed away all the worry and doubt, and I could see it in her face too. The hour before arriving at the hotel is a series of images now: Her smile; her embrace; her soft cheek; her hailing taxi in Tagalog; us holding hands in the back; her head on my shoulder; the coconut scent of her hair.

"You're shaking," she said.