November 22, 2013.  Nine months and counting from when my world ended.  Here I am on a Korean flight to Madrid. Most of the passengers are asleep, although a few are watching movies on their personal consoles.  It’s the last leg to my destination.

Mike, my beloved husband, best friend, business partner and the father of my children,  was supposed to be with me on this trip.  When we first got together 20 years ago we wrote down our goals: a van to fit our family, a house to call our own, enough funds so I wouldn’t constantly worry, a business we would be proud of, and traveling together.  Mike would write a book, I would paint.

A vociferous writer, Michael Alan Hamlin (blog: asianpundit), wrote effortlessly on business, management, current events, social issues, information technology, and the like.  Insightful and intelligent, he   had such a way with words.  Before submitting anything, he would ask me to copy edit.  Reading his work, I would fall in love with him all over again.  Mike would always encourage me to write, but in the presence of such genius, I felt wanting and humbled.

Each year on our anniversary, we would tick off what has been accomplished, and set new goals. Traveling together always stayed on that list.

Mike didn’t like traveling.  He had to travel a lot in his early years of building his business in Japan and the US. He hated the hassle of waiting at airports, getting in and off planes, dealing with luggage and taxis and porters.  He was always so organized and wanted to get to the airport three hours ahead, and then head to the lounge to read while sipping a glass of wine. He mapped out our travel plans to the letter.

I, on the other hand, love to travel!  Airports are not meant as places to sit still in. I have to go around and explore the shops, especially the bookstore.  Not that I ever bought anything. Walking and window shopping are pleasurable enough.  I would put off going to the gate to the last minute, which would stress Mike considerably.  There were close calls on one or two occasions with my name being called over the airport PA system. I can safely say that our fights, seldom though they were, revolved around airport experiences.

Later, we learned to compromise.  I stopped complaining about going early to the airport, Mike would let me gallivant around, and I made sure I returned to the lounge with enough time so as not to worry Mike.

Flying business. That was one other thing we argued about. Mike would rather not travel if he had to travel economy. He was a big man, and economy seats stifled him. We would flip back the arm rest in between us so he would have more space. Better service, access to the lounge area, shorter check in process. These were important to Mike.  We were fortunate to have airline sponsors in the early days of our company so that business class travel was possible. Later, when we had to pay for it ourselves, it was my turn to beg off travel.  There were too many other things we had to pay for: education of our children, house and car payments, and the everyday living expenses for a family of seven.

This did not stop us from dreaming of traveling together to Spain, Italy, France, Russia, Japan, China, Egypt.  Paul Bograd, Mike’s best friend, would ask us regularly to go with him and his wife Hazel on their many travels abroad. We never did, except for one glorious vacation to Melbourne’s wine vineyards.

It was July 2003. We left sunny Manila for the winter of Australia. We had just buckled our seatbelt when the breaking news came: a breakaway group of over 300 mutineers from the armed forces decided to storm Oakwood, declaring a coup. I wanted to get off the plane, worried about my children, but the plane was already taxiing off the runway. Mike held me back and said it would be alright. When we got to Singapore where we would change planes, the news was not much better.  We called home, and Dada, my mom, said everyone was fine and we should concentrate on enjoying the trip.

Well, enjoy we did. It was a four day wine tasting tour of Melbourne with Paul and Hazel. No one told me that you just tasted the wine, swirled it in your mouth and then spit it out. I dutifully drank the first glass given me, and was drunk the whole time. Oh la la! We stayed at Bed and Breakfast inns in the countryside, and each morning, kangaroos would sun themselves by the road as we passed by.

On our 20th anniversary we planned to revisit all the Southeast Asian countries where our love affair began and blossomed: Hongkong, Indonesia, Thailand, Malaysia, and Singapore.  It would be great to go back, we thought.  And now, it can never be.

As for the U.S, Mike never wanted to go back. He was so scarred from his terrible experience there where his partners and employees turned on him after he built a successful business. I insisted, however, as my baby brother and his family lived there, and I wanted to see them. We had just finished organizing the 20th anniversary of the Asian Institute of Management, and as a thank you gift, we got airline tickets to the US.

The first time we went to the US Mike was consumed with so much angst that he fell terribly sick on the plane. He couldn’t breathe and passed out.  I remember the flight attendants asking if there was a doctor on board, and a kindly Korean told me to rub Mike’s feet and keep them warm.  I was so scared I had lost Mike, and prayed really, really hard to God not to take him. He came to as we landed, and once on land, he felt so much better.

Subsequent trips to the US, though few and far between, were wonderful. One year, Mike, Niccolo and I went to the US to visit Mike’s brother Mark and his wife Valerie. We stayed at their home in Argyle, Texas for a week, and then moved to Washington to visit my sister and her family.  It was rather sad as my aunt Maria Luz died while we were in Argyle.

The last time we visited the US was to attend my sister’s wedding in Seattle.  For some reason, Mike wasn’t too keen on going to the US then, but we did manage to visit his brother too. Mike was a very private person, and never liked large gatherings, but he seemed to enjoy the wedding in Seattle at the Mount Rainier Park. We opted for a separate cabin in the woods, and it was magical.

Magical is how I would describe being with Mike on all our trips. Twice we went to Maebashi, Gunma Prefecture in Japan. The first time was a side trip from Tokyo where we had business meetings. At that time, I hardly knew anything about Mike, and he wanted to show me that part of his life where he spent his first years in Asia. Yet, he went with much trepidation, not knowing how his friends would accept him.

Mike had left Japan against the advice of his friends, after divorcing his first wife who had an affair with a student and leaving everything he had built there — a thriving language academy and a four story building — to his two children. He lost all contact with his children after he left, as his ex-wife refused to let him talk to them.

At Mercury Hotel in Maebashi, he called his friend Ebara who put down the phone on him. A short while later, his other friend Satori called, and they agreed to meet for dinner.  Apparently, Ebara had called Satori and asked him to check us out.  After dinner at a small sushi bar, I heard Satori talking excitedly on his mobile phone. I asked Mike what he was saying as it was all in Japanese, and he told me that Satori was reporting to Ebara that Mike’s new wife was not only beautiful but intelligent as well, and that he had redeemed himself from the mistakes of the past.

The next day, Ebara came to the hotel and he and Mike had a long, quiet talk. I learned later that Ebara was Mike’s mentor, and he felt the most betrayed and hurt when Mike left Japan. Later that night, I met all his friends at their club. It was a warm and happy time for Mike, surrounded by his friends who wanted to be brought up to date on everything he had done since leaving Japan.

The second time Mike and I visited Japan, we were greeted with much warmth and hospitality. Ebara lent us his weekend home up in the mountains. It was a hundred year old house with nary a nail in it. All the pieces of wood were connected by tongue and groove, like a giant Lego home except it was ancient. It was fall then, and the trees were flamboyant in their autumn colors, with the mist rising from the earth. We were alone in the woods, blissful in each other’s company. We slept on tatami rugs, dressed in Japanese robes, and I imagined how it must have been for the Samurais.

We toured Maebashi with his friends, prayed at the temple in the mountain covered with a mantle of weeping willow trees, admired the Japanese art in the museum, and visited Satori’s impressive publishing house. We enjoyed the formal tea ceremony at Satori’s house, and had dinner at Ebara’s home.

One day, Mike’s friends treated us to a fugu lunch. Knowing that the blowfish is poisonous if not prepared properly, I refused to eat until I spoke to the chef. Not knowing a word of Japanese, I brought out the album I carried of my young daughters, Bea and Cara, and showed their pictures to the chef. His friends laughed, and assured me that the chef was highly experienced and certified in the art of preparing blowfish and that I had nothing to worry about. Please, I begged, just make sure that my children will not be orphaned once I eat this meal.

Mike wasn’t much for walking, and would get tired easily. He attributed this to the fact that he had broken his leg skiing in Japan, which resulted in one leg being slightly shorter than the other.  Being an Aquarian and a fire monkey at that, I wanted to explore everything, picking up a map at the airport and checking for sights to see. Mike tried his best to keep up, but at times would rein me in to sit down and rest.

Of all the Asian cities, Hong Kong was our special place. This was where we fell in love, acknowledged our feelings for each other, and vowed to love each other as husband and wife. We got married at the Cotton Tree Marriage Registry, and had our wedding reception at The Peak, surrounded by family and close friends. We returned many, many times to celebrate our life together.

Hong Kong was also where TeamAsia was born, and together with our business partner Eugina Lee, we would organize conferences and training programs. We hosted marketing guru Philip Kotler, new age guru Deepak Chopra, Chicken Soup for the Soul author Mark Victor Hansen, and many more. We were sad when we closed our Hong Kong office when the bird flu hit.

Mike preferred staying at Hong Kong Island rather than Kowloon.  The latter was just too commercial for him. I suspect that he did not like me shopping at the outlet stores.  We had our favorite haunts: the Foreign Correspondents Club, IKEA for me and the computer stores for Mike.  Always we returned to The Peak to review our goals and write them afresh. We always ordered the same menu we had for our wedding: naan bread with smoked salmon and caviar for starters, Pad Thai and red duck curry.  What creatures of habit we were!

Two years ago, Mike, Bea, Cara, Niccolo and I went to Hongkong. It was the best family vacation we had. Breakfasts were at the HK Foreign Correspondents Club. We had a fantastic dinner at a Vietnamese restaurant in Lang Kwai Fong, explored our usual haunts, walked up and down Hollywood Road and Cat’s Street, rode the long street elevator, and just had great fun together showing the children all our special places.

It was to Hong Kong where Cara, Niccolo and I escaped after Mike’s funeral. We needed to be somewhere we were happy once, away from the maddening crowd, to be with each other in our grief.

It was a very dark time in our lives.  And I am still in gasping for air.

Madrid was a different high for us. Mike loved to sit at the Plaza de Espana, drinking wine and eating pimientos de padron and olives, while I walked around with my friend Celia Teves. With my mom and sister Pinky, we toured Cordoba, Sevilla and Granada, a gift from Tita Conchi, my mom’s elder sister.

A photography enthusiast, Mike loved taking photos of the architecture, the landscape, and me. He and I soaked in the beauty of Spain.  On the last night of our tour, we celebrated our wedding anniversary on a hilltop tavern in Granada.  He sang to me, and we danced underneath the stars. Magical!  We promised ourselves we would return, and here I am in Madrid, without Mike holding my hand. But I know I know in my heart of hearts that he is with me, savoring every moment of this experience. And so begins my European adventure.  And my promise to begin writing. Mike, this is for you.  Aishiteiru, forever and a day.