May 15, 2012
My So-called [social] Life

Sometimes, more often than I care to admit, I realize I’m standing back in situations I’m not totally comfortable in. As events unfold, I try categorize the reasons why I don’t feel up to battling the challenges they present.

     More often than not, I assign my discomfort as most likely a result of:

          a) A difference in culture that I’m still learning to grow accustomed to.

          b) My personal experience/education tells me something isn’t right.

          c) Someone’s personality makes me uncomfortable , or lastly, the dumpster category

          d) Everything about the situation is just plain weird.

Here’s an example of a category A or D situation - still parsing out which.

Sometimes I opt to walk the five minutes to work instead of riding my bike. It’s funny, on these days -without fail- at least one neighbor will ask me where my bike is and if it’s broken. Walking home, I stopped by the store near my old host-family’s house to buy some rice. I purchased a ½ kilo of ‘bigás’, prepared for the routine of explaining that, yes, I am only one person so “Only a ½ kilo will be perfect, yes thank you.” Every time I buy rice (not often) it’s gotten easier to reassure the salesman that the small amount of rice I ordered was exactly what I asked for and is quite enough for me. I bought my rice and trotted down the road.

I approached one of the more noisy family compounds and noticed an elderly woman walking on the same side as me and coming towards me. She was carrying a couple of half-full and half-wet plastic bags at each side. We were close to passing each other and she slowed down. I nodded saying “Magandang Hapon” (good afternoon) and gave her a hurried smile. My ‘friendly-I’ll-smile-and-wave-at-you-no-matter-who-you-are approach’ has worked, softening the skepticism of some of the hardest old ladies in my community, with few exceptions. More often than not, I am rewarded with eye contact of the kindest sort and a large toothy grin.

This lady presented me with a fake half-smile, and stuck out her hand, saying (in Tagalog) something along the lines of: “You just purchased a bag of rice, so you should give me 5 pesos.” I hadn’t anticipated an actual conversation following our general greeting, and had only slowed my gait a little bit as I approached her. By the time my brain realized what the old woman said, she was already a few feet behind me. I kept walking, brushing off her request as if I hadn’t understood. I have never given money to anyone with their hand out, and I most certainly knew I didn’t want to start in my community.

I decided a long time ago that instead of identifying and discriminating between people and neighbors in my community, I would treat everyone the same, sending out friendly greetings all over the place, but not slowing my pace or overall trajectory (my host-parents excepted) - If I stopped and chatted every time someone said ‘hello’ or ‘good morning’, I would be delayed literally hours trying to make it where I was going.

I arrived home a few minutes later quite bewildered. Was it some sort of custom to give people money if they found out you had just bought bigás (uncooked rice)? Filipinos are notorious for being incredibly generous (especially with food) and buying rice was such a rare occurrence for me, maybe I just made a big social taboo by not giving that Lola (grandmother) 5 pesos. This was the first time anyone had ever hit me up for money in my city, and the fact that she had said I should give it to her because of my purchase of rice, made me think I was ignorant of some unknown cultural practice.

While I pondered on which category this would fit into for a few minutes, I realized I had to refill my water jug. I set my rice down, grabbed the jug, and retraced my steps back to the house I buy water from. I was only a few feet from my house when I spotted the Lola again, this time we were facing the same direction (she was apparently quite the slow commuter). I didn’t want to draw any attention to myself, which is actually kind of a joke here considering how tall, curly, white, and large I am, but regardless, I tried; and kept my gaze on the road ahead. It wasn’t until I was a few feet away from her that I realized she was urinating beneath her semi-hiked up skirt on the side of the road. She ignored me as well, and I walked the rest of the way to buy water.

I’d love to tell you that I maintained my cool, but I’m not a good liar, and I’m pretty sure my face lit up like a little kids in recognition after I realized what she was up (or down) to. In all these months that I’ve seen men urinating on the side of the road (I bet I could spot at least forty guys with their pants unzipped on the side of the road on my way to Manila), in almost two years, I have never EVER seen a woman urinating in public! I have to admit it brightened my day a little bit - Women’s equality right!? And it clarified that this, and the episode earlier, most likely goes under Category D – plain weird.

**Update! I asked my counterpart about the occurrence, and if there was a cultural connection between giving money and having bought rice. She said, no and that people also go around her residential area knocking on doors and begging. She doesn’t give out money because she doesn’t want a line outside her door, but she does tell them they can pick whatever vegetables they want from her little garden. ***

***(Long) Update #2! I met, in-person, the couple who contacted me via the internet almost a year and a half ago. They found me, after reading the article about how I’m an Auburn Alumni volunteer in the Philippines and how the only Auburn game I saw was the the National Championship game at the Ambassador’s Residence. I was so excited when Joe (If I remember right, Political Science class of ‘93), and his wife Mary Rose, befriended me on Facebook and told me they were planning a trip to the Philippines in May 2012, and asked me if would I like to meet up for a drink.

Aside from two friends I met through a mutual friend in college, who’d flown here to visit Ben and Molly, also Auburn Alumni, I knew this was the closest thing I’ll get to visitors. I came to learn about the Swart family over the next year-and-a-half thanks to our ‘Facebook’ friendship. I saw their lives through picture updates, and enjoyed learning about an absolutely beautiful family growing up healthy and happy in New York City. After my initial excitement, I let my anxiety catch up with me – I know the Auburn Family link is a strong connection, but after my sister Keela asked me why I ‘talked too slow,’ I couldn’t help but wonder if this couple, who lived in New York, would talk too fast, and in addition, think I was slow because of my new pace.

My fears were completely dissipated after quick and informal introductions and I realized they had familiar and long-lost (for me) southern accents. I feel I should mention that if you have even the slightest hint of an American accent that makes us best-friends; add on top of that a southern accent, and we’re friends for life. I sat at the table and relished a lingering feeling of being reunited with with long-lost family members. The food was really excellent, and I’m not just saying that because they paid for it – it was really good and fair priced. I think if I was so inclined to go on a date, it would be there. It was fancy, but not too fancy. In addition to each of us ordering an entree, we also had appetizers (this was the first hint that I was no longer in VolunteerWorld). I learned that Mary Rose had grown up in the southern part of Luzon before her and her family relocated to New York in the 80’s. And Joe talked about being raised in Albertville (Mary Rose even mentioned Boaz, which brought up memories of Outlet shopping with Granny. Later, I’d wished I had brought up Unclaimed Baggage to see if they would voice any recognition). We talked about growing up in the south and moving away from home, and how no matter where you are, it is always in your heart (if not your accent). They ordered a bottle of red wine and I couldn’t resist ordering a high gravity beer (the first time I’ve seen it on a menu). Had I not still been trying to make a good 1st impression, I would have squealed in delight and cried tears of joy over that beer. Man, it was nice. After TWO bottles of red wine and TWO desserts, we left the restaurant in full American mode (that is, in a private SUV).

We went to a ‘speak easy,’ without any signage, and where you knocked on an unmarked door with a view-slot in order to be let in. I heard two ladies loitering in the parking lot smoking cigarettes say the password was ‘chef,’ but I’m not wholly certain that we had to produce a password. Once inside, I went straight to the bathroom (a quickly-trained habit when you find yourself a patron of a nice place in Manila). There, I found by far the nicest toilet paper I have seen in about two years. I only pocketed a few extra squares because I didn’t want to jinx my good fortune, but as it turns out, my good fortune wasn’t over. Even though I tried to pay for my drink - one drink cost almost as much as my monthly housing rent…although I made it a point not to be overly vocal about how much things were costing in the genuine hopes that they might let me pay for my drinks, but Joe and Mary Rose would have nothing of it. I tried to explain that I had only agreed to ‘a drink’ which meant I was now responsible for my beverages, but it was to no avail and they maintained -insanely generously- that the night was their treat. They said I could keep the money instead of giving it to them, and spend it on the kids at my center. It actually would go quite far at my center, with one drink equaling about 100 servings of ‘dirty ice cream,’ which is to say that it’s sold from a street vendor. I plan to host an ice cream party, with thanks given to Joe and Mary Rose, hopefully before the summer is out.

We went to one other bar after leaving the speak easy, it was also nice, but I was already jaded by the incredible toilet paper and cozy conversation of the first. After a night of good company, good food, good drinks, and many, many thanks, I said a heartfelt goodbye to the newest members of my incredible Auburn Family.

(They brought an Auburn/New York T-shirt as Pasaloubong -a gift from where they came- and it is so AUsome!)

12:55am  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZIzcEyLWFGFX
(Notes: 1)
  
April 27, 2012
Practice. Practice. Practice.

I think to say that I have read a lot recently, even for a volunteer, would be an understatement. In the last two months I’ve read nine books: The Rise of David Levenski, Honey and the Horn, Survival of the Sickest, The Girl Who Played with Fire, The Girl Who Kicked the Hornets Nest, All the Pretty Horses, The Road, Madam Secretary, and The Ordinary Seaman, making fifteen total for this year and forty-three since November of 2010. Yep, I’ve been counting.

I’ve developed a beginning ability to discriminate, and appreciate the differences in writing techniques and character development among authors. I know it must be obvious, but I only recently began to comprehend what a skill and a gift it is to be able to -and to actually want to- tell a story that can last thousands of pages. I certainly don’t have the ability or the inclination to tell a long story verbally, but I have discovered that writing things down makes me feel better.

I have been practicing on my guitar (a little). Unfortunately, I have not had the patience or the determination enough to develop callouses. I am also unable to transition gracefully between chords; but for the past week I have practiced, albeit for only a few minutes, everyday. My new appreciation for novelists has also influenced my awe of musicians and song writers who tell stories and play instruments with incredible creativity and originality all at the same time. Some people are absolutely incredible at all of it,while others make me want to sew my ears up forever. I suppose learning to play an instrument is kind of like learning a new language - it’s hard to feel encouraged when every sound you make makes you want to stop trying all together. I hope I find the resolve, and continue practicing- my Tagalog and guitar, but the slow progress makes me wonder if, when six months is over, I will be able to say that I’ve learned an actual skill.

5:02am  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZIzcEyKPeMCc
April 21, 2012
People Grow

A few weeks ago I learned through facebook that another one of my friends from high school passed away. His passing marks the sixth friend from my youth who has taken his own life. We spent time together when I was 14 and just started high school. I considered him a good friend, and although I hadn’t spoken to him in many, many, years, his premature passing makes me incredibly sad. I began writing about my feelings, and depression, and life, and death, and while I believe there is an immense value in talking about those issues openly, I decided to postpone posting it, in the hopes maybe I’ll get a better hold of my thoughts.

That said, this post is completely unrelated, but then again I suppose everything is related. It has been a long, hard, journey to get where I am, but I am mastering the ability to look around and be grateful. Everyday makes me look forward to each new day, and the day after, and the day after that. I try to appreciate all of the difficult trials and personal issues that brought me to the exact spot I stand. It’s those experiences that I carry with me to guide me on my path into tomorrow.

Last night I returned from a three-day regional sports festival for children and youth who live in residential centers (government or non-government). It’s the outing that the kids look forward to most. They see siblings and friends who they lived and played with before being transferred to my center. This year, we brought 32 of the kids (most with mild disabilities), and four houseparents (direct care staff) on the 3 hour journey to a neighboring Provence. We camped inside a high school classroom with a couple of electric fans. My counterpart cooked and cleaned, making five meals a day for around 40 kids and staff. We gathered under the trees in the high school courtyard (it was much cooler outside). My memories of the sports festival are going to be some of the best from my service, but right now I’m just grateful to be home. I was so tired each day though that I slept surprisingly well on the concrete floor, laying on my dirty folded-up clothes from the previous day to cushion my bones.

I think the sports festival was like the music festivals I’ve been to - It’s one of those life events where your memories keep getting better and better after the fact. The passing of time makes you forget about the incredible heat, the cramped sleeping conditions, and the exhaustion; leaving only the happiness of the children and the memories of the games you played. I was struck and awed by how incredibly difficult and rewarding it is to serve as a surrogate parent to 30+ children (with disabilities) all at once.

I found myself genuinely smiling. It had been a long time. I’m most always happy, but my daily disposition is pretty neutral, maybe it’s a defense mechanism, maybe it’s maturity, but either way, it is rare for me to have a strong emotion (negative or positive). At the festival, I found myself surrounded by amazingly beautiful children who all called me ‘Mommy,’ even the 17 year old! They call the houseparents ‘mommy’ and ‘daddy’ (which, I’ll admit, I’m now comfortable with after almost two years). They would run up to me and grab hold of my hand/shirt/arm/hair/pants/foot, anything they could latch onto. They were so happy to be out of the center and to have a piece of my undivided attention; it also helped that I can now understand and reply to most of the Tagalog they spoke to me. I thought after a day or two that their greetings would eventually fade, but every single time they saw me I was without fail greeted with the brightest smiles of the most amazing children. If I was alone, they would find me and sit by me, or grab hold of my hand and lead me around for hours. For three days I had thirty children.

At first I was concerned that I would be overwhelmed by the intensity of the living situation, but I actually loved it. I was lucky because I didn’t have an assignment like the other staff, so I got to do whatever I felt like. I helped prepare meals and unload the bus, and after I went to play with the kids and watch them compete in the races. I missed the festival last year because of a training, but I honestly don’t think I would have enjoyed it as much because I hadn’t built the relationships with the staff and kids yet. I also hadn’t developed the personal skills or confidence needed to go up to strangers and introduce myself. I’m proud of my ability to do that now, and I connected with a lot of social workers and other volunteers. I met people from the States, as well as Germany and Japan. It was really great meeting like-minded people from all over the world who are motivated by similar goals.

My friend Pa came to the festival for one of the nights, and it was nice to get to see her. I also spent a lot of time with another volunteer, Lucy, who’s based out of Olongapo. She also works with kids with disabilities, mostly visual and hearing impaired. Her group came to the Philippines last year, and we met during her pre-training when I was a resource volunteer for them. It had been a while since I’d seen her, but we quickly caught up, and over the course of the festival she helped assess a few of the children with hearing and speech impairments. Even though most of my kid’s signs are ‘home’ signs, she was able to teach us some basic American Sign Language and carry on conversations with them in sign language. It was really great seeing everyone connect, and for my kids to have a new friend to chat with. Lucy invited me to a party she’s hosting in May and I really hope I make it to see her again and visit with everyone (there are 5 volunteers in and around her city).

After leaving the festival I had a new appreciation of my living and work arrangements. Although I’m not geographically isolated, I am isolated from foreigners. I’m the only Peace Corps volunteer in Tarlac, my Provence (which is similar to a state), making the nearest volunteer around 2 ½ – 3 hours away. At the festival I realized it had been quite a long time since I spent an extended amount of time with native English speakers. I’ve passed through Manila for dental appointments, but my interactions with other volunteers was brief; and in Palawan most of the conversations going on around me were in Tagalog (even among other American volunteers) I’m fortunate to have close relationships with my co-workers; I’m able to talk with them openly, but it’s nice to chat with someone who’s dealing with similar adjustment issues. I also discovered that while I love hanging out with other volunteers, it’s the deprivation of company that makes it so rewarding for me.

I have befriended some absolutely incredible people. I consider Peace Corps a club that I’m honored to be a part of because of fellow volunteers. I’ve also been particularly struck by how normal the married volunteers are. I’m impressed at their ability to balance the intensity of service in addition to their marriage with another person – all the while still being normal people. It makes me wonder about my peculiar personality, and my inclination to isolate myself. Meeting someone who I’d want to spend an extended period of time with (and vice-versa) still seems like an incredibly remote possibility, but I suppose I’ll consider just the idea a form of personal progress.

7:07am  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZIzcEyK0vhai
April 8, 2012
My week.

SUNDAY I spent the day after the despedida party sleeping in at my friend Pa’s house (she’s pictured in the white Peace Corps T-Shirt in the last entry). Pa and I trained together in Olongapo Aug 2010-Nov 2010, and swore in together. She came to my site last November and helped with the HIV/AIDS training I did at my center, and we also got to spend Christmas together at our friend Aja’s house. It was a perfect Sunday, sleeping in, chatting with Pa, and then helping her cook chicken curry noodles with fresh local chicken and produce as well as special ingredients that her mom sent from home. After eating, Pa insisted on being my kasama (partner) while I went to the main road and waited for a bus going north. It didn’t take too long, and pretty soon I was on my way home. It was dark, but not very late, when I arrived at my stop on the highway. My pack was light, and I already spent a lot of money on transportation getting to the party; plus it was an incredibly cool and beautiful evening, so I decided to walk home instead of paying a trike driver the ‘special’ fare (which goes up from 10 pesos to 60 after 6pm). It’s a straight shot, and under forty-five minutes to my house, plus the road is newly paved and fairly well lit the majority of the way. I walked this trip numerous times, not only do I really enjoy walking itself, but I think the surrounding pastures are much more beautiful when illuminated by moonlight, plus, one night I saw no less than 5 shooting stars. Those walks made everything feel at peace and in place. On my last trip, though, I encountered a dog that was quite angry at my walking down the road. He got a little too close for comfort, so every time after, I’ve made sure to bend down as a dog approached (it scares them away because they think you’re picking up a rock to throw at them) and just in case, I always had a few rocks ready in my hand. Having to arm myself with rocks took away a bit of the tranquility, but walking was still worth it to me. On this trip, coming home from Pa’s, I had walked about a ¼ of the way home in absolute peace. I passed an internet shop along the way, and didn’t really think anything of it until shortly after I noticed a boy walking behind me about 10 yards. This isn’t unusual, as there are lots of pedestrians on the road; but what was odd was that when I slowed my gait, he slowed his as well. This was the first time that ever happened. Usually, when I slow down, people will pass me on their normal trajectory. This kid not only didn’t pass me, but he was doing a poor job of mimicking my pace. I sped up, he sped up. I slowed down, he slowed down. After a few minutes I realized that this was not an ideal situation, and once I saw he was only a few feet from me I turned to acknowledge him and say good evening. I also asked where he was going (not an uncommon greeting here) he seemed a little jumpy, but answered my question by saying that he lived near me and was going to the same town I was going. He started to invade my personal space, and after I said I wasn’t interested, he became more persistent and walked closer to me. I expressed myself very sternly and clearly once more and then crossed the street to distance myself, but soon after realized he was not planning to leave me alone. After a few seconds, I decided it would be a good idea to get away from him, so I flagged a trike down. After the kid saw I was getting outside assistance, he ran into the field and out of sight. It turned out that the trike driver who stopped to pick me up was a friend, and offered to take me home for free, but I insisted on paying the special fare, and told him that I was grateful because he helped me. I am not typically a nervous, or superstitious person, but I do believe that everything is connected; so when a long established routine that was perfect suddenly starts to go wrong (a vicious dog followed by a bothersome teenager) I’m inclined to take those occurrences a a sign that it’s better to pay the special fare and be grateful for the fact that my walks lasted as long as they did. MONDAY I finished reading The Girl Who Played With Fire. Carl sent them a while ago, they are such good books that I’ve had to space them out with other books so I don’t just run through the whole series in a few days. It took a few years after grad school, but I have finally learned to love reading again. TUESDAY Today was ‘swimming.’ It’s the only day in the whole year where all of the residents get to leave the center on a field trip. Last year we went on a field trip to a creek that looked a good deal like Tuskegee National Forrest, but this year we went to a regular old pool. The kids didn’t seem to care where they were, just as long as they were out of the center. It was the first time I’ve seen the cerebral palsy kids leave the center, and the staff actually had them in the pool, using floaties, playing with the other kids. Getting all 79 of the residents out of the center, with about 10 staff, is an incredible feat, but they managed to get everyone to the pool in waves, taking about 20 at a time in a borrowed city van. And I have to admit that I was a little concerned when I saw a memo that stated: “Lifeguard = Security Guard, responsible for head count of 79 residents.” It wasn’t until I saw our security guard leap over the fence that surrounded the pool, and jump in fully clothed to drag out one of the teenagers who’d had a seizure, that I realized they weren’t kidding around. Thinking I may be one of the only staff who new CPR, I ran over to see the resident and was relieved when he started coughing and turning over. That was the closest I’ve ever gotten to using it, and I’m glad that I haven’t had to. After that, there weren’t any life-threatening incidents, but I couldn’t help but laugh after I saw one of the older boys getting kicked out of the pool for bathing. He had found a bar of laundry soap somewhere and had gotten as far as lathering his hair and arm pits before staff realized what he was doing and kicked him out of the pool. You can’t blame the kid for trying. WEDNESDAY I went to the mayor’s office to use his wifi and send some emails. I was just getting settled in the conference room when two men came up to the table. A man with a mustache introduced me to his friend (apparently the mustached man was well acquainted with who I was, but I couldn’t remember who he was, and I was too polite to ask his name in front of his friend who he just proudly introduced me to). After chatting for a few seconds, he mentioned that we lived in the same barangay, and mentioned to his friend that he would very much like to wash my laundry. Since he wasn’t speaking directly to me, I gathered that I could ignore his comment (I prefer to wash my own clothes, and this was not the first solicitation I’d gotten in the matter). And a;fter that topic didn’t get anywhere he asked me if I had a boyfriend. I said no, that I did not have a boyfriend, and then his friend said something that I didn’t quite understand (most of the conversation was in Tagalog). After asking him to repeat a few words, he realized that I didn’t understand the whole topic of the conversation and flat out asked me in English if I was a “T-Bird.” I told him that, even in English, I was not familiar with the term, and so he rephrased by asking me if I was a lesbian. I couldn’t help but smile after I realized what he and his friend had been discussing about me over the last few sentences. I said no, I am not a lesbian, and, deciding to curtail the next topic, stated that I am busy with work and not interested in finding a boyfriend. The mustached man nodded in agreement with this, and explained to me that I’m more attractive up front (apparently more so than at a distance) and they both seemed to agree with that statement. The two men left the office shortly after, and after a quick recap, decided that I rather liked our conversation, and that I don’t mind in the least if people thought I was a lesbian, or otherwise unavailable. THURSDAY I’m sitting at the office eating a piece of cake that my counterpart brought from town, and we’re talking about Holy Week traditions. “We’re fasting Thursday and Friday” my two office mates say, as they eat a large piece of cake. “What do you mean? Are you are fasting on cake?” “No.” I finished reading “All the Pretty Horses” and have decided to plan a trip through Mexico some day. FRIDAY I slept till 9am, later than usual because its a holiday, and I know no one is expecting me at the office. I boil some tap water for my instant coffee because my purified drinking water reserves are getting low. While I wait for the water to heat up, I step outside to buy a small pack of laundry detergent from my land lord. He says good morning, and five youth who are loitering around step aside so they can observe my attempts to buy a bar of laundry soap (there’s not much entertainment around these parts). I try my Tagalog, but somehow always forget the key vocabulary word and end up resorting to sign language (balling up my fists and scrubbing my wrists together in a circular motion). Once back inside, I shut the gas stove off and decide to go ahead and get some laundry soaking while I’m at work. I remember the man at the Mayor’s office who asked if I was a lesbian, and had three times within the course of two minutes, advertised his desire to wash my laundry (as a means for extra income). I wasn’t interested in finding someone to wash my laundry, and decided not to elaborate on my reasoning. The going rate in my community for two weeks worth of laundry is around P300, which also happens to be the equivalent of a cheap bottle of wine. I decided long ago that I’d much rather wash my laundry while drinking a bottle of wine than pay someone else to do it. This morning, I decided to choose the easy stuff: shirts. These I won’t have to go over again with the laundry bar. It is a holiday after all. Shirts are easy because I just let them soak in the soap and I can get by only scrubbing the important bits (the armpits and the collars) before wringing them out, soaking them in clean water, and then ringing them out again before putting them on a hanger, plus, shirt fabric, as opposed to what pants are made of, isn’t so rough on the hands. I drink my instant coffee and wonder about the kinds of chemicals I put into my body everyday, and get ready to head out the door. I put my keys and wallet in my backpack and catch my profile in the mirror. I can’t believe how far this backpack has brought me. I remember the pride I took in it because it was the first Northface item I’d ever owned, and a brand new gift from my sister (which is pretty special considering she is the re-gifting thrift store/hand-me-down queen). It was an expensive gift, in lieu of a graduation present, that she gave me when I started college at Southern Union in 2002. After seeing myself in the mirror, I felt a strong desire to take the backpack with me back to school and get a PhD. It’s Good Friday and I’m the only one in the office. Not even one houseparent comes knocking on the door with a request that I cannot fill (which happens, on average, about five times on a typical work day). I scan the office computer for viruses and find two. I use our new printer/scanner (Yay for grants!) to upload the resident’s graphed and summarized BMI data. I’m grateful that some have made progress, but I’m still concerned because a few are still graphing 10-13 kilos underweight. I shamelessly sit at my desk with my earphones plugged in and Eddie Vedder is my only company. I realize how intensely I value the opportunity to work independent of interruptions. I love my office mates, but today was a wonderful day.

11:13am  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZIzcEyJIl3NE
(Notes: 1)
  
April 3, 2012
Balut, Tamilok Worms, Fish Eyeballs – the Path to Happiness.

It’s hard to believe that we’re already in April. I, without a doubt, say that what I heard about the second year of service flying-by is absolutely true. Opportunities in terms of trainings, community relationships, work assignments, and my overall quality of life here in the Philippines seem to have picked up uncontrollably, and I don’t think it will stop until I’m literally headed out the door.

(working hard but having fun)

These past few weeks have been filled to the absolute brim with work, travel, and fun. I’ve been looking forward to this, home, where I have the time and inclination to sit and reflect. A haven of a few days without worry about what will come next. Don’t get me wrong, there’s lots and lots coming up – we received the $500 mushroom grant – YAY! – plus, we’re only half way through spending the funds on the developmental assessment grant; we’re measuring, graphing, and training of houseparents on how to target the ideal body mass indexes of the residents; trying out various livelihood projects; working on re-grouping and reorganizing the special education services for over fifty of the residents at the center; and we’re starting to write a proposal for a water-based grant that would conserve rain water and cut down on the center’s water bill. So I feel so fortunate to have a few days interim where I don’t have to feel the pressure of a single one of those activities.

You do the best you can. You take care of yourself. Bahala na. What will be will be.

The Philippines has taught me so much.

***

I was in Manila earlier this week *aaaaaalmost done with my dental work* on my way back from an amazing work → vacation → work → vacation trip on Palawan, the island west of Luzon and home to the amazingly gorgeous town of El Nido as well as the progressive Puerto Princessa City (hope to write more about that trip later).

(pictures of adventures on Palawan)

Passing through Manila for dental let me spend some time with a few of the last volunteers still in-country who began their service in 2009. They make me wonder what my own transition outside of the Philippines will be like. A few in the group leaving – Jessica, Tom, Leah, Maria, and Phil, represent a group who I’ve had the benefit of getting to know over the course of my service. They’ve been friends, peer-mentors, role-models, and partners in crime.

(at Phil’s ‘Despedida’, his going away party)

The linear path of service guarantees that I can expect to face whatever transitions or issues they’ve gone through – community integration, program development, applying for grants, wrapping up projects, grad-school applications, and readjustment after Peace Corps. This group of volunteers are a special bunch- they represent those brave souls who decided to extend service by 6 months. Technically, they could have finished last year, but they decided to commit an additional six months, on top of 27 months.

(Phil’s party, and his speech completely in Tagalog were incredibly inspiring)

I’ve been asked by my host agency, as well as PC staff, if I’m considering an extension. At first I was honored that they would ask; so I kind of smiled and shrugged off the question, avoiding a definitive answer. Many volunteers are encouraged to extend, and while happy to not be excluded from that bunch, I joined the Peace Corps with a devout faith in the established system, where volunteers whole-heartedly donate two years of their lives to development work for their host agency, with the clear expectation that time allotted is limited and well spent. I love my life here, and my work is incredibly rewarding; however, I can say with out a doubt that two years of volunteering will be enough.

I left the U.S. certain of my career path, but I now live in a relaxed state of complete uncertainty. I feel an obligation to myself to sort it out as soon as time reasonably permits (that is, after leaving the Philippines in November, after backpacking around the world for a few months, and after lots of good quality friend & family time). I know I will be a behavior analyst forever, but I have not identified a satisfactory role within the systems I’ve worked that I could see myself comfortably fitting back into. I suppose you could say I’ve made a little progress in ruling out a few of the roles I’m not so keen on. There’s also progress in the fact that I’ve ruled out two places I don’t want to live while I’m still in my twenties (Alabama and the Philippines). I love both, Alabama will always be my home; and the Philippines will always be an amazingly beautiful and hospitable paradise – but neither feel right for me personally or professionally; leaving the rest of the free-world open for me to explore and figure out where I belong.

***

As my “close of service” draws nearer (20/27 months), I hope to fill this blog with the many, many, things that I’ve learned about the world and about myself during my time here. One of the most recent, and by far the most drastic, has been the change in my diet. It would be an understatement to say that my newly formed relationship with food, compared to before, has completely changed my life.

My choice to start eating meat again, after over a decade, was partially based on the special treatment I was getting from my center as a vegetarian. It took me a year too long to own up to the fact that my center making me a special meat-free lunch 5 days a week was an unfair burden. I would bring my lunch, but even still my counterparts would insist that the cook make something extra for me. After making the switch, it took some effort to come to terms and embrace it, first I ate vegetables cooked with the meat, eventually eating the meat; but ever since October of last year, there’s been no looking back. I feel like a better, more adventurous, easier-going, and happier person. I don’t regret my choice to be a vegetarian (which I’ve written about before), that worked for me for over half my life, and just as I was a proud vegetarian in the deep-south, I am now a proud to be a carnivorous volunteer because my center doesn’t have to cook for 82 children, 25 staff, and 1 vegetarian everyday. I welcome this new and exciting chapter in my life.

As of now, I’ve tried Balut twice (with the help of good friends and cold Red Horse), I was semi-tricked into eating a small bite of the Pampangan delicacy aso (dog =/) at my friend Phil’s despedida (going away party), I ate a large fish’s eyeball, and I slurped a raw Tamilok (wood worm) dipped in vinegar.

(blurry pic at Matt and Krystal’s, they’re homemade tacos were frekin’ delicious!)

Here’s a link to a video I found of a guy eating Tamilok (a delicacy of Palawan). The one I ate wasn’t nearly that big or gnarly, but I still feel like a bad-ass nonetheless.

(eating Balut)

http://www.dailymotion.com/video/xapswz_madventures-tamilok-worms-in-the-ph_travel

Love and miss you guys and wish you were all on this adventure with me!

11:53pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZIzcEyJ2zGUG
(Notes: 1)
  
February 28, 2012
My Videotape

*The descriptions in Italics describe pictures that actually aren’t related to the post at all, but thought it would be nice to try and break up all the word-action going on*

(As close to happiness/home cookin’ as I’m going to get)

I’ve been having trouble falling asleep. My mind is on and ready to go after 11 pm. It’s like it’s the overflow from not being able to turn my brain on before 9 am. I’ve started watching what I eat and drink in the afternoons in hopes that I would curtail laying in bed until 2 am. Being mindful of my diet hasn’t helped as much as I thought it would, and it’s doubly hard laying there, upset with myself for allowing this slight, unnerving, change in my usually obedient nature to overtake my night for hours.

(Picture of a beautiful sunset as I was leaving the center)

It was when I was laying in bed one night that I realized I hold songs with their tune in my head. It’s often just a few verses, but they play over and over and over and over on repeat. Most of the time I don’t even realize I’m doing it, and once I do, it’s impossible to shut it off. I found out I can switch the tune though, by thinking of a calmer song. My recent favorite is, Videotape from Radiohead’sIn Rainbows. I pretty much only know the basic parts of the tune and the first words, which are something like, “When I’m at the pearly gates, this’ll be on my videotape,” along with the chorus, which is just Thom Yorke singing “on videotape” over and over. I let my abbreviated version of the song play over and over in my head, until I forget what I was originally thinking, and I eventually land in the beginning stages of sleep. I love that this song helps put me to sleep; but awake, it has led me to think of what might play on my ‘videotape.’


(I Spy….my new roommate! If you look closely you can find him too! I just don’t have the heart to poison him, so we’ve decided to become friends)

Something I neglected to do has been bothering me for a while. I know it is so trivial, it’s borderline ridiculous, but nonetheless it has continued to bother me. When I was in Singapore, walking down a paved path, on my way out of the Botanic Park, I passed by a few workers alongside the road who were watering plants and trimming trees. As I walked down the hill I could hear the familiar sound of water inside a hose that was caught with a kink in it. I was only a few steps away from the hose, with the worker up the hill a ways behind me. As I passed, I could have easily bent down to untangle the line, but something kept me walking, and I didn’t stop to help. I turned to see the gardener walking down the hill to where I had been, and thought of how after untangling the line, he would have to walk back up the hill to where his work was. Immediately after walking out of the park, I wanted to go back and apologize to the man for not helping him; but I knew an apology would mostly serve my own interest, and be made especially difficult via an assumed language barrier. I wished I had bent down to untangle the hose.

In the spirit of freeing ones conscience, which this blog often times affords me, I would like to apologize to Jon.

Jon was a neighbor near Alan Avenue when I was in middle school. He was new that year, and he was Polish. He had an odd haircut and an even odder accent; although I can’t recall ever speaking a word to him. He was incredibly quiet, and in the intensely limited world of a pre-teen girl, I often forgot he existed. We never did neighborly things (which in our neighborhood wouldn’t have been encouraged anyways), but I was acquainted with him because our bus stops were close together.

If there was a heavy rainstorm, instead of making me wait in the rain, my dad would drive me to school early. I relished these days because it was an exciting mix-up in the routine that felt special. My dad and I loaded up in the ‘Silver Bullet’ (an AstroVan, which due to transmission issues was unable to reverse, making the act of parking somewhat entertaining and a little embarrassing if there weren’t any ‘pull-through’ spaces available). It was on those rainy days that I said a little prayer to myself, in hopes we wouldn’t see Jon in front of his house. To this day, I can’t say if I was more embarrassed for Jon to see our van, or to be seen with Jon in the van. Even as I saw him standing on the side of the road in the rain, I would beg and plead with my dad not to stop and pick him up. Of course my dad would always stop to pick him up, and then mortify me even more by making small talk on the way to school. I don’t know if Jon knew how much I wished him to remain in the rain, but I’m sure with my attitude, and the not-so-sunny disposition I had started to perfect, that my wishes were no mystery. A delusional part of me hopes with all my heart that he did not know how severely and silently chastised him for being so weird. After that year the bus routes changed, and my path did not cross with Jon again. I hope he found friends and happiness in a culture that didn’t seem to readily embrace or accept differences. This shameful memory only recently cropped up after listening to Crazy Mary by Pearl Jam. The song is not really related to my memory, but there is a line in it in which the children beg their mother to stop and give ‘Crazy Mary’ a ride to town. After hearing that line, all I could picture was Jon in his rain poncho and peculiar haircut climbing into our van at the insistence of my dad.

Are these two events in my life the largest offenses on humankind I have ever inflicted? Certainly not. But I feel the discrepancy every day when people eagerly bend down to help me, or are more friendly to me because I represent an interesting diversity. I know that my life here, as a foreigner in a country that close to idolizes western looks, is the exception; but even still, I have intense moments of utter despair and desolation. Unless you have experienced it first hand, it is very difficult to understand the loneliness and ingrained ethnocentricities* that arise after living in a different culture. *technically, not a word but you know what I mean.


(My new lamp, made it myself :)

I think these feelings and memories are fueled by my recent CouchSurfing experiences (the more cultures I’m exposed to, the more I begin to understand my personal biases and generalizations); and also by reading a book I borrowed off the ‘free shelf’ in Manila.“The Rise of David Levinsky” by Abraham Cahan. It is fiction, written in the early 1900s, detailing a Russian Jewish immigrant’s assimilation to America. To think back on my own struggles of understanding the southern culture I grew up in, and my choice to adapt to a new culture, makes me wonder how difficult it was for Jon. Having been the beneficiary of a carefully planned and crafted assimilation program into another culture makes me feel like that much more of a hypocrite if I fail to display the same helpfulness, compassion, and forgiveness to people who may need it.

****

(Pictorial progress of our assessments, Group 4 will be our pilot group next month, I’m incredibly proud!)


(My counterpart surveying the groups we made based on the graphed data. That’s right, I said GRAPHED DATA!! YEEHAY!!)

12:47am  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZIzcEyHAIwal
(Notes: 2)
  
February 17, 2012
Singapore: 4 Days Lang

I’m back home from Singapore!

I friend asked if it was weird to call the Philippines home, and I can truly say that the Philippines looks, feels, smells, and sounds like home now. It took leaving for a few days to truly appreciate the smelly, loud, unorganized, but familiar chaos that is my life here in the Philippines.

I was in Singapore for an amazing five days and four nights. The main catalyst for the trip was the Laneway Music Festival, an Australian based indie music festival. An Aussie volunteer that I met back in October last year when we did Zombie dancing said he was going and that I could tag along if I wanted to. After I saw Feist was playing, I was totally sold. It was only a one-day festival, the concert ticket was pretty expensive ($138), and I had only heard of one of the bands, but I felt I would immensely regret it if I didn’t go. I booked a flight ($145) and started planning my visit to the city/country that is The Republic of Singapore.

I don’t think I can truly communicate how awesome and exciting it was to adventure outside of the Philippines, and around a clean, new, city; exploring temples, mosques, parks, Little India, Chinatown, business districts, residential districts, malls, MRT stations, and parking decks filled with expensive cars. I got lost so many times I was beginning to make it my hobby.

As per my new-life ambition, I resisted making a schedule of plans for my time in Singapore. Other than the one-day festival, and meeting up with my CouchSurfing host on the 13th, I really didn’t have anything that I had to do. I knew that I would be eating lots of exotic and interesting food, watching an eclectic mix people, riding the MRT and public buses, getting incredibly lost, and overall doing whatever I wanted to do. The beauty of all of those things is that they don’t involve any pre-planning. All I did before hand was print off an MRT map and exchange some Pesos for Singapore Dollars. The climate being similar to the Philippines, my camera was still on the fritz, so I only got a few good photos, but it would have been hard to capture most of what I experienced in a picture anyways.

I arrived at the airport Saturday afternoon, and took the free shuttle to the MRT station. I bought an MRT travel card and was on my way to where I thought the hostel (which was a nice hostel, with the exception of it’s name: “The Inn Crowd”) was located. It was supposed to be a 10 min walk from the Metro, but after walking around the area for 2 hours I realized I must be going in the wrong direction. I asked a nice looking man where he thought I should be going, and he said he would ride with me on the bus to Little India (where I was told the hostel was located). The man said he was working in Singapore for five years, and liked it here, but his family was back home in Bangladesh. After a 15 minute ride he explained that my stop was 3 stops after his, and after I ‘alighted’ I could ask around for further directions. I ‘alighted’ from the bus to find myself in a bustling Little India. It was so exciting with all of the sounds, colors, and smells of incense and flower wreathes. I couldn’t help but stare at the pedestrians and their beautiful clothes and skin tones as they passed me by. I may have stood watching for 15 minutes before I started wondering where I was. I bounced around from restaurant to bar to restaurant, asking if they knew where the now elusive Dunlop Street was. I couldn’t find it on any maps, and after asking 5 different people and getting nowhere, I began to get discouraged.

I was feeling hungry and thirsty because I hadn’t bought anything at the airport, appalled by the hike in prices and confused by the currency exchange. I decided to take a left turn onto a main street, which completely changed my surroundings and in helped me forget temporarily about the empty feeling in my stomach. Immediately after the left turn I spotted a familiar sight. A dirty, run down, ‘gas station’ or ‘sari-sari’, type convenience store. There was an diverse array of products on shelving, from the floor to the ceiling, compacted and arranged in a way that made me think of Dick’s Saco back in Auburn. The man behind the desk might have been middle eastern descent and was speaking a language in a friendly tone, but that I’d never heard before. After I entered the store I waited a minute for him to complete his call, excited to hear different another language and after asking (maybe with a hungry/hopeless look on my face) if he knew where Dunlop St. might be, he became the first person in three hours who could give me a precise answer: “Turn left, two lights, third light take a right.” I must have clearly shown my excitement because I got a nice smile from him, and after remembering how thirsty I was, I bought a bottle of water from his little store. Re-hydrated and hopeful, I left the store with a little hop in my step. At the 3rd light, as promised, I spotted Dunlop St.

I entered the hostel to find Justin, an RPCV, who just wrapped up three years of service in the Visayas (southern Philippines). He got a last minute deal on a flight ($60 RT) and decided to join in the fun for the music festival. It was so great to see a familiar face after so much wandering, and I was grateful to be with someone who knew Singapore much better than I did (he studied in the country for a few months). He didn’t seem too perturbed about my tardiness, and after emailing family to tell them I made it, we set off for the dorms ($17/bed). The dorms were compact, but clean, and the showers had warm water. After getting quickly refreshed we decided to hit the town. Luckily, Justin had local friends in the city who he had gone out with the night before, so he took me to a great spot that brewed their own beer and had an amazing view of the skyline.

(Views from the first stop of the night)

After a few pricey beers, we decided to move to the next adventure. Justin had heard of a place called Altitude, which was located on the roof of one of the tallest buildings in Singapore. I think it was on the 64th floor. We couldn’t quite figure out which building it was, so we stopped inside a lobby to ask a receptionist if she knew where we should go. The receptionist was just as clueless as we were, but as we were leaving a woman in her mid-late twenties walked past and said she knew where it was and didn’t mind taking us to the entrance. As we walked in and out of tunnels, escalators, streets, and lobbies, it became clear to us that she was no ordinary tour guide. She had chin length straight blond hair that looked like it hadn’t been washed in a few days and was wearing a large, loose fitting green t-shirt with gym shorts. Her frail size and demeanor made it seem as if she was swimming inside both of them. She had the most tattoos I’ve ever seen on one body. They were covering her skin from her wrist up her arms, and only seemed to stop because of her excessive clothing. Both of her legs, up to as far as I could see on her starkly white thighs, were covered with colorful, dark, and interesting designs. She spoke softly as she told us with a European accent that she has worked for the past four years in Singapore as a Physics professor. She told us she was meeting up with a group of friends in an area that I had never heard of. Later, my friend Justin told me it was a notoriously shady area, but I had to resist the urge to break away from where she left us and follow her around for the rest of the night.

This bar was quite expensive ($25/drink) but even though the ambiance (think ritzy night club in Orlando) wasn’t my scene, the views from the 64 story roof top, and chatting with Justin were totally worth it. We stayed long enough to finish our drink and walk around each side, looking down at the rest of the insanely clean and organized cityscape.

(Drinks overlooking the city)

After this bar, we met up with our Aussie friend, David, at a hawker center. A hawker center is a food court, inside a complex, that housed little food stands inside what reminded me of visiting mom’s storage units back home; except all of the units were open and there were different looking people inside each one, speaking a different language, and creating a different smell. All of them were emitting the familiar warmth of cooking food- none of which I had ever seen or tasted before. Although it was all new to me, I could tell there was a wide variety, of which I couldn’t distinguish, so I asked Justin to order for me. What came out was the most delicious food I have eaten in as long as I can remember. It was spicy and sweet, with noodles, and coconut milk, and mushrooms, and lord who knows what kind of meat. It was absolutely delicious.

After having dinner at the hawker center, we decided to make our way to the area of the town with the best gay nightclubs. I had only been to one gay bar before, The Phoenix in Orlando, but that doesn’t really count because we were in town for the Auburn bowl game, and it was the only bar that would let us in under 21. I had gone with Lee and a bunch of other straight guys, who preceded to play darts and drink Budweiser. Where we went in Singapore was way more legit. After paying the cover($20), we made our way to the bar, which was incredibly packed, and got a drink. After that, we tried to find a spot on the dance floor, but it too was crammed with tall and exotic looking men, dancing, kissing, laughing, talking and enjoying themselves. There were guys in costumes, and guys half-naked, all dancing around with each other. It was incredibly entertaining to observe all of the new and exciting events folding out all around me; but I was grateful when we decided to take a break from the dance floor and make our way upstairs to the more relaxed second floor. Up there I could take it all in on a more toned-down level, and actually sit down which was nice from all of my wandering earlier that day. I enjoyed chatting with my friends, looking at the interior decorating, and just taking it all in. I saw the most vibrant gay scene I’ve ever seen, even though being gay might be illegal in Singapore.

Sunday marked the day of the festival. There were 12 acts all playing one after each other for 40-45 minutes each. It was my first festival where they set up two stages side by side, and alternated stages. As one band was playing on a stage, the other bands would be setting. We arrived a little late inside Fort Canning Park but still got a good spot on the lawn. It was so nice to sit in the grass, surrounded by trees and clean air but still in the middle of a mega city. The music was good and the beers were expensive ($7). I didn’t really know any of the artists well, except for Feist (who, although it was a short set, was absolutely amazing); but I was really surprised by Chairlift, Austra, The Drums, and M83’s performances. I wish I could have seen The Cults, but they finished their last song as we were walking into the festival. It was so refreshing to see people who’s style reflected something different about themselves, and who weren’t just trying to stand out, or look like someone different.

(The venue, Fort Canning Park, was absolutely beautiful)

 


(Chairlift)

(View from our spot)

My friend David had to catch his plane back to Manila on a red-eye that night, so Justin and I were left to entertain ourselves around the city. We decided to find some good food, and even though it was past 1am when the festival ended, the cab driver knew exactly where to take us. I can’t fully explain what a “steam-boat” style restaurant is, but it is an incredible idea. Anyone who knows me though, knows I should probably never, ever, partake in a buffet-style dinner. I ate so much food it was ridiculous and somewhat painful. I learned that I really like wheat barley juice, and that I can rip the heads of prawns without the slightest feeling of remorse. I also learned that small fish-balls are deceptively filling, and that imitation crab will never taste as good I remember it should. I’ll try to explain a ‘steam-boat’ a little bit. There is a special table with a hole in the center, and a large pot is placed inside, on top of a gas burner. The metal pot is split into two sections, one with spicy broth and the other with a less-flavorful clear broth. You’re given tongs and an unlimited number of plates to fill up with raw meat, prawns, crabs, all kinds of vegetables, noodles, fish-balls, tofu, fruit, anything really. After filling up your plate you bring it back to the table to cook it for yourself. It was amazing, delicious, and quite dangerous for people who feel the need to ‘clean their plate.’ At $17 I think they actually lost money. As we were looking for our waiter, who may have been extra friendly towards us because of my obvious ignorance that is the system of ‘steam-boat’, I was intrigued to find him inside the restaurant (we were on the patio), lighting a stick of some sort and kneeling before an alter. After a few minutes of kneeling he resumed his work duties and brought us our change with a smile. After our insanely large late-night dinner Justin and I decided to walk it off. We got a little bit lost, but his navigational skills are far better than mine and it felt like we reached the hostel in no time (although I think the sun may have been coming up).


(Good friends, good times. Me, Justin, and David in a kinda blurry pic)

The next day was Monday, the day Justin flew back, and my day to find the apartment of the CouchSurfer, Akshay, who generously agreed to host me for my two remaining nights in Singapore. Justin and I walked through the mall (there are lots of malls) and then to the MRT. We said our goodbyes as he took the green line east to the Airport, and I took the red line north towards the residential area. It was 12 pm, and once again I was navigating my way alone through Singapore. My host’s apartment was supposed to be a 5 min walk from the MRT station, but as usual, I ended up walking away from where I was supposed to be going, finding myself in the 200 block instead of the 500 block (quite a distance). Being lost for a few hours in the afternoon heat of Singapore, and then being told by each passerby that the way I should be going is in the opposite direction, took its toll on my disposition. The government housing areas are incredibly clean and well kept, with nice grass and large side walks, but eventually the novelty wore off and I decided to take refuge inside a gas station with air conditioning. As I was asking the clerk if she knew which way I should be heading, a man in line said that he knew where I was going, and said, “If you trust me, I will give you a ride in my car.” I genuinely had a moment where I asked myself if this was a good or bad idea, and all accounts said go for it.

It turned out that the man, Raymond, was an ex-police officer, and in the private security business now. He had been to the Philippines ten years ago doing volunteer work with a church organization, and was looking for a new job now. He knew exactly where I was going (which was incredibly far from the gas station where I had ended up, but was indeed only 5 minutes from the MRT station that I had arrived at two hours earlier). He and his wife lived nearby in a neighboring complex, and he wondered why my friend hadn’t given me clearer directions…and how did I know this friend, he asked. After telling him that we kind-of met online, he decided that I should have his card, just in case, and he wrote his personal email on the back. I got out of the nice air conditioned car, excited because it was the first time I’ve ever ridden in a right-side driver vehicle and humbly grateful for the kindness of strangers; and so excited to meet some more.

I arrived to the 14th floor of the complex and ran into Akshay outside his apartment. I had arrived over two hours later than our agreed upon meeting time, but he was incredibly nice and didn’t seem to take notice. The condo was very clean and organized, and after taking our shoes off at the front door he gave me a quick tour. He had two new roommates, both girls, one from Japan and one from America, they were also CouchSurfers. His Japanese roommate, a pharmacist, was also hosting couch surfers, two, a girl from Beijing, and a Frenchman named William. Akshay’s other roommate, Lisa, a lawyer, wasn’t hosting at the moment, but she invited us all to go on an excursion to a bird sanctuary with her. I relished drinking tap water and chatting with Akshay. We talked about work and life abroad, and I enjoyed listening to his slightly English accent  as he told me a little bit about his life growing up in India and his travels around the world. We were one big international CouchSurfing family!

After resting for a bit, we went to the mall (they’re hard to avoid) for a late lunch. I had a Veggie Subway Sandwich – a welcome respite from all of the exotic foods I had been eating. And after eating we agreed to meet up for dinner on Arab St. at 8. We parted ways, and I went in search of temples and mosques. As is my habit, I got lost, but as usual, I enjoyed the ride. I ended up locating an incredible Hindu temple, but unfortunately my pictures didn’t do it justice. This temple is famous for the men who walk on fire coals during a yearly festival, and although there was no fire walking that day, it was absolutely beautiful. Exploring the temples was incredible, and the people watching was really interesting too.

I navigated my way through three temples, one Hindu, and two Buddhist, and then walked up Canal St. from Chinatown to the Bugis MRT to meet up with Akshay for dinner. We walked to Arab St., known for it’s Mediterranean food, and shared an absolutely delicious sampler plate of eggplant, hummus, and yogurt dips, pickles, chickpeas and tomato sauce, along side fresh pita bread ($14). It was good. We talked about books, hobbies, couchsurfing, and travels- he had just flown back that morning from Beijing. He offered to show me around the area (which looked like a nice trendy upper-class hipster scene) but after some internal debate I decided that it would be best to head back to the apartment and get some rest. Lisa, Akshay, and I drank a few drinks and watched a few episodes of “How I met your mother” before calling it a night.

The next morning was Valentine’s Day. I woke up without any plans, but with a vague idea that I wanted to see the Botanic Garden, and maybe visit the National Library because it looked really impressive when I saw it from the street. After I met Paige (the Coushsurfer from Beijing) that morning in the apartment though, I realized my day would be a little different. She wanted everyone to go salsa dancing that night, seeing as we were all single, and wanted us to get lunch together. She was incredibly outgoing and seemed like a good ambassador to a country I don’t know much about, so we ventured outside the apartment in search of food. We ended up at a hawker-style setup, and I asked her to order for me (I should have written down the names to all of these amazing dishes).

She said she wanted to eat her lunch back at the apartment to answer some emails and surf the internet (the apartment had amazingly fast wi-fi); and I said I wanted to go to the Botanic Gardens to eat my lunch. After telling her my plans, I suppose she assumed I didn’t want to be alone. She asked me why I would want to go to gardens when there were plants, beaches, and muscle men at Sentosa (an Island Resort off of Singapore)? Not having a good enough answer for her in time, she quickly called up another couchsurfer and set up a meeting between us on Sentosa that afternoon. I only remembered too late my friend Justin’s advice that Sentosa wasn’t worth the trip. So, off I went to the Botanic Gardens, which was an absolutely beautiful patch of gardens in the middle of the city; but it was quite loud with all of the beautifying going on (I think there was one man with a leaf blower for every tree). I walked around and found a nice, quiet, shaded spot under a massive tree and I noticed a wedding going on in the distance. I opened my lunch and found an incredibly delicious, spicy mixture with some sort of mollusks, noodles, tofu, bean sprouts, curry, coconut milk, fish-balls, and all-in-all mystery items. I ate it with chopsticks and a large spoon-thing, enjoying every single bite of it.

It was time to get going so I could meet a couchsufer on Sentosa. The only thing we had discussed was that I was wearing black, he was wearing lime green shoes, and we were going to meet at the Merlion statue. After walking around a parking deck for the better side of half an hour, I located my route to the Merlion statue. On my way to the statue I realized I had come to the SixFlags of Singapore. This was a tourist trap, without a lot to offer a volunteer on a budget. Once I got to our meeting place, I realized what a needle in haystack each of us was going to be. There were hundreds of people and families walking around. I explored a little but until it was time to meet, and then found a pay phone. After chatting with the couchsurfer for a bit we decided to scrap the whole thing (he was at least an hour away from where were going to meet). On my way back to the shuttle I realized that there was a free bus that drove all around the island, dropping people off at various attractions and beaches. I rode around on that for about an hour, looking at all of the rich tourists and fat children, and decided I was done with that excursion.

Luckially, Akshay had agreed to show me around some more when he got off work at around 7. I tried to make sure I wasn’t taking advantage of his kindness by accepting his offers to show me around, but he assured me I wasn’t, and I was grateful for his knowledge of the city and good company. We met at Merlion Park, which was a nice little area in ritzy part of town, but I suppose all of Singapore is ‘ritzy’. The Merlion is the symbol of Singapore, a statue perched on edge of the water with the head of a lion and the body of a fish. The lion is supposed to represent the strength of the city, and the fish body symbolizes that strength combined with the importance of that strength in relation to water (I believe Singapore is the largest port city in the world?). It is quite a unique, and incredibly entertaining to watch people posing with the statue. The lion is continuously blowing water out of it’s mouth through a fire hose, the water going back into the sea. My favorite poses were, I’m almost positive from Filipinas. They would put their hands up pretending to cup the water, put hearts with the fingers around the water, and put their purse up to pretend like they were catching the water. I enjoyed watching people do silly things all for a good shot.

After meeting up at the statue we decided to walk around the city and drink. That’s right, you can walk around with an open container when ever and where ever you want! That is just another reason why I adore Singapore. So we went to 711 and bought some beverages, walking to different parks as I craned my head up at the beautiful and massive buildings. We ended up at the waterfront over looking a large casino, comprised of three buildings with a boat on top (pictured in the first shot of the city); a ferriswheel; the Fullerton Hotel, the Science Museum, and the business district. It was wonderful sitting, drinking, and looking out at the view of a clean city. After watching the casino light show over the waterfront (which was a little lacking, but at least they tried), Akshay said we could walk around a little more and then snag some beers from his work. That’s right, his work has free beer for employees. I thought it sounded unbelievable, but when we got to his office, it was incredible; there was a ping-pong table, a pool table, a fully stocked kitchen (the nicest I’ve seen in years) and an amazing view. We played pool, well, really, he whooped me. But I was excited to learn that I could still hold my own in ping-pong….as long as he didn’t slam any shots. After that we went up to the conference room with the best view and sat watching the city from the 18th story. It was absolutely incredible.


(Taken on a different night in the city, but still highlighting the joys of a Tiger Beer in public)

After table games and enjoying the views we decided that we were too hungry to call it a night, so we went to a 24hr food place near by and ordered their specialty. B.B.Q. Stingray! That’s right! I ate Steve Erwin’s killer and it was pretty tasty. Well, it was exciting at least, and the flavors were quite unique. After our exotic snack we hailed a cab back to the apartment ($17), wrapping up my last night in the city. All-in-all I averaged $120 USD/ Day, but considering that includes the $100 I spent on alcohol (it’s quite expensive there), $125 USD on a festival ticket, and $150 for the flight over – every penny and peso was totally worth it.

Everything about my trip to Singapore was amazing, and it was one of the shortest, and most memorable, trips I’ve ever had. It was my second time CouchSurfing, but undoubtedly not my last. I met so many new friends and had so many new and incredible experiences. I’m afraid I will have to travel for the rest of my life just to see it all.

Once I arrived back to the Clark Airport, I asked a Filipino man who sat near me on the plane if he knew of a jeepney or bus that would take me to the bus terminal (there were taxis, but they were incredibly expensive). He said he wasn’t sure if there were some or not. He asked me where I was heading, saying that he and his family hired a van, and that he would have to check with his wife first, but he was fairly sure that they could take me as far as the bus terminal. After meeting his wife and family, we set out for the parking lot. His wife told me she had seen me on the plane arriving to Singapore five days ago, and was curious about where I stayed and how much it was per night. I told her and she seemed impressed with my frugality.

As we were leaving the airport, there was a man holding up a sign advertising a jeepney ride to the bus terminal for 35 pesos. I told my new found friends that I didn’t mind paying for a jeepney, and that I didn’t want to impose. After a short discussion with the conductor, the whole family decided that they would keep me, to ensure that I made it safe to the terminal. It took a lot of convincing on my part that I was competent enough to make my way from the bus terminal to my home (which I’ve done tons of times). And in the end they agreed to drop me off alone at the bus terminal (a 30 minute ride from the airport). We parted ways with hugs and many, many, thanks on my part.

I was back home.

6:21am  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZIzcEyGYfwzV
(Notes: 2)
  
February 6, 2012
My Week

Monday

I arrived in Manila on Sunday night for my follow-up dental appointment today. I was proud to tell the dentist that I hadn’t needed to use the metal pick she gave me, ‘just in case the infection got worse and I needed to poke a hole in the temporary filling.’ I assume she entrusted me with the tool because I look so very responsible; that, or she was pretty sure my tooth was going to get worse. But it didn’t – It got better! HA!

My gum and tooth are still a bit irritated, but it’s visibly better and feeling much better, especially after I swish with warm salt-water. Thinking of salt-water as the most effective medicine for my ailment makes me wonder how far we’ve actually evolved from our fishy ancestors.

This has been the one time in my service that I am glad to be so physically far away from Keela, as I’m sure she would have pinned me down and prodded inside my mouth to get a better look. This is not the first time I’ve felt she fulfills her destiny everyday by working as a nurse (and gets paid to pop things).

This is totally unrelated to my Monday, but it is a picture from an intro to ABA seminar that I did back in December. The Dean of the Arts and Sciences at Lorma College invited me to speak. It was so nice talking to such a bright and motivated group of people! What you see is ‘waky-waky’ or, when you make cutsey faces.

Tuesday

I attended my first CouchSurfing event in Makiti – one of the wealthiest areas in the country. It was a dinner organized by a guy from London, and he did a great job. I think there were over 60 of us (from all around the world) eating dinner and chatting. Afterwards, we went out for drinks, and the girls I was with (two PCVs and a Canadian staying at the PC pension doing her doctoral thesis research) decided to start a dance party in the bar. It was so much fun watching them, and I really would have joined in if I hadn’t had a headache – I would have absolutely refused to dance in the States, but here it’s kind of growing on me. It had been so long since I went out, and I enjoyed loitering at the bar and people watching.

There was another guy at the bar who I guess wasn’t fond of dancing either, and I was grateful for the conversation. He told me he was from Norway and was patient enough to give me a fairly detailed history of Nordic people and vikings and such. He seemed like one of the most genuine guys I’ve come across in over a year, and he had a fun accent, so even though my head was pounding I tried to appear interested in the conversation so he would talk to me as long as possible. I don’t think it was until a good bit later that he realized I wasn’t quite absorbing any of what he was actually saying… It was incredibly entertaining though.

Throughout the night I met various people, and from what I could gather they all seemed like really nice guys. At some point though, nearing the end of the night (it was a 3am affair), I almost asked a guy out-right if he knew how obviously sleazy he was coming across. I went home wondering if more guys were becoming douches, but then I decided that maybe I’m just getting better at spotting them.

(Sleezers not pictured :)

Wednesday

I left Manila, happy with my improving bill of health and grateful for a fun night out with friends. And also very excited that I’ve only got 10 days left until I’m trampling around Singapore; with friends, shopping, concerts, culture, and too much food! YAY!!!

Thursday

I worked all night editing a grant proposal for my center. We’re planning a project in which the houseparents with agriculture degrees will teach some of the residents how to cultivate mushrooms. We need a new structure for the mushrooms, and a little bit of start up money to get the necessary supplies. I’m excited about the project, but after adding up the numbers, it seems more like a ‘recreational project’ than a ‘livelihood,’ since the average earnings per resident would only amount to 20 pesos a month. But it would be great to get some more hands-on activities going for the residents, especially ones that the staff have an active interest in.

Friday

Today the psychologist and I finished our last ‘special needs’ assessment! It took us from Jan 2011 to Feb 2012, but we did it! All in all we completed 52 assessments, 45 of which are currently ‘special education students’ at the center. Technically, now that the original assessments are over a year old, we should get started on re-assessing, but there hasn’t been any change to the type of services/intervention offered to the majority of the residents so I’m not too worried about reassessing just yet. I am very excited that my counterpart is focused on re-grouping and identifying activities to target specific needs of the kids. My goal is to give the houseparents access to relevant materials and activities, and then reassess a few groups before I leave. I can’t believe a year has gone by since the initial assessments and I’ve only got 8 months left! Goodness! I’ve got a lot of work ahead of me!

(these kids may not have scored very high on the assessment (think 2-year-old level), but when they do stuff like this, completely independently and unsupervised, you know you’ve got something to tap into!)

Saturday

I finished reading Gone With the Wind tonight. I really enjoyed it. Remembering my Granny’s love for it, along with the descriptions of the landscape and climate, made me a little nostalgic.

As I read, I tried to relate the class descriptions in the story to my own perception of marginalized populations around the world. I think about current issues and clashes; and how much family history, money, attitude, and personal values might affect one’s perception of happiness and social status. I wonder in an era of internet and perceived equality, what exactly the definition of ‘social status’ is.

Sunday

I should really do my laundry, but I decide that I’ll think about it tomorrow.

Instead, I eat a candied tamarind that my landlady gave me (she is very sweet, and so are those candies) and I head outside in search of somewhere to fill up my water jug. I had been getting my water refilled at the ‘120-step’ water purification shop on the way to town, I think it’s called ‘E-Z Flow’ or something like that. But last time the lady gave me a face and told me she wouldn’t deliver it because my house was too far away. They delivered it to the center, and I vowed to find a new source.

The tap water at my house looks and smells fine, but the medical staff say not to drink tap water here because even if the source of the water is clean, the pipes might be compromised. I don’t want to take my chances, so I’ve been boiling my water until I could find a more accommodating water dealer.

My quest was a success, and I found an even more convenient source of tubig (water). Apparently my landlady’s sister’s somebody delivers water from the bayan (town) into my neighborhood, and for only 2 pesos more I can purchase their water. Sold!

I felt so successful at my discovery that I decided I would by some rice and veggies to make them for dinner. I bought the vegetables from my landlady’s sari-sari (It’s pretty much a one-stop shop where I can buy small yoghurt drinks—called Yakult, laundry detergent, instant powdered coffee, cheap pastry things, and local produce, among many other things). She doesn’t sell rice, so I went down the street to the sari-sari in front of my old host family’s house.

The woman who owns the store is one of the most friendly ladies in the community, always smiling, waving, and saying good morning to me as I ride my bike to work. She seemed as equally happy to see me in this afternoon as she does in the mornings. When I asked for a ½ kilo of rice she quickly filled a bag with the best rice. As she was packing it up she told me it was a gift, and as quick as I was to object, she was to re-affirm that it was a gift. I thought of how kind she always is and wanted to give her some sort of business, so I asked if I could purchase a large packet of instant coffee. She said “Ok, but the rice is still free.” It wasn’t until she said “85 pesos” that I realized I had barely enough money on me to pay her. Once she saw that I was giving her all of my coins, she forced me to take back 15 pesos, which I was very grateful for since the trike (motorcycle taxi) drivers don’t give change, especially when you have large bills. I felt awful for taking the rice, and then getting such a big discount on my coffee, but I knew there was no alternative at the moment, and when she came around to the front of the store to hand it to me personally and give me a big hug, I felt the most love I’ve felt in a long time.

Small gifts are very popular here, especially among friends and neighbors. At first I didn’t really understand why people were just giving me things, without expecting anything in return, but now I realize that gifts are most valued when they’re least expected. I know I will never be able to return their gestures with as much kindness and generosity as Filipinos have shown me, but I sure plan to try.

3:35am  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZIzcEyF_2j7P
(Notes: 1)
  
January 24, 2012
Mabilis (quick) Update

It’s been a while since I’ve posted quick updates, so here goes:

The health of my [infected] tooth is slowly improving. I’d like to blame the Philippines for my woes, but I’m afraid I’m just prone to issues. I’ve been lucky with my health overall, and we have free dental/health care (which is unheard of here) so I consider myself fortunate to have gone through 7 of an infinite number of dental appointments in Manila, two rounds of heavy antibiotics, a good deal of pain, a second attitude adjustment (all for free!) and things are finally feeling better! Whew!

My Electricity bill for Nov-Dec was 7.5 pesos! That’s like .30 cents for a month of electricity! I was gone for a good bit of that time, but nonetheless it’s a record! Yay!

I got my second grant! It was pretty much guaranteed to anyone who applied , because it was specific to the sector that I work in, Children, Youth and Family Development (CYF), but it’s still pretty exciting! I’m going to be modifying, translating, reproducing, and training staff on how to administer a developmental level assessment tool so that my center, and hopefully more agencies in the Philippines, will be able to target meaningful and individual objectives for children with special needs, increasing their overall independence. It’s going to be a lot of work, and it’s only $200.00, but I am so excited!!

What else… I can’t say how excited and grateful I felt to get all of the holiday cards, emails, and packages from my friends and family! Everyone who sent a picture/card, now as a special place above my desk (much to the enjoyment of the children—it’s not every day you see white babies and pretty dogs/cats around here)!

I miss and love you guys everyday, regardless of the season!

3:56am  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZIzcEyFHbUP9
January 7, 2012
Changing perspectives in the middle of the ocean

These past few months of service have by far been my most productive. I wrapped up my first grant and received a second one; connected with the most caring friends and family anyone could ask for; explored mountains and caves in Sagada; my Granny’s deviled egg recipe was a hit over Thanksgiving and Christmas; I booked an exciting 5-day trip to attend a music festival in Singapore; I enjoyed an international Christmas vacation with new and old friends; I watched my nephews open presents on Christmas morning; and I earned my open water dive certification on some beautiful beaches in the Visayas.

My life here couldn’t possibly be better – so how could I still be unhappy? On the last day of 2011, I found myself standing in the middle of the ocean, exactly where I wanted to be, but unable to enjoy it. I vowed to stand there until I could appreciate life at that moment.

I knew exactly what was bothering me on the surface. I’ve been working hard to not set my personal expectations too high. I’ve also tried to avoid over-planning things, and learn to go with the flow. But one of the longest plans I’ve had since coming to the Philippines was to rent a tent from a hostel and camp out on Siquijor Island.

That was the only thing I had actually planned to do before arriving to the island. Travel from the Dumaguete City Pier to the hostel on Siquijor involved a mostly scenic 5 hour journey- consisting of a trike ride, a 2 hour ferry ride, another trike ride, and a 45 minute jeepney trek from the north-west to the southern part of the island. The jeepney took me 5 kilometers past my actual destination, so I walked along the road for an hour with my stuff.

I’ve grown to expect, when traveling anywhere new to me in the country, that I will be bounced around from language to language, person to person, street to street, and vehicle to vehicle to get from what might later seem to be a pretty straight forward journey from point A to point B. I was actually grateful for the extra 5k and the reflection that walking on an isolated road in the middle of a remote island offered. When I arrived at my final destination the woman who confirmed my tent reservation weeks earlier told me that they could not let a single girl rent a tent.

She said a dorm bed was my only option, effectively demolishing the only plan I had made, and putting me 1000 pesos -or 4 daily allowances- over what I had originally intended to spend for two nights on the island. I agreed to rent a bed, but I could feel a very familiar feeling in the pit of my stomach. This only happened when issues I’ve held inside no longer stand a chance. In the past, in this situation, I wouldn’t have been able to hide it. I prepared to battle down an uncontrollable swell of emotions. But nothing came. Absolutely nothing. I felt a deep emptiness.

Where were all of my feelings? Something had been bothering me since around October, but if it’s not coming out now, then when is it? My initial fear of over-emotion quickly evaporated into and familiar sense of disappointment. This was the gloomy feeling clouding around me for the last few months.


I walked out into the ocean, and waited to feel something.

“How can someone come all this way, stand in the middle of paradise, and feel nothing?” I don’t know.

“Am I angry?” No. I’m happy to have a place to sleep.

“Where is this disappointment coming from?” My plans are ruined.

“Ruined, or different?” This is not what I expected.

“Is the sand ruined?” No.

“Is the water ruined?” No.

“Wake up and enjoy their non-ruin! Try to feel and appreciate it all!”



Living immersed in a different culture has changed the way I perceive things. Most of my time here has been spent generally accepting everything around me and asking questions later – if at all. An example: In November, I returned to site after a long absence and was startled by how easily affected I was by the stares and cat-calls from the locals. I had been in more touristy cities for a few weeks and although the attention was just as frequent before, it took leaving and reentering the province for me to notice it again and for it to actually affect me.

More and more I’ve become a passive observer of things that happen to and around me. As a volunteer, I adapted quickly and began accepting things I didn’t agree with or couldn’t understand. I developed an automatic filter. It was such a slow and natural process that it led to me right the point of standing in the middle of a beautiful ocean, unaffected; and trying to understand why. The process of assimilating and protecting myself from becoming jaded had inadvertently dulled everything I had come to experience.

Was another problem that I had discovered my life here was becoming boring and normal? I have never been one easily contented and my 2nd year in the Philippines marks the longest I’ve lived in one spot since Alan Ave. Maybe staying here for an extended time has started to get me down because I can clearly see myself stuck inside of the shell of an adventure, watching it slowly fill up with mediocrity and predictability.



Assuming one or both of these may have been contributing factors to my lingering blues, I figured I’d write down a pep-talk for next time:

First: All experiences, good and bad, have to be actively felt – or else you may forget why you exist here in the first place.

Second: You’re lazy. As time goes on you start perceiving things around you as being ordinary. Work extra hard to appreciate subtle things, or you will begin to take everything for granted.

Lastly: All of the happiness in the world can be within your reach if you let it.




2:00am  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZIzcEyEOQsCX
(Notes: 1)
  
Liked posts on Tumblr: More liked posts »