PI Day 116 -Native Dissonance: Part II

Katipunan Ave. near my neighborhood

“What am I doing here? Why did I do this?”

I gaze out the car window on my third day here watching Filipinos go about their daily business while I sit uncomfortably with questions running through my head. I had asked my Lola and Tito if I could go with them to the market to look around, see if there were things we needed, to get out, and to start getting my feet wet. Instead, I’m plagued by my own thoughts:

“What were you thinking, Biba? How are going to get around? You can’t even speak Tagalog! How are you going to find what you need? What if somebody steals from you like they did from Nen? Worse, what if somebody knows you’re American, and kidnaps you for ransom? Then what?! Mom and Dad will be penniless!! You’re so selfish! You can’t even speak Tagalog. What if you get lost? Then what? What are you going to do?! I can’t speak Tagalog.

What am I even doing here?!”

My train of thought was frantic enough to worry me.

~

A few nights before I left for Manila, I had a dream where I was in the Philippines and felt so claustrophobic that my throat started to feel constricted and all I thought was, “I want to go home, I want to go home,” over and over again. It was enough for me to force myself awake. I have never been this scared about coming to the Philippines in my life.

~

The morning after I arrived, I had a long internal dialogue with myself on whether I should say hello to my grandmother’s “houseboy” who I’ve known since I was 11 and if I should, how? Often, the helpers don’t greet you –seems as though they’re not really supposed to –don’t be seen or heard. “What do I say? It’s so awkward. I want to say hi, but he might not say hi back.” I was physically tense during this internal dialogue. I promise you, I’m cringing at myself as I re-read this.

~

Every conversation I had before leaving sounded like this:

Friend: How are you feeling?! Are you/aren’t you excited?!

Me: Ummm, not really. I’ll be excited when I am done with the 15 hour flight.

Friend: What are you going to do there?

Me: Ummmm, I’m not sure yet. I have some random things lined up.

Friend: It’s gonna be awesome!!

Me to closest friends: I don’t know. I’m not that excited. It’s very sobering. I feel like I’m going to have an existential dilemma while I’m there and I don’t really feel like having one right now.

~

Well, here it is. It's really not that dramatic. I said existential dilemma jokingly when I spoke to other folk. I think I knew that I was going to be uncomfortable here and I was surprised with myself. For the longest time, the Philippines has been another home that I have craved constantly since I was a young girl. Every time we came, I couldn’t contain my happiness no matter how sweaty and sticky it was. When we’d drive away from Lola’s house to the airport, I’d have tears in my eyes. I rep hard. At home, my friends and family know of my infatuation with being here. My students know the Philippines because of me. Some of my closest forget I was born in the States because of my way of being.

So wassup?!

Well, in reality, I haven't really been exposed to Filipinos over the past few years! I have grown in a very American way in a very American work environment. I've had little exposure to other Filipinos save for my own family in New York and the infrequent visits to the Philippines. I haven't heard my language as often, eaten my food as regularly, or thought about my home as much. It's part of the reason why I moved back to New York and why I've placed myself in this here situation.

In my years in Boston, I have grown to be at peace with myself. I’ve become comfortable in a way that I hadn’t been years before and this was further spurred by my role as an authority figure at school and as a teacher leader. I had to be together to get stuff done. I wasn’t always, but I started growing in that direction.

I had grown accustomed to Boston. I knew people there, I knew who to go to, what I liked, what I didn’t, I knew neighborhoods, streets, where to go, what to do, etc. etc. etc. As a person, I also developed a way of being that I was confident in. In situations where somebody was working for me or serving me, I knew how to act, how to be politest of the polite, when to ignore something weird/rude -those small cultural practices that you only know when it has been embedded in your everyday life (I would have known exactly how to say hello to the houseboy, for instance).

That’s not so here and so my role has changed. I am truly studenting again. I joked during the summer and early fall that I felt like a freshman again, and I really do in some ways. The script has been flipped and I’m still getting used to it.

Two friends in Boston reminded me of my propensity for care taking and Leigh pointed out that it would be good for me to be in a space where people weren’t always coming to me for help or advice –where I’m not always expected to have the answers. The unfamiliarity of it all is disconcerting to me though, which leads to my neurotic internal rants (see above) and irrational fears.

I’m disappointed in my inability to be comfortable in the uncomfortable, in what’s different, in what I’m not used to. It’s something that I had hoped to fight as I got older. But these first few days, particular that day driving to the market has shown me I’m not as flexible as I once was, not as humble, less willing to not know than ever before, and that I have a long way to go.

~

At the market I walk around trying to look casual.

Fail.

I’ve always been bigger than native Filipinos. I have been drinking vitamin-enriched milk for the past 27 years of my life and eating a diet that differs from the diet here in both content and size, after all. My hair is kind of crazy and I dress a little off. Can you possibly imagine being so self conscious and self involved when trying to buy some groceries? “Geez woman, get a grip! Nobody even CARES!! They’re just staring because that’s what we do. We stare!”

Lola’s off buying fruit and me, the tallest and biggest woman in the co-op is trying to hide against a wall. Wow and wow. I need to do something besides feel weird.

“Tito Boy, I need to buy a Sim card and load for my phone. You think they have here?”

He leads me to a small shop selling sim cards, phone minutes, and other odds and ends. In Tagalog, he asks the woman working there if she sells Sim cards for Smart phone and load.

Yes, she does.

Can she be the one to put it in the phone? “Galing sa Amerika, kase,” he explains. I smile and make a face like, “Dang, you gave me away, Tito!” The woman smiles and patiently shows me how to activate the sim card in my phone. We speak in a mix of Tagalog and English. The weight of my self-created worries starts to melt away as we activate my phone together. I’m surprised by my own ability to converse with her –definitely enough to get by.

“Huh. Maybe I’m not as bad as I thought.”

She’s not having an existential dilemma over my brokedown ass, why should I?

~

Despite the small triumph with the sim card lady, I still feel a little like hiding, like scurrying around every aisle as quickly as possible, so as not to encounter another human being while walking through the small grocery looking for detergent, shampoo, and wheat bread (back home, I’d saunter or speed through the grocery aisle like the reigning champion of Supermarket Sweep).

But it’s there, I can feel it…hmmm, what is that? Could it be confidence?!

Maybe a little.

I walk to the cash register hoping this will be quick and painless. The cashier can’t find the price of the bread and has to ask two people for the price.

“Sugarless” the bagger reads off the bread, acknowledging its “healthiness.”

In Tagalog, the cashier laughs at herself, “I’d just get the cheaper white bread, even if this is better for you!”

I laugh with them and when the bagger goes to put my items in a bag I say, “No more, na. Okay lang.” I walked out of that store feeling like the baddest little Fil-Am out there.

Yeah, I know ¾ of it was in English, okay? Take it easy.

~

I have 116 more days here in the Philippines. Four months sounds long. It’s the longest I’ll have ever stayed here. But it’s a short time, in reality. It’s going to fly by.

No, I’m not counting down the days til I’ll be home because of how badly I was feeling before. I want to make sure that the days don’t run away from me, so I’m going to keep count. Like I said in my last entry, this is a rare and special opportunity, numbering the days will keep me present and keep me hungry to refit, reform, stretch and re-learn.

I won’t be blogging everyday, but entries based on my experiences here will be titled PI Day # -Title.