MagandangPhilippines

First, love or money?

2008-09-16T21:16:00.000-07:00

3/18/07

In the smoky candlelight of a friend's one-table cantina, I share conversation with her and a local man. He asks me the inevitable question: why I am not married. (Because all women are considered old maids if they are not married by the age of 30.) I’m used to this question and have an automatic answer; I need to get a job and my career in-line first. This is something Filipinos understand, but those who have time on their hands or a great deal of curiosity, as this gentleman does, persist.

I tell him that it’s not uncommon for married people to fight about money in the U.S. and somtimes it can even end the marriage. He agrees. I would rather be financially stable before I get married. He shakes his head sadly at this and says that “Filipinos live by their hearts.”

Suddenly, I realize what an idiot I was for thinking that working first, career before everything and preaching that to my students was the right approach. I didn’t come from a poor family that struggled. I worked in high school and college but always had my parents to rely on if I needed help. I knew that I had a good chance to succeed if I worked hard. Life isn't as fair in the Philippines.

When I thought about my friends in St. Louis who were off and on welfare constantly and considered working poor. I knew their family life was what kept them from a breakdown. Yet, I knew that they would not agree with this Filipino man. While they had strong family values, they would prefer to wait to have a job before starting a family. Yet, my St. Louis friends know that financial stability as an American right and can be something achievable with time, pending extenuating circumstances beyond their control, and these seem to happen often. Whereas for working class Filipinos, unless they are graced with a scholarship or business sponsorship find themselves constantly battling to keep on top of their debts.

revisiting siniloan's charms in spring

2008-09-05T21:36:00.000-07:00

3/12/08

I’m focused now on remembering every moment, every scent, every laugh/joke and suddenly finding life in Siniloan novel again.

The smell of oil and garlic or the tangy/salty smell of pork asado wafting from neighboring dirty kitchen’s every noon, through the almost identical pastel colored eye-lit curtains.
Little children chasing me down the block. Little kids no longer too ashamed to race me down the street on my daily jogs. Proud that girls are among those unafraid to get sweaty despite the adults jokes.

Falling asleep like a wet leaf onto the back of the jeepney driver’s head rest in a thick, soggy sleep. I never wake up until the very moment the jeepney turns the last bend before reaching the long stretch of high way adjacent rice fields outside my town. Maybe it catches any breeze undeterred by buildings and mountains because the sudden breeze and the sweet scent of the rice fields always wakes me up.

2/26/08

I really felt an intimate connection with farm animals today. The spring season has begun in Siniloan. I saw a baby calf standing on the side of the lush green rice fields today. And I felt so blessed to be alive and to meet this precious creature. The calf was white with brown spots and a cold wet black snout and enormous sad eyes with long lashes.

There was so much innocence and trust in her as she lifted her snout to sniff my fingers tips, only inches away from her nose. Her nostrils grew rounder and then sucked in air again. Her heart must have been racing a little. Mine surely was. I held my breath waiting for her next move. Eventually, she bowed her head down and I scratched and smoothed the white stripe between her eyes, gently.

I was in awe that I creature twice my weight at least could be so docile. The other day, I took the path to Halayhayin on the far side of the highway where most of the houses are made of wood or banana leaves and or thatched weaved leaved in nebah hut style. There were several baby cows and bulls graizing on the side of road. Two caves were nursing and their coats were matted and wet, their bodies thin and concave and their legs still shaky. They must have been new borns. So sweet.

2007-08-11T22:55:00.000-07:00

11/27/07

Sumaging Caves, Sagada

I was a child: grasping, touching, reaching, climbing through every black opening ahead, any unusual surface I saw and wanted to explore. No space was prohibited, no path too narrow, steep or ledge too high, none unconquerable.

There were caves so slick with cream colored calcium bicarbonate. My mind was tricked into seeing human inner space, and I was gliding along a tunnel of twisted tendons and stippled fat. It felt so natural to be in the caves, crawling and crab walking through low tunnels. The cool temperature, the gentle dripping water and the darkness lulled me into awe, into solace. I could have stayed there all day and just soaked my feet in the glowing green pools, lit by holes beneath the surface.

I imagined my ancestors’ lives to be like this: living on the rock face, swathed in damp clothing from walking/crawling through the cave to the family camp site. I saw the nightmares a lifetime in caves might have plagued me with as I waded through shadowy passageways dripping with staligmites’ sharp, silvery points. There jagged teeth often creating a natural fence to the next tunnel.

Despite the slippery surfaces, the sharp cliff faces and the fast moving water traversed my first spelunking tour undeterred until we came to a narrow ledge with a sharp drop. The three guides, created a two hand holds farther down the ledge. The taller people went first by stepping quickly along the ledge and reaching out and holding the rock ahead of them. I saw how high these rock holds were and knew there was no way I could reach them. I could try to swing across and just hope I could hold on long enough to catch the ledge and get my balance, but I chocked. I could’ve took a deep breath and just trusted myself but I made the mistake of looking down at the rushing water swirling into the funnel-like bottom of the cave. The problem was, I had no choice, I couldn’t stay here alone. So, I moved forward with a little help.

A tall guide came back for me and stood in the icy water for me and let me use his knee for extra support in case I slipped as I walked along the ledge. I was grateful but embarrassed at how secure and close the cave floor actually was or at least the guide made it easy to stabilize his balance in. I heard earlier someone slipped and fell on this very rock face so I didn’t feel bad for being careful. I saw it as being a smart spelunker.

8/07

With Less than a year Left......

With less than a year left, I was at first both relieved and proud of myself. Then, I realize how comfortable I've become with my life in Siniloan and how close I've become with my neighbors. And I felt a little uneasy.

My States-side life on Friday nights went like so: walk to the gym from work for a 45 minute work out; call my friends on the way home to make sure our plans for the evening were set; run home eat, shower and change; and jet out the door for the bars only ten minutes from my front door for an evening that might not end until, well, it ends.

Now, I leave work when my co-workers go home or I get hungry and decide to cut our lingering by the covered basketball court or tricycles despite the children squeezing by us chika- chika short. I walk home, waving until my arm gets tired at students passing by on trikes and then nod and smile a lot and occasionally stopping to talk to groups of old men and women who congregate beneath awnings or tree-shaded front steps on plastic-molded chairs. I go for a run through the neighborhoods and out onto the highway, past the grain mill, past the rice fields, past the fouls and calfs still healthy and unscarred, graizing next to their mothers on the roadside. I wander back to my house to take a bucket shower, eat dinner and then wander over to my neighbors house to play Tongits (similiar to Gin Rummy), watch TV Dramas, run around the sala (living room) with the 5 (Dedette) and 7 year old (Ehlay) or just chika chika.

Sometimes, I wander over to my friend and co-workers house two blocks away. She is not always home but when she is, I always stay until we're both too tired to stay awake. She laughs easier and is always in a good mood. Her house seems the social nexus for students and young adults. There is a constant flow of children and neighbors visiting. They ask her for advice, she either gives it to them or finds a way to make them laugh off their worries. She is my favorite person and one of many people it will be hard for me to leave.

I really enjoy all the chats I have with my neighbors. We share books, our dreams, thoughts on religion, men, different cultures. Now, they even confide in me about their love lives. And I'm finding myself thinking about them and my other close friends at work long after I am by myself. I worry about them and feel attached as I do to my friends from home.

But I'll see my friends in the states again and I know that even if I worry about them they will probably be okay. I don't feel the same about my friends here in the Philippines. I will feel in a sense that if I leave I am abandoning them.

Maybe that sounds foolish. They are intelligent and competent people who will get by. that's part of the reason that I am friends with them. They didn't have access to the resources and support that I've been fortunate enough to have and yet they are successful, happy and confident people.

But people help each other here. If someone succeeds, it's expected that they will use their success anf financial stability to help their family. And my neighbors, my co-workers, my hosts families have become family to me. So, how can I continue to help them all in some way when I leave Siniloan in a year?

Where's the Art?!

2007-08-11T22:42:00.001-07:00

6/07

I went to the Museum of the Filipino People. It was interesting but mostly swords and pottery retrieved from sunken ships near Cebu and Manila Bay. As a girl who grew up 30 minutes from NYC where art was always at my finger tips, I found my visit completely depressing. I wanted so much more for my students in Siniloan.

I went to the appropriate offices to get more information and was pointed to galleries where paintings and sculptures were for sale in malls in Makati and Quezon City. So, finding art in Manila has become one of my many personal missions while in the Philippines. I scour the newspapers weekly for information about Filipino artists. (Usually, they are traveling to Thailand and Singapore to exhibit their work in famous museums.)

Some of the volunteers think I’m nuts for complaining that there isn’t much public art available cheaply to the public that are bigger more pressing issues such as tackling economic and environmental issues. I agree but what buoys people when things are difficult? Who helps them remember to see beauty even when life seems void of it? Artists, musicians, dancers…. There aren’t any hard cover books with glossy 4-color photographs of paintings or sculptures in the library. (The library was a classroom until last month.) And there aren’t any shiny instruments tucked in cupboards of the music room. (Instruments are owned individually by students so their voices are the only instruments heard on the school grounds, and so many of my students are somehow pitch-perfect despite their lack of training.)

Okay, one more thing and I’ll get off my soap box. When I go to bookstores to the Filipino Literature section, there are plenty of wonderful books. But the anthologies are all the same literature of varying length of course by the same publisher. My students deserve to see how many accomplished modern Asian writers there are NOW and read work they can relate to not just folktales and essays written by people a century ago….(Not that I don’t appreciate the wonderful folktales and older written works, I’ve read them in English and greatly appreciate them.)

Anyway, my mom is collecting books and sending them to me in a bulk mail shipment, so if you feel so compelled, by all means send a handful of used books her way or with a Baltimore/DC contact (TBD) to collect books in Baltimore/DC.

YouTube Link from a Teacher Training

2007-08-11T22:15:00.000-07:00

7/07

I didn’t go to the teacher training in Cebu for Tudlo/Mindanao teachers, but this is hysterical you’ve got to see this.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HM9feghIpvQ

Pumasok sa eskewelehan (School is opened)

2007-08-11T22:14:00.001-07:00

6/17/07

Summer was a flurry of activity. The main events include two major workshops and one very sad memorial commemorating the passing of a dedicated fellow volunteer, a woman I truly admired. And now another school year lies before me like sweat trickling down my back on a humid, sunny morning, slowly and inevitably but with hope. Chalk caking the underside of my fingers, manila sheets of lecture notes, refusing to lie flat, flapping in the breeze of the fan and outdoors. The inevitable nausea and half hour snooze/collapse on my desk that follows my two hour classes due to only one working fan in a very hot tin-roofed classroom.

Summer was a flurry of activity. The main events include two major workshops and one very sad memorial commemorating the passing of a dedicated fellow volunteer, a woman I truly admired. And now another school year lies before me like sweat trickling down my back on a humid, sunny morning, slowly and inevitably but with hope. Chalk caking the underside of my fingers, manila sheets of lecture notes, refusing to lie flat, flapping in the breeze of the fan and outdoors. The inevitable nausea and half hour snooze/collapse on my desk that follows my two hour classes due to only one working fan in a very hot tin-roofed classroom.

Vigan City, Illocos Norde

2007-08-11T22:13:00.000-07:00

5/07

My favorite spot in Vigan was the pottery factory. I loved the sweet smell of wet clay, soil and grass on that rainy day. The room was low-ceilinged and windowless. A blonde-tailed pony grazed behind the house beside a tall mound of red and brown broken bowls and handles. I sat beside the man whose hands moved up the walls of the clay pot until they were tall and running vertical with narrow rivets.

I miss that feeling of acting intuitively without saying a word and see your ideas transform into art. And even when it is finished, it feels like something that can't possibly have come out of you. Is that detachment, release or grace? I'm not sure.

Being there made me realize I need to start painting and sketching again. I keep wanting to try my hand at mixed media art. Now is the time to do it....I walk by the hardware store all the time with ideas. Feeling the tactile urge to fiddle with wire, paper, plastic and paint. It's time to act. My friend, Valerie is shaking her head right now at me, I'm sure of it.

Homecoming

2007-08-11T22:10:00.000-07:00

4/27/07

I was away from site for a while and it feels good to be back in Siniloan, where life that still means peace, friendship and kindness. I saw my home town with fresh eyes.

Walking down the street where little kids bathe under pumps or water pipes, women swatting on low stools before wide silver bowls filled with laundry, their hands gloved in bubbles, their hands never still, always scrubbing, scrubbing the bacteria and sweat away.
Yet, their faces quietly alert to every passerby, never missing a chance to nod or smile at people with familiarity or curiosity.

The kids weaving around me on their bikes or running up to me to slap me five, screaming, “Moria, Moria! Kehmoosta Keh!” (They loved making fun of my nasally accent.) The kids hanging over the bridge with plastic, diamond-shaped kites with long white tails, the name of a local grocery store stretched out but still visible on one corner of the plastic tail.

I immediately received text messages from co-workers. “R u back na?” and “Don't run alone, ok?” They always worry about me. It's really sweet.

Siniloan is becoming comfortable to me. I enjoy spending time with my neighbors who are around my age. Their kids come over and run around my kitchen or sprawl on my floor and draw on loose leaf pages in blue and black ink. I just taught my neighbor's 6 year old how to play hangman. She is addict already. We usually only use 3 or 4 letter words, sometimes in English and sometimes Tagalog, but she usually figures out the word in time. Matallino siya talaga. (She's really smart.)

I'm reading a lot. Read “Notes from the Underground” finally. I'd been holding onto that tattered used book forever. Fascinating ideas. I read it twice, introduction and foreword by author and all. Uncannily true. That we thwart our own goodness and evil nature by will and inability to be completely committed to one lifestyle or the other. Doestoyevsky says that its the nature of man to be unable to commit to being completely bad or good due to too much self-consciousness and self-awareness. He acts as if self-awareness is bascially a pre-occupation with your own thoughts, selfishness. It can be. I can't figure out how he came to that theory exactly, when he found religion in jail or due to an interest in socialism.

Regardless, I totally agree that many people do exactly what he says. Their awareness of themselves ruins their chances at perfection. Or is their awareness an uncessary state of being and should they be more concerned with themselves in relation to others? Maybe what he's saying is that no matter how hard you try you can't reach perfection. Actually, I think that he wants us to not come to any conclusion but just observe this anti-hero without pity. What I wonder sometimes is this, do people think they can be better people by not being in contact with other human beings like monks and just sitting in silence all the time?

How do monks know they've succeeded if they've only mastered enlightenment within the monastery? How does a person know they are truly corrupt unless they've encountered the silence of a monastery? We don't live on individual islands for a reason and each person we meet is an opportunity for an exchange of ideas, thoughts, and a challenge. Maybe one that will break the very core of our constitution. And should. We can't be whole until we are broken. Removed of any precipis that is plastic only and does not represent or with stand challege and isn't true to what we truly believe.

Do I feel challenged here? Absolutely. But there will come a time when I will feel ready to leave. It's hard for me believe one more year will be enough. I feel like I have so much more to learn from my Filipino friends and work associates, yet.

A life unfinished but far from forgettable

2007-08-11T21:55:00.000-07:00

Julia Campbell: out-spoken, a leader, a mentor and with so many more titles undoubtedly to add after her name.

After succeeding as a prize-winning journalist, a career in the international non-profit world was next on Julia's list. I didn't know her as well as others, but I regret that world has lost the influence of someone with such strength, courage, generosity and lightening speed wit.

When I think about whether I could possibly carry on anything I'd learned from her in any comparable way, I feel daunted. But optimism seemed a constant in Julia's tone of voice, so I'll try to find the semantics if not a tone on par...

English Lessons Taught in Tagalog

2007-07-15T18:36:00.001-07:00

3/07/07

Yes, I had avoided the challenge of speaking Tagalog outside the office and in the classroom by merit of being the English teacher and speaking English only in the classroom is a requirement.

More recently, I have started working with one student who cannot speak English very well at all, never mind read or comprehend the language. So, I must speak to her in Tagalog to give the right directions to a game and to ask her comprehension questions after we finish reading a passage. My friend is going to pass her even though she should fail because she cannot afford to pay for summer school. I am going to try to convince her to meet with me at her house this summer so I can tutor her....Undoubtedly, I'll need to pick up the pace with my Tagalog studies if I really want to be able to communicate with her...It's been very challenging but a good challenge. We are both very motivated to help her understand English. My student and I have that much in common.

I'm having issues with my neighbors but I can't even confront them through a third party because it will undoubtedly just make them feel embarrassed and nothing will change anyway...It's so frustrating but ignoring the problem is sometimes the only solution here. Damn, Filipinos have amazing self-restraint to be that patient and forgiving with others!

I am still learning to show self-restraint and not to get annoyed at the trike drivers making lewd comments as they drive by (wearing headphones has started to make this a little easier) or stare at me blatantly and call out to me again and again and again as if it were a game and not at all annoying. I hate all the attention but know that I will miss it when I am back in the states...I understand that I'm seen as snobby if I don't wave back or at least smile so I am going to make an effort to get up at the ass crack of dawn (between 4 and 5 am) so I can run at the time most Filipinos run and I will start to immerse myself more in the culture...and become less offensive.

Marinduque Island

2007-07-15T18:29:00.000-07:00

1/28/07

Marinduque

I love this island. It is the ideal volunteer site. And a nice break from my site.

A fellow volunteer, Kristine lives across from the beach in a house surrounded by a white picket fence. The neighborhood is a patchwork of family homes surrounded by fences and low bushes growing in the sand somehow. A neighbor's chickens and family dog freely roam about Kristine's yard in search of crumbs. Inevitably, a cluster of young children peek through the sliding door at us. The children climb all over a taller male volunteer like a tree and finding his surprise entertaining, persist. Another female volunteer and I teach them "ring around the rosie" and "shake it seniorita". My cheeks hurt from smiling so much by the end of the day.

The following day, a group of ladies came over bearing baskets of flower petals and sang/danced a traditional folk song native to Marinduque. The song is always sung to honor a person on their birthday or a guest to the island. After they finished the dance, they showered Kristine in white, pink and green petals and placed a wicker crown on her head.

At night all you can see is constellations like rice scattered for the dogs across the blacktop, the cool air, the sound of the crickets and occasionally the rank and rush of the water pump beside the house and the ravenous bite and sting of a millions mosquitos from the rice field in her back yard.

The next day, in honor of Christine's birthday, the neighbors came over carrying baskets of flower petals and a guitar. The ladies danced to a traditional folk song used to honor visitors or locals on their birthday. They placed the crown on her head and showered her with the petals at the end of the dance. There was a great deal of picture-taking with the guest of honor after that....

My trip was great until I made the unfortunate decision to take the smaller speed-boat back to the Luzon Island.

Imust have already been a little nervous because it was the boat company's maiden voyage after being closed for unknown reasons for a few months. As a passing squall tossed the small boat with way too many passengers side to side until I saw water covering the port holes, I started to regret my decision. Suddenly, I was grateful that I'd carried my Peace Corps-issued life jacket in my backpack. I was glad that I hadn't needed to use it, though.
1/21/07
Sayaw in the barrior, Mabitiac

After going to a wedding reception at a “resort” or private pool/outdoor lounge area with a restaurant, I piled into the Dance Instructor's car, the matriarch of the Dance Instructors, a tall extremely thin man with a slightly hunched back and a cigarette in his hand whenever he isn't on the dance floor but an impeccably graceful man who always seems to move effortlessly.

So, the bacla, several senior citizens, my female dance instructor friend and I traveled to a a barrio, or rural neighborhood in Mabitac. We passed several rice fields before entering a heavily wooded area without streetlights. We arrived at a fenced in concrete block being used as a basketball court. There were multi-colored lights, a DJ and people lining the fence waiting for the dancing to begun. It was meant to be for the youth but the DIs
took over the dance floor as there was no one dancing yet so far. WE handed them our discs and glided around the floor to disco (swing) and salsa music. We attracted a crowd, especially me. I sat back down on the two tiered bleachers and was instantly surrounded by 12 7-9 year old girls asking me a million questions a minute. They all wanted me to perform “Boom, Tarat, Tarat”, kind of like a Filipino version of the Macarena. I humored them in the beginning but that got old quickly. Eventually, I got tired of answering questions, heard a modern song come on and coaxed the girls out onto the court. I felt like a giant on the dance floor for the first time in my life, but I had a blast binding with the girls and they were very good at the popular dance moves in the Philippines, something that looks like a hop kick, swing your foot behind in front kick again for of move done at a rapid speed. The faster, the better.

Being there reminded me of high school and middle school dances and how hidden in the semi darkness under the glamorous glare of the pink, green, blue revolving blubs, the smell of stale sweat still radiating from the gym floor, a little girl can feel like a star for an evening, effervescent and free...Maybe that's why I like dancing even if I'm not great at it...I love the freedom to express myself without a care in the world for just a few hours.

Typhoon Remy

2007-07-15T18:26:00.001-07:00

12/7/06

The worst tragedy has hit Bicol. Only a couple of months since the devastation of Milleniyo and a new typhoon strikes only to take the ash that all had thought Mt. Mayon had ceased to emmit, and turn it into a horrific mudslide that wiped 10 barungays off the map. (They were completely buried in mud.) Link to first hand account of disaster

Even after hearing all these statistics, it's easy to remain detached. Then, I started hearing stories about Bicol volunteers being up to their knees in water and having their windows broken, roofs torn off and being deprived of all prior securities received as a peace corps volunteer: clean water, electricity, food, shelter. They were suddenly in the same situation as everyone else and no way to get out of it. Eventually, the volunteers were moved to an evacuation center, but I'm sure the days of and shortly after the storm where some volunteers had not been heard from at all was enormously scary.

I visited the very town hit worst by the typhoon, Santo Dimingo just a week prior to the storm. I was stunned. It had been a cloudless weekend of swimming, hiking and playing Scrabble. I could see Mt. Mayon across the bay in its entirety from their wrap-around porch. It was hard to imagine the heavily wooded area with so many long winding, steep roads having been easy to pass once the mudslides started. Apparently, all the roads were blocked and could only be traveled by foot. And knowing most people in Santo Domingo lived by the sea and depended on it for their livelihood, I knew the storm/mudslide would cause more than damage to their living conditions but their very survival.

And after meeting several people, jeepney and trike drivers the week before when I arrived at 3 am in the pitch darkness in a jeepney, without speaking the local language and only have a vague notion of where I was going, people approached me and gathered in a group discussing how best to get me to where I needed to go. They went out of their way to help me...I wonder where those kind people are now and if they're safe.

Some volunteers lost their roofs and many were flooded out of their homes and evacuated to Naga City, the nearest main city. There was no power for a month and as of 1/20/07 there is still no phone lines operating in most cities in the areas worst hit by the storms. The volunteers spent many weeks volunteering at emergency sites playing at shelters with the children. They too were receiving emergency food rations at one point.

Thanksgiving Day in Bicol

2007-07-15T18:24:00.002-07:00

11/28/06
I spent Thanksgiving Day actually sitting in 7-11 with a counter and stool waiting for a bus (for four hours). The day only commemorates the enslavement and massacre of Native Americans anyway.

Once I finally got a bus, I discovered too late that the passenger directly behind me had brought a live rooster in a tall basket and hooked it to the back of my chair. Th off-pitch cooing and the smell was so bad, I contemplated setting the rooster free while the woman was outside but decided the chances that the rooster would have a better life on the city streets of Manila or live a longer life were slim so I just sat there breathing deeply.

I had an unusual Thanksgiving. Traveled 10 hours to Santo Domingo, Lagaspi, Bicol for the weekend. The trip was long and ended with me being dropped at the side of the road in the dark next to two trikes on an unlit road. Only the spark of a lighter indicated that there were two men standing under the covered cement bus stop.

Of course, I am now in a Bicol-speaking region but fortunately most people speak a little Tagalog. One of the two men was able to get me into town. And I woke up the next morning breathing in the foul breath of a fellow volunteer snoring on a mattress close beside me, listening to the sound of the waves hitting the shore, and I knew that this trip was a good decision.

Mariah (pronounced like my name, I know 2 of us in the same volunteer batch; what are the odds!) house is across the bay from the foot of Mt. Mayon and view is fantastic. (See my photos on flicker.com). Its so big that I feel like the swim down the bay counldn’t be that far, at least 2 miles. Purple, blue and green_who knew a volcano contained such a motley of colors. It reminds me more of rock face near the ocean, marbleized, slick and green, pink, blue-black. Charissa, a geologist junkie but oceanographer by trade told me that the rocks are different colors due to how close they were to the earths core for how long and what minerals they contain. I think that I knew all of this but hadn’t thought about it in many many years. I was riveted, a geology convert…She told me about mollusks too but I can only absorb so much information without a notepad….I loved learning about the hows and whys though….If I’d had any mathematic skill I would have studied oceanography but alas, I can’t bare to even think about numbers unless it involves statistics, perspective measurements in drawings elements or picas. These all oddly appeal to me because they have to do with how to make images appear accurately on the page or bring into three dimensions the reality of many people and their lives. Fascinating to me probably a real snoozer of a conversation topic to others. Guess that’s why people always tell me I’m really bad at chit chat.

Daet, Bicol

2007-07-15T18:24:00.001-07:00

11/16/06

Went to Daet, Bicol to teach a journalism workshop in copyediting. It was an adventure just trying to get there. I forgot where the bus line to Naga was and went half-crazy as Filipino men screamed at me to take their bus lines, trying to take my bags and following the down the street…that is the danger of pausing when you stand before a bus….People will tell you which bus you should take if you dare to ask…This was last time I would ever ask for help from bus drivers…I was sent to three terminals…none going to Naga. That is the peril of asking for directions here…People don’t want to disappoint you so they always give you directions, unfortunately, most of the time the directions are wrong….

The workshop went relatively well considering a few minor details, which weren’t disclosed to me until I got there, namely, that I was expected to provide the copywriting contest. I took an existing Washington Post article, created many errors in the text for the students to fix and copied it all within 1 hour and managed to be late only by 15 minutes. This is with the jeepney ride back and forth in which the driver stopped every few feet to drop off kids.

Daet is beautiful. Thick with woods and farm lands. The air smells of dirt and moist green life with an occasional whiff of dog poo. Perfect other than the last part.

It is all curving roads through thick green woods of new bamboo trees stretching there narrow slim bodies towards the sunlight between the stoic muscular bark of banana, coconut and blank? trees. Interspersed are many bahay kubos, houses made of rattan bamboo weave and grass roofs. There is also a tremendous amount of poverty as well. There were many houses along side the road patched with cardboard, posters or faded sheets to cover gaps in between walls. Kids squatting before a checker board using bottle caps or stones as the play pieces.

On the way back, I got off at the wrong San Pablo. Apparently, there is a town also called San Pablo in the Province of Quezon. I am standing on the side of a very busy road with two huge bags at 3 am having no idea where I was. A man approached me and I immediately started walking away from me quickly. He said that he was a teacher for the department of education. He remembered seeing me. He handed me 100 pesos and put me on a bus in the right direction. I don’t remember his name but I will never forget how kind he was to a total stranger. It reaffirmed a truth I strongly believe_there are good people everywhere, especially within the Philippines.

All Saints' Day

2007-07-15T18:23:00.001-07:00

11/1/06

In the crease of the road leading to the next town between the Cruztel Station and a mechanic shop is the “cemetario”. Trikes are sitting on each others tails carrying 6 people with candles, bags of food and flowers. The street smells like lechon, roasted pork and hot dogs. It is only 2 pm but the sky is clear, the sun is hot and there are too many people in the small, narrow footpaths between mausoleums. People are getting off and on the trikes to greet their friends near the entrance of the cemetary, further slowing down the progression of traffic. The chief of police is making a useless effort to get the attention of trike drivers and keep them moving along to make room for more visitors.

The grave plots/mosaleums are teired and seem to cut into the side of the mountain like the rice terraces. On the ground floor of the cemetario graves take up every available spot. Next to eleborate moseleums with benches around the inside of the room with a gate and windows and even paintings or candeleras gracing the walls are coffins above ground in the pie piece corners between these structures that seem bigger than most of the houses in Siniloan. But moseleums are not only used for holding their dead, it is a place to meet and greet relatives and honor their departed family members properly. Surrounding the foot, head and every available inch around the coffin with flower arrangements and candles as small as tea candles and 3 feet high monstrosity meant to last until midnight that night when the celebration ends. Someone in the family, usually college students or young relatives watch the graves later in the evening, accompanied by friends.

Most graves have crock pots, plates and jugs of spring water lining the wall and several people sitting talking, laughing and eating. Others had set up a small concession stand in front of their grave site: selling gum, chips, juice boxes, candy. (Many people can barely afford to keep their dead in the ground. It is very expensive and once the body has decomposed, if you aren't paying the rental fees, the bones are removed from the coffin and tossed on the ground!) Organizations such as the Rotary Club and Rotaract also had stands and were selling sugo juice, lemonade and balloons on sticks to raise money for those who couldn't afford to keep their dead in the ground.

Children feeling restless no doubt after being at the grave sites since early morning, climb to onto the eves of the moseleums and call out to people below they know, including myself. One child was actually lying restlessly over the side of unattended coffin plot.

In the evening, I went to visit my friend, Lyss, who's mother is the mayor of Magdalena. I went to their very large open air plot which was surprisingly simple. I sat and ate pansit and a SIPPS juice box and met various relatives of hers. She's super social. It's a shame she isn't interested in running for office. She could undoubtedly win. She has the personality. She is the Magdalena elementary school librarian. I think that she likes being so close to home and being able to spend time with her son. (Her husband works overseas so she is the soul caretaker of her son. Of course, there are house servants in their enormous house. It must have five bedrooms which is unheard of in the Philippines at least in comparison to most of the two bedroom houses I've seen families squeeze into.)

It was stunning to see the graves lit by candles without any street lights to harbor their glow. They flickered and waved in the slight breeze, bringing a sense of solemnity to the evening that the day time activities lacked. (Maybe people were just quieter because they were tired after the long day. Only half the students showed up for school the next day.)

Tips on How to Fake it (Become pseudo-Filipino)

2007-07-15T18:21:00.000-07:00

10/28/06

1. Arm yourself with the digits for karaoke songs at all times. Do not leave yourself at the mercy of friends to pick your song…. “Ocho, Ocho” and “The Spaghetti Song” are my personal favorites. They require a lot of repetition and absolutely none of the high octaves that are painfully included in most people’s personal favorites. Yea, it’s a cheap shot, I know.

Another easy song for the not-so-talented-or-otherwise-gifted-in-any-of-the-entertainment arts that Filipinos love and excel in is “Wild Thang” and “Betty Davis Eyes” which is more about emphatic speaking than singing. The ladies at my house roll every time I sing them, especially when I had a bad soar throat and thought I really did sound like Stevie Nicks.

My friends go wild because their tone-deaf American friend is singing in Tagalog and knows the words to the songs. Also, it’s not as highly embarrassing as getting stuck singing “Top of the World” by The Carpenters in front of the entire faculty, especially since I hadn’t heard that song since I was 5 years old.

2. Never ever leave home without your cologne, powder, toothbrush, fan, compact umbrella, and handkerchief, (especially since you make the ridiculous 5 minutes commute, a total of 12 blocks to the high school every day), otherwise, be prepared for co-workers (of the same sex, of course) to cluck their tongues at you as they shove recycled printer paper up the back of your shirt to absorb the sweat. These supplies come in handy on trips outside the office which always have the potential to become longer visits than you plan do to social courtesies that need to be followed. A one hour appointment can turn into lunch with the associate afterwards and even more chica-chica in her/his office after lunch….

3. When in doubt of how to answer someone’s question, because it is too personal etc., just laugh or say, “secreto”. That always seems to work and satisfy people that they haven’t offended you by asking the question and that the two of you are on good and close terms.

4. Become a very creative liar.

I’ve been a pitiful liar all my life except in writing, which may be why I always used to leave my parents notes the next morning as to why I missed my curfew rather than facing them and buckling within seconds. Most of the time people really want to know where you are going just that you are okay going there alone and don’t need any help finding a particular store or government building. Where are going? Where have you been? is the American equivalent of “How are you?” People only answer half the time and its said merely as a form of greeting half the time more than anything else….

Also, after being asked by 40 people within a mile radius these questions, you start to learn to respond to these questions only when you recognize the person or they keep shouting out the question even after you are almost a block away. Puffing out, “’Yan lang” is a sufficient answer to their pleasantries….Which means “just there”.

People also feel compelled to come with you where ever you go because you will rarely see a male or female riding a trike, jeepney or walking without a close friend at their elbow. American independence seems anti-social to them…and I guess it can be sometimes. Filipinos are extremely generous with themselves and their time….If they are every running late, it is not because they are not good at keeping track of time, it is usually because they saw someone on their walk to class/church/the town hall/etc. and didn’t want to be so rude as to interrupt them and run off just to get to a meeting on time. People will sit long after a meeting is over and chit chat, share marienda or a snack and then separate. It’s as if that is the real reason for the visit, to socialize and the meeting was just an excuse to see that other person….There are so many business associates I’ve meet here that are always remarking when they see me that they miss me and want to get together soon and catch up rather than coming out and saying they are interested in working on a future project together. It’s really an endearing quality about Filipino culture that I quote admire and wish to adopt, even though it has taken me a while to get used to after 10 years working in a completely contrary professional environment.

But it’s so much easier to tell someone you are going to the office to finish up paperwork rather than have your host cousin trail you to the supermarket to get tampons and then have to explain what they are used for….

5. Always check your coinage before handing it over to the trike driver. OB are considered an import (My package got held in customs because of these little buggars) it still does not qualify as local currency and will only reward you with a befuddled but politely silent and about to accept the halo-halo. Be prepared to smile widely and give one your nervous laughs.

Nutrition

2007-07-15T18:20:00.001-07:00

My co-worker asked to borrow an exercise in a grammar book of mine but wanted clarification first. The exercise was to help students understand present and continuing present tense. It was a chart of a boys diet and then the diet he should have. She said she was confused.White rice was on the list of bad foods. This is a staple in the Filipino diet. I explained to her about the higher value of unprocessed brown rice. But its mal mahal (expensive) she said. She was also confused as to why white breads and cookies were bad for you. This threw me for a loop. I explained to her the low nutritional value in white bread and that cookies were in fact mostly sugar....Of course, Filipinos eat pastries with jam or meat filling, cookies or egg/root vegetable flavored cakes at least twice a day as their mid-morning and mid-afternoon snack. She said, but they are made from flour and flour is good for you. I was totally baffled. This explains why more than 50% of Filipinos over the age of 60 have diabetes. Their idea of nutrition is outdated by about 50 years....

I've been pretty lucky so far. Even though I ate fish and seafood at my first host home, I managed to get away with not having to eat any meat in the my second host home and was relieved. I wanted to resume my vegetarian lifestyle. Apart from two instances where I drank juice at someone's house and am now sure it was well or tap water, I have been relatively bug free. Knock on wood. I take my malaria pills routinely and get as much sleep as I need. After graduate school, this is very sweet....Although sleeping in on the weekends is virtually impossible so I don't think I've ever slept past ten in my old host home. In my current home, without the sound barrier of being in an inner room,etc., I am up most of the time on the weekends by 8 am....what with all the neighborhood dogs barking, my neighbor's kids screaming/talking and people doing their laundry on my front step which is incidentally right next to the pump...That's the first sound I hear at 4 or 5 am....The crank craaaank rush sound of someone washing their face and teeth...probably neighbor, Lola ...as she is the cook in the house and the head of the home is usually the first one up to bathe, get dressed and start preparing breakfast for the family....I don't envy her...Everytime I see her she is either sweeping, cooking or washing clothes....I almost want to offer to help but I spend enough time as it is washing my own clothes...It takes an average of 3 hours, 2 to 3 times a week to get everything from workout clothes, work pants and blouses, underwear, socks and towels washed...Maybe one weekend morning/afternoon I'll help her....maybe when I'm feeling a little more secure with my Tagalog. (She speaks only a few words in English and they are barely decipherable through the few blackened teeth that she has.) Such a sweet woman though. Like most Filipinos, she is always greeting me and smiling....Westerners could learn a lot from Filipinos. They are always pleasant, never raise their voice accept to joke and tease and they are never confrontational, they try to either joke about a problem or ignore it...Constant peacemakers they are....And their patience so strong its almost unimaginable to Westerners how much they will tolerate....

MSG is used in everything from fast foods, cafeteria style foods, all baked goods, etc. I now understand why I was always sick every time I had training sessions at hub...It was all the MSG they put in the food. It was so strong when I was at PST2 that I spent every night but the last one going to bed by 7 or 8 pm, I was so ill. I realized it was the MSG in the eggs and avoided them on the last two days and recovered in time to return to site....Lucky me.

Sexism

2007-07-15T18:17:00.000-07:00

It is totally appropriate for male married men to tease women but not visa versa. It's not even acceptable to talk or walk alone if you are of dating/marrying age.

And definitely acceptable for people to make overtly sexual comments in a professional setting such as, “No. we don't wear any of those two pieces here so even if you want to show off what you've got. You'll have to save that for another time. Heh heh." And looking you up and down suggestively in the process.

Paegant Worship

2007-07-15T18:15:00.000-07:00

10/15/06
Paegant worship (and other things I understand but still can't fully appreciate about local culture)

What people love more than a barungay piesta which many people take off time from work and stay up late and rise at 3 or 4 am sometimes to do all the cooking necessary in preparation for the event is paegants. Maybe its the lack of glamor and the accessibility of fame and wealth? Filipinos love three things food, entertainment and hospitality. They are the most important things ever. And everyone is always concerned as well that they always put their best foot forward. You never know which students go without food sometimes and live in utter poverty because every student comes into school freshly scrubbed in a clean ironed uniform.

One of my co-workers explained it well when I was pondering out loud over the Filipino's obsession with paegants. It has nothing to do with academics yet there is a paegant during every town piesta and high school science and math camp, school based, divisional and regional. Why? She said, “What else do the students have to look forward to?”

People hear don't have money, many are separated from their husband or wife in order that they can earn enough abroad that they might have a little nest egg, but most people know that life will always be a struggle so why not at least appreciate the ways things are, celebrate youth, beauty and talent. And Filipinos never miss an opportunity to do just that. The United Nations is another such event which with eyes rolling into the back of my head I stand after the first 3 hours wondering when the two segments of introductions by the 50 country representatives will end. There are, as usual, a few intermission acts involving a duet between a male and female student singing “A Whole New World” which was actually done in perfect pitch. Quite impressive and a hip hop dance number by the SNHS Dance Troop. They are always too adorable.

But I can't help but stand there thinking, the editor is up there doing a dance number and the school newspaper is in danger of not making the deadline to compete in the annual newspaper contest. In the states, this would never happen. The students would have been up until all hours at school even on Sunday and would have skipped the performance to do their work....Instead, the advisor is going ballistic trying to complete the editing and getting her husband to create the layout (he's a graphic designer). This is totally insane.
She's just supposed to be helping them not doing their work for them....

It's a shame because the students are becoming too relient on their teachers and it shows. The students always end up turning in their assignments late. And it is pretty common for me to hear a teacher complain that she had to repremand her class for not doing their assignment! I've heard of one or two students forgetting to do an assignment, but how is it possible that an entire class could more than once forget to do an assignment? That is just too bizarre! Maybe in two years some of my ideas will be accepted along with the multiple paegents as non-academic projects/events allowed by the school.

The Visitation of the Gods, a short story by Gilda Cordero-Fernando has been totally comforting to me in trying to understand bureaucracy in the Filipines as well as made me question how things work within certain domestic affairs departments within the U.S. government. Hopefully, my dear friends who work or have worked for government before you can enlighten me about all the juicy and horrific details because I’m feeling a little shell-shocked at times coming from a purely non-for-profit businesses. This is my first job working for the government so I have a feeling I’m still too wet behind the ears to get it at times.

Walang swerte (without luck)

2007-07-15T18:13:00.002-07:00

10/13/06

Tears of frustration come too frequently lately. I am trying to move forward on a couple of projects but the process is slow and involves running back and forth to get permission for many things. This involves a lot of informal meetings and waiting. Waiting and more waiting.

There is nothing more amazing to me than watching opportunity after opportunity squashed because egos and bureaucracy carry tantamount importance above all other organizational goals. And that is all I will say about that.

And despite the fact that my projects are moving slowly as the months fly by, I've been able to accomplish a few things lately that I am proud of.

I decided that I should take advantage of my free time to learn new skills and Millenyo gave me ample time to experiment.

I've learned to make a few Filipino dishes, homemade peanut butter, hem curtains decently and am ambitious to sew a shirt or sun dress over the next few months.

10/14/06
City Life Starts to Lose its Charm

The pollution, traffic, noise, people constantly screaming hello to me is getting to me. As much as I like my home, I wish that I had been able to find something outside the center of the city. I try to run outside the city at least once a day to be surrounded by nothing but trees, rice fields, goats and cows. It always works. My headaches and tiredness dissipates and my mood lightens instantly. I feel free. I always used to city life, for a while.

I walked down along a concrete path built directly on top of the mud separating two rice fields....I walked and walked excited to find a more rural route home away from the pollution, screaming children who may or may not know more about me than my name and the swerving trikes. The curvy concrete path only led to the very center of the field where a house of weaved bamboo called a nebah hut sat under the low, wide branches of a tree. This was such a paradox to me. How families lived together until they married and sometimes afterward with their children and they were so private yet know everything about everyone else's business. It's almost a form of self-protection and protection to know the people around you so you know that your family is truly safe...That is what I've decided to believe regarding the gossipy nature of Filipino's. (Yet, it still bother me that people stare at me everywhere I go...I'm hoping that I will get over this soon.)

I know that with every failure will come a new opportunity. That is how I insist on thinking about things..every failed relationship, every failed opportunity...a teacher of mine once said that every mistake is a new opportunity...that is how I prefer to look at life....Look at what happened and resulted. Take what you can from the experience, learn from it and move on in a totally new direction.

40 Kilometers from Siniloan, Upland Region

2007-07-15T18:13:00.001-07:00

9/26/06

I crammed into a trike along with four other people (my co-workers and her two kids and a mutual friend from the neighborhood) to visit a friend living in a two-story Nebah hut near kilometer 40.

The hills are so steep, we had to let the trike's engine rest a few times because it was working so hard to get us up the hills. My co-worker's 12 year old daughter and I walked up one hill that seemed impossible for the trike to climb with all 5 of us.

As soon as I saw Sylvia's house, I thought this is for me. This is the life! She lives in a two-story nebah hut (a house made of weaved bamboo with a thick roof of long grass). There is a vegetable garden, chicken coops behind the houses and a pig farm on the far side of the hill. There's also a rest house cross a flowered pathway where people can rest for mid-day naps. There is also a dirty kitchen, or outdoor kitchen inside.

It was so amazing to sit there in the misty rain, rocking back and forth on a swinging bench and look down at the deep ravine of ruffled banana and fringy coconut trees below. It was so “malamig” there. A relief from the heat of the lower land region of Siniloan...And so cool and quiet..There were no trikes whizzing by constantly, no people or music blaring...

I think that I'm getting old. I'm becoming so intolerant of noise lately. Maybe it's because quarters are so close here and there is no privacy so the noise and people are everywhere. I know that sounds bad. I really enjoy the people but wish I had a retreat..place I could go that was kind of away from everything...

I wish my house was more remote so I could not be easily disturbed. The truth is neighbors, old neighbors, students and old host family members have taken it upon themselves to just drop by on a random weekday night unannounced. This is pretty common and I expected it just not so frequently. I'll get used to it, right? I'll miss all the attention and interest and generosity when I return to the US. I hope that the Filipino sense of close knit families, generosity, consideration of others before themselves, constant positive attitude and smiling face rubs off on me. I like how positive and agreeable people tend to be here...I think that positive attitude, hopeful spirit and open generosity with all people is something the US could use a lot more of.

Walang Kurante (Powerless after Typhoon Millenyo)

2007-07-15T18:12:00.001-07:00

9/17/06

No power (obviously, this entry is copied from my journal written by candlelight). Some are saying it could be a month before we get our power back. This doesn't really phase me. It's an excuse to stay in a read during the day and go to bed early. I'm kind of enjoying it..the quiet time...although I do miss being able to communicate with my friends and family via the internet.

I ran down the highway Friday morning and noticed that the one room shack along the highway was completely destroyed. The ground was smoking and the family, who I had met last summer when I first moved here..(I met them when I was sketching on the other side of the road). I'm assuming the house caught fire in the storm. Apparently, they stayed with the mother's brother the night before. The family was just sitting in a parked jeepney (the sky was overcast). The mother recognized me but averted my gaze as I ran by. I came back and asked “Ano'ng nangyari”, which means what happened. The house was destroyed in the storm. The mother who was so light-hearted and smiling widely looked so worried, her forehead creased, her head bowed over the baby in her arms. She was ashamed. I asked where she was staying that night. She said that they were on their way to barungay hall where they said they would receive help. I went back to find them but the hall was closed. I found them still sitting in the jeepney 8 hours later. I gave them a little money but I don't know how far it could really get them other than feed them for the next week and maybe pay for a single bed in a boarding house in town for a few nights. But that was just one family and our town was considered the least affected.

I saw photos at the Red Cross headquarters/later this month when I went in to get information for a Dengue campaign. An area outside Manila called Silang, Cavite which is so beautiful, all woods and farmland was greatly affected by the typhoons.In one photo a woods was stripped of many of the trees. They were ripped out of the ground completely and the wooded area containing 100 houses was completely bare and looked like a deep, fast moving river. It took them weeks to bring the water level down. Theya re still looking for bodies of those missing before the storm. Other regions affected by the typhoons were Manila City, Bicol, (10 hours south of Manila), Batangas, Mabitac, Cavite and 3 other cities nearby. Crazy. I'm trying to help start some small business projects for the people who are struggling to recover their financial losses. Red Cross and some local baragunays are going to help coordinate these small business trainings with me. I'm of course hoping to recruit some small business volunteers to help run the training.

10/1/06
I went to the plenke around 6 p.m., when the sun is starting to go down. The palenke is already dark inside. The market is usually busy. The streets filled with trikes weaving in and around pedestrian traffic and motorcycles (the main means of transportation for Filipinos) and the market packed with people standing around, patiently waiting in line to place their order at the vegetable and fruit stands. Tonight the place looks like an abandoned fairground, garbage littering the floor beneath abandoned and empty card tables beneath tarps. The few remaining tindehans (vendors) with scattered tea candles on their card tables barely look up at me, their heads in their hands, some sleeping. One vendor tells me business was been awful all last week and this week hasn't been much better.

I walk back down the dark streets only occasionally lit by a few trikes' headlights. I walk across the street cautiously because not all trike drivers and motorcyclists bother to use their headlights when driving in the dark. A kiosk selling roasted peanuts on the street looks like something from the 19th century with a metal kerosine lamp hooked onto the side of the cart dancing high in the windy night light a torch. We've heard there is still another typhoon coming through next Monday.

I pass Jolly Bee's and I'm disgusted. The two story structure has music blasting from speakers on the sidewalk. Their air conditioning and refrgerators are running while so many people have no power to even operate their running water in neighboring barungays. Incredible.

This power outage has made me much more aware of my energy and water consumption. I am thinking about trying to conserve more water. Washing my dishes in a basin and then dumping the dirty water on my plants. Using candles at night instead of electricity on the first floor. Only using my fan when I need it. Taking trikes only when its raining hard and walking more. I was walking a lot more in Limay. I got lazier the more buisy my life has become here.

Yes. There have been inconveniences. When I'm cooking and using candle light to cook by if I don't get home early enough to cook by daylight (before 5:30 pm) all the windows fog up and its very hot in the house (at least 10 degrees hotter on the first floor. The second floor is like a sauna all the time). It is also difficult to sleep in the heat. I find myself just lying in bed like I used to do Limay, reading (by flashlight this time) until I fall asleep from utter exhaustion.

I'm considering after Peace Corps living somewhere in a hut maybe here or somewhere in SE Asia, maybe in the states in a small cottage and living without electricity, just well water, growing my own fruits and veggies and living off my writing and short stories. That would truly be the perfect life for me.

9/18/06

I was walking home from the market again and there is a TV on the stage in the plaza, playing Sa Piling Mo, a night time soap opera. There are at least 3 to 40 people standing around watching the program. I'm assuming people got together and chipped in to get the generator. How funny is that! People are really serious about their soap operas here. I heard from friends in Bicol, another affected region, some people did the same thing in their town plaza.

Walang mabuting balita (No good news)

2007-07-15T18:10:00.002-07:00

9/23/06

Do you know the expression about when you don’t have any good news? Well, that is part of the reason that I haven’t written in a while. The reality is that I did have many good things happening to me, I just couldn’t see them at that point. I won’t go into the reasons why. The reasons wouldn’t be printable on this site at least until after my service ends.

Fortunately, I had some friends who were very supportive and understood the challenges that ex-pats face. I feel so selfish though, sitting here in my own two floor house while some one I know sleeps beside her children on the only mattress in a two bedroom shack in someone else’s backyard. I had a choice to stay with my host family or not. I chose to move. I am happier now but I am aware of what I have given up. I regret that sacrifice. Maybe, I needed to learn to be more patient and flexible when living with others. I wish that I had been able to. But I do not have the conveniences that I had in the other house, so maybe living on my own will help me understand some of the inconveniences and hardships most Filipino's encounter daily.

I’ve have faced a great many challenges in the past two months regarding intercultural relations at work. I feel as if I failed some test. My relationship with the principal is not as good and I know it is because I have failed in some ways to act as expected of me. I know that this may be difficult to mend and may not be reversible. I have hope that it is because I know that the principal has a good heart and is a forgiving and kind person.

If not there are always other projects to pursue. Nothing has come up so far except trying to promote Dengue awareness. I made a connection at a going away party which may lead to a AIDS awareness campaign at the local health center. I would really enjoy working on another health awareness project. Health is so easy to maintain if one is educated but without the right information, the human body can fall into amazing disrepair. Education and spreading awareness and information is tantamount for me. Why wouldn’t I want to shove as much information into the minds of my students on and off campus if I can. It is so difficult for me to hold back. Be patient and wait until the right time and the right way to deliver the information so as not to violate cultural rules.

I think that I am failing to meld into cultural norms. I am still finding it difficult to distinguish how to address work proposals. I’ve tried informally talking to teachers. I’ve tried talking to my supervisor and principal. This sometimes works and sometimes doesn’t. I still can’t figure out the process. Maybe I need to just present everything in writing first and then see if it will happen. I will try this approach, a more formal approach with my supervisor and see if it helps at all.

Ways my life and habits are changing:

I wake up beneath a cloud of gauzy mosquito netting that blocks neither the bright sunlight nor the roosters, dogs, people, squeaky crank, crank, and rushing sounds of the water pump in the alley beside my house. I always try to sleep a little later but the noise keeps me up just the same. It's better this way. I am more likely to get to work on time.

I walk down into the kitchen/living room, dark and cool, drop my wrinkled clothes onto the vinyl duvet and climb into the soap-scum ridden blue/white bathroom with a squat porcelain toilet and tiled floor. Take my giant measuring cup (probably used in some countries to scoop 8 cups of rice into a container) to wet my hair.

I am awake in 2.3 seconds staring at the woman in the mirror thinking that would have been a lot more refreshing if I'd gotten up earlier and gone running.

I squeegee the water on the tiled floor out of the tiny hole where the dirty water goes and then replace the rock that covers it. (I can’t leave the tiniest puddle inside the house as it attracts mosquitoes some of which might carry Dengue Fever, a lesser form of malaria, is prevalent in my region.)

I fill the steel sauce pot with water, turn on the gas, switch on the stove and heat the water for my 3-in-1 sugar free Nescafe (instant coffee, it’s really popular here). After ironing my clothes, brushing my hair and racing back and forth to the one electric fan to periodically cool off, I dash out the door, squinting against the sun already searingly hot at 7 am, looking for a tricycle to take me only 500 yards away to my school. Yes, I know it sounds sad that I sometimes take a trike such a short distance to get to school but appearance are unbelievably important here and I am constantly criticized, in a motherly way, by my co-workers that I should be more careful and not walk in the rain and hot sun. They think that I’ll get sick from letting the sweat dry on my back. The only thing that I have to fear really is bacteria, but I’ve found myself taking on these practices as well. I still run everyday. I need to and no need to fit in is going to stop me from pursuing staying fit and leading a balanced lifestyle. That should never change.

Another interesting change. Slow cooking. I don’t have a refrigerator and am attempting to live without one because they are ungodly expensive here…I actually prefer using all fresh ingredients and being forced to eat all the vegetables and fruits I buy before they spoil. It is helping me make healthier eating choices. I though that it would be hard for me to cook for myself without having too many leftovers but I’m managing just fine. I am enjoying the time to myself and living alone. Something that I’ve never done before and never really thought I wanted to do. I think that I had serious fears about living alone, that I would get too lonely. The young people that run the sari-sari, a couple named Jun and Marisa are super friendly and I’ve visited them briefly once in a while at their shop in the course of buying load or “text messages” or soy sauce or pan de sal (soft doughy rolls sold everywhere and eaten for breakfast only). I talked to them tonight about bringing cards with me next time so we could play Tongits (similar to gin rummy) and they were interested….It would nice to hang out with them more. They always correct my Tagalog which now I find more helpful than frustrating. They both also correct me in such low and kind voices that I don’t take it personally. Are all the people here saints? I’m starting to wonder…I know that I probably just jinxed myself. (God protect me from any illness or harm.)

A driveway with a fence covered window on one side and a gate on the other serves as their “tindahan” or store front. There is a pool table inside and a few folding chairs. Usually it is only Jun and his wife or one of his other sisters sitting in the room. Sometimes other people (garage??) the girl is always busy writing something down, doing embroidery or text messaging. Her husband sits and talks with me smiling widely. He is more confident with his English and loves to practice. He is on crutches right now but is still working in spite of his injury. Probably no insurance. I’ve asked him on more than one occasion how he hurt his ankle. He always laughs off the question.

Today was the six month anniversary of when 72 Americans left (Cleveland airport name) for Manila. I texted all my closest friends here and told them I was glad that I was on this journey with such amazing people..They are so dedicated, talented in so many ways, smart, driven, kind, fun, adventurous but in such different ways you can’t imagine. I’ve learned volumes about myself and other people and how they tick just by sitting in the dorm rooms during PST training or in a restaurant/videoke bar and listening to other people talk about themselves.

l Mainit-mainit

Here it is the end of September when even in Baltimore the humidity has started to relinquish a few cooler days to families in the park in long sleeved shirts playing friz bee. Not in Siniloan, Laguna. I had heard that the rainy season, though muggy and rainy every day is cooler, the sun feels just as strong. Here, rain doesn't always mean relief from the heat. Sometimes, it is so hot that the field and concrete turns into steam when the pouring rain hits the ground. So walking outside after the rain has stopped has the feel of a sauna, moist and warm. The only relief that comes from these sort of rainstorms is that the sun is hidden by the clouds so the heat isn't as strong.

Lounging for a cat nap on a hard wooden bench, seven women sit knees to the others elbows or nearly, trying to sleep off the past 4 hours of standing in a tin box of 80 children with two electric fans, sweat tracing rivets along your sides, back and stomach. Heat stifling the air and making it hard to breath. Or maybe, I’m just a weak American. I don’t bother to complain or say anything at all. Mainit-mainit (the hottest), says one teacher laughing. Always laughing even when uncomfortable, sad or angry. Always smiling through it all. Amazing. They really are amazing these friends and mentors of mine. They get up every day. Some of their husbands can find work some work as a teacher and another odd job because their husbands can’t find much work.. (Interesting. I wonder if the reason why there are more female teachers has anything to do with the fact that the principals are men and the women would not be a threat to their power…I know this sounds crazy or would in the states but not here. Here everything is behind by about 25 years. I read Gloria Steinem and feel like I must be tripping because I’m living in a flashback of the workforce before feminism. Ok. My boss isn’t a jerk but he holds his authority over everyone’s head)

One woman pats her brow and lips with a corner of a polka dotted handkerchief, another dabs powder on her face, a third places a sheet of recycled copy paper beneath the back of the formers’ shirt to absorb the sweat (this is common practice).

There is so much that I want to achieve while I’m here but I think that I’m trying to make up for being afraid the past ten years of doing what I should have been doing long ago serving the global community…Guess there’s no wrong time to start as long as one get there, right? Guilt. I’m not letting guilt be the driving force in my life anymore.

PST2 Training

2007-07-15T18:10:00.001-07:00

9/6-15/06

It went well. A lot of useful information and a lot of great opportunities to talk to PCVs who have been here longer. Hearing their perspectives, bitching about my life here and hearing others similar problems all made me feel better about my life in Siniloan.

The highlight of my trip was on Sunday. I went to see a semi-dormant volcano in Tagaytay called Taal. We took these long cigarrette boats with wire like wings that help balance the weight in the light and long speed boats called barakas. We sped across the Manila Bay staring at the green hills surrounding us, uncertain which one was the volcano. It felt like I was in Hawaii. All I could see around me was a collection og small green islands of steep hills or dormant volcanoes. Pretty amazing. After a half hour hike at noon, not an ideal time to hike in the Philippines, especially when the trail seemed to be very steep and smooth making it harder to climb up the dusty trail. There were many horses on the trail so the other hazard besides thick coats of dust and losing your balance was stepping on enormous mounds of horse manure, or coming too close to a horse coming towards you.

Teachers, Mentors and Martyrs of sorts

2007-07-15T18:00:00.000-07:00

8/25/06

Inspiring individuals (students, teachers, administrators), frustration (with language barriers in and out of the classroom and miscommunication that results), political agendas, youthful enthusiasm, energy, sincere interest in learning, pride (the kind that instills success in the classroom but prevents success in work relationships),and others are sometimes all the emotions I may encounter in one day at Siniloan National High School. Sound like a lot to deal with?

I thought so before two classrooms caught fire and then a few weeks later a student died from an undiagnosed case of Dengue Fever. The teachers of course take everything in their own hands and claim ownership for what happens in the school. When the school caught on fire, teachers left their dinner tables and ran to the school to help put out the fire and salvage what they could from the classrooms. Many books and school records were lost in the fire. When a student died of Dengue, the principal personally went to the students home to determine whether the responsibility lay with the school or the family.

All classroom advisors will be giving a lecture on dengue and distributing pamphlets on how the students can protect themselves from the virus. (Or that was the plan. It never happened due to logistics a.k.a., political issues.) What I find the most interesting is that the teachers are very enthusiastic to host lectures and to implement new teaching methods and experiential learning projects but the dept of education does not give the administration the flexibility to make many of their ideas possible. So a sense of helplessness hangs like a wet blanket over the office sometimes sarcasm seems hang cold and wet over the teachers shoulders, causing some to catch a sense of helplessness in the office and make it spread. It seems as if teaching is a much tougher profession here than in the states.

Granted teachers are drastically under-paid and often greatly over-qualified for the positions that they take but they do not have to pay out of pocket to repair the roofs of their classrooms or deal with as many financial hardship issues as we do here (where buying books and repairing the slipshod electrical wiring job in the library which if not repaired might cause a fire and finish off what books we do currently have in the library. These are the kinds of decisions to be made.Tough decisions. Being a prinicipal here is no doubt a job that causes more sleepless nights than restful ones.) And the issues that prevent students from coming to class have more to do with being able to afford a uniform and sacrificing money that could be used to feed the family or hours lost working...Families sacrifice a great deal just to send their children to a public school which is free...the small fees for regsitration, girl scouts, boy scouts, photo copies for class assignments, reading and everything else because there are never enough books, eat up what money the students might be able to salvage for lunch fare...There is a nutrition program that only operates for one marienda period a year...And this would help a starving child? This only occurs because the TLE team and students do a fundraiser every year.It's these sort of details that surprise me. The extent of the worries and concerns of students and the school's future and staff that hides behind my prinicipals easy, good-natured grin. The easy laughter I often hear in the office that my teachers create despite the worries and hardships of their students and their owns families that weigh on their mind.

"You can only laugh when things like this happen, " one co-worker once said to me. "All you can do is laugh and bare it."

This seems like a simple philosophy but to tolerate situations in Siniloan has a much different meaning than it would in the States. Personal relationships/rapport have to be more than luke warm. Maintaining friendly alliance s with all co-workers is a must even if they've stabbed you in the back countless times...So, dealing with a hostile co-worker can't be avoided by ignoring or avoiding them when there are so many social work functions is impossible. Social situations are part of life here and so forgiving or accepting the way someone is and smoothing out relationships is a necessity.

Seeing the Light in August*

2007-07-15T17:58:00.000-07:00

8/10/06

The days are rolling by but I feel like the last month is going to be like walking through concrete while watching people speeding by on the sidewalk… I found a fantastic apartment but will miss spending time with my host siblings and host parents. They are such a great family. Maybe they will let me eat dinner with them a few times a week….

I’m a little nervous about living on my own, but I know I’ll be fine. It’ll just be an adjustment and I’ll be able to have people come visit me more often, which I’m really looking forward to. I keep imagining covering the little balcony off my room with lots of hanging plants, drinking my coffee and watching the sunrise every morning. I’m thinking about using a grill instead of oil because of the fiasco in the Middle East and how bloody the oil trade is that the role in the current war and why the U.S. is supporting Israel without limits seems questionable. I’m also looking forward to being able to run up and down the stairs in my underwear when I’m running late as I often am…or just to be able to dance around the house half-naked, singing loudly and be in my own space….ahhhhh. So looking forward to it. I may sing and dance horribly, but there is no other release more complete than the total freedom of (both physical and emotional) self-expression.

I had a break down today in front of Sally. I didn’t intend to tell her anything and than I suddenly decided to talk to her about the money issue because I didn’t feel like I could take it anymore. I can't explain exactly what happened except that my role as an American was seen in terms of dollars rather than hands on assistance.

This brain-bagyo made me wonder if I needed to watch more carefully the impression that I give to others. I don't have much money but obviously more than most people do. I also know that I need the outlet of getting away from site once a month and can't stay in every weekend. I need to at least go dancing with my Filipino friends and blow off some excess energy.

8/11/06
I had a very productive day. I slept in until 9, showered and went to a barungay captains’ meeting which all cpts. of Siniloan were present. A brgy cpt. Offered to arrange for books to be sent from Manila. She has a contact there. (This amazed me when I mentioned this to the teacher that I could get books these dual master degree, very intelligent people looked at me and said but there are books on the shelf and I said but why are they on the shelves if classes have started and all textbooks have been distributed. But then they asked what would happen if we got rid of the old unused text books and the shelves were bare. They didn’t like to waste the space. I said we would fill it with books that were coming that people would actually use…I guess they didn’t expect to get the books and I was amazed that they didn’t think that they could get them…The cultural divide of those that are used to getting everything they want and ask for and those who ask for everything and almost always are disappointed. Isn’t it funny how differently my co-workers and I think? Isn’t it sad the constant disappointment that they have to deal with?)

And I was feeling in much better spirits Monday moring. I ran a debriefing session with the journalism class and then had a language lesson with Donald. The day was going well. Then, I was told that I would only be able to distribute Dengue material to classroom advisors and leave it up to them to discuss it in the homerooms rather than starting a school-wide campaign.

So, I decided that I’ll just focus on the community and I’ll gather extra materials and bring it to the barungays and offer my assistance with the campaigns that they are supposedly running…I also will use this as a spring board to talk about doing an AIDS awareness campaign in Siniloan. Me, give up?! Ha!

*Light in August, William Faukner

Dengue Fever

2007-07-15T17:57:00.000-07:00

8/1/06

Another moment so frightening I totally lost my appetite and found myself playing with my food staring blankly at my plate. A girl that had appeared in the faculty office last Friday night before the festivities of the Science Camp began, (I’m feeling nauseous just thinking about her), complained of feeling sick. She had been out sick most of the week with fevers. She died that weekend from undiagnosed Dengue Fever.

Now, her baby sister, brother and mother are in the hospital with Dengue Fever. Hopefully, they can be treated in time. I knew that the student had not gone to hospital until it was too late because the parents couldn’t afford it but I was amazed that none of the faculty had picked up on the clues that she might have the fever….

The Rotary Club pays to have the region sprayed every year and probably shows a film and educational material to the rotary club members which is available for public use but no ones probably ever is made aware of it. I will mention the availability of this information and film to the barungay council when I see them on Friday and get requests from the different barungay captains if they want to show the film in their barungay. I will show the film on my labtop and hopefully, borrow the school’s LCD player.

I was shocked to discovered even though there is Red Cross Training there is no school nurse or designated school nurse. They had to decide between hiring a teacher and a nurse. It's insane but the reality of life here.

So much to do and not enough time….I’m feeling overwhelmed….But if I just remember the famous phrase I’ll be okay…How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time.

Sayawit (Competition in Song and Dance, Siniloan National High School)

2007-07-15T17:56:00.000-07:00

7/28/06

Friday night felt so surreal. Such a nice school with such sweet polite kids and suddenly towards the end of a very positive evening of song and dance, the “Sayawit” competition, a group of students outside the gate started throwing rocks over the fence. There were also people inside the school property who had not been given permission to be there for the same reasons they were now causing trouble…they were not well-behaved in group social settings. The three guys among the judges were gone before I even noticed that they had stood up and on the far end of the basketball court talking to some kids on the other side of the fence. There was a solemn mood in the air. My co-workers and I looked around trying to gage how the negotiations with the “hoodlums” were going from 250 meters away. I felt helpless. Ordinarily, I would have walked over and seen if I could help out but I was not only new at this school but from another culture and race and my involvement probably would only hinder the discussion…But there is nothing I hate more than sitting around and waiting and feeling like a poor helpless female. Eventually, one female co-workers stood up when she saw that students were hanging out outside the basketball court half in the shadows, she yelled at them to get their buts onto the court. They were among the students who were not permitted to attend this event because they were mischievous but since they were already there she wanted to corral them in with the other students and keep track of their whereabouts.

I was impressed with how tough she could be. She definitely knows how to control the students yet the students overall love her because she makes it obvious that she loves spending time with them and loves teaching.

I don’t think that I’m cut out for teaching. I lose my patience within minutes if a class repeatedly talks through my lectures. I know this is because I talk to low and I’m far from an organized and captivating speaker so a lot of the frustration that I feel could be avoided if I was more prepared and on during my lectures. Maybe then, I’ll feel differently about teaching. I hope so because I like the idea of teaching college classes part time and freelance writing the rest of the time. I think that I would enjoy teaching English literature and creative writing classes. I just learn to develop a method that works for me that draws the students in…I guess that will take research, some studying on teaching methods and experience.

The students whispered to each other and sat on the basketball court floor looking worried or frustrated. They were probably concerned that the kids over the fence would cause them to have to go to bed early or even have to go home tonight.

Because the overnight for the science camp that weekend and the math camp in the fall are the only fun events students have an opportunity to participate in all year that only involve academics loosely. My co-worker sighed and explained this is the reason we can’t ever have evening events. Outsiders get through the fence by having someone on the outside get them in and cause mischief. But what if we have the help of barungay officers, I asked. We have barungay officers guarding the gate tonight.

I felt as discouraged as she did as I was hoping to eventually have a dance marathon to raise money for the school library despite my co-workers’ discouraging remarks. They told me it probably wouldn’t happen. As it is the prom is only 2 hours long and the lights are on the whole time so the kids don’t dance to close together during the slow dances ..and what teenager is confident to dance to fast songs when the lights are on?! The prinicipal reminds me of the character from Footloose, the minister…It’s actually really sad how fear can make people choose to oppress the people they are supposed to be serving. I’m amazed that the kids don’t resent him for this because the others schools are a lot more liberal.

Diplomacy and its many forms

2007-07-15T17:55:00.000-07:00

7/26/06

Diplomacy and its many forms

With “ah ha” moments hitting me left and right, I found myself staring at the figurative floor I had fallen to and wondered where I could crawl to/accomplish from here. The library project: let’s just say; it’s not moving an inch and doesn’t feel as if it will ever get moving, and if you care about me at all you won’t even ask me about it. ‘Nuf said?

Salsa, the Pampanga and other sayaws

2007-07-15T17:54:00.000-07:00

7/15/06
Covered basketball court, Santa Cruz, Laguna

I’m still on the dancing high and I haven’t been there in too damn long. It’s the kind of high where you lie and bed but the constant movement of the evening tricks your body into thinking that your hips are still rocking side to side and your arms, still circling your head and flying out to grab your partners’ outstretched hand. It makes me so giddy that I want to convince myself that I quit too early and I have one last wind to go. I would get up and dance my way to the bathroom to get it out of my system on last time but my feet are sore and my thighs hurt. It isn’t a good night though if you don’t hurt afterwards. I missed hanging out with people who just want to do nothing else but dance their asses off.

My co-workers took me ballroom dancing and I loved it. I learned a few new dances. I dance called the Pampanga (a town in the Philippines), which is kind of similar to the Chacha but requires more twisting. Her and her friends are DIs(dance instructors) so they had to keep getting up to dance with the people who were paying to dance with them for the night but I didn’t mind half the time just watching. There were so many people in formal dress twisting into a perfect tango or dancing a seductive salsa step and many of them were definitely over 55, 60. It was freeing to be there. I’ve felt so clogged up in my beautiful pink room, walking to and from school, it was nice to fly down the highway in a jeepney and just dance in an open-air court and be me without worrying about saying the wrong thing or doing something that would scandalize someone or ruin my reputation in the community

I stayed over at my co-workers’ house. It is a small home with a slanted tin roof patched with short ply wood boards but I felt more at home than I had in a long time. I was going to stay on their couch but she was worried that I’d get a mosquito bite so I slept with her family in their room, two steps up from the first floor on a king size mattress on the floor. I felt humbled and honored to lie on the cool white cotton mattress smelling of sea spray scented soap between her 16 year old and 5 year old, the breeze from the single electric fan crowding out all other sounds from the street. The only word that came to mind was this is what peace feels like. There was a feeling of complete safety and security among her family here. I don’t know why, I just felt it.

************************************************8

I sat with her and her kids the next morning over instant coffee and cold macaroni with a sweet red sauce with the two roosters crowing loudly back and force to each other across the yard and wished that I could stay there longer. She told me several times that said she wish that she had enough room for me. We have the same approach to life. We want to live simply but live life to be happy and not over-think things. I left her house promising myself that when I got a job I would try to help them out.

*****************************************************************
The next few weeks led to conflicting feelings about people, work and my life here.

The journalism conference was a great success overall, but also proved to me that there are many obstacles that the teachers must face day to day. (I am deliberately being vague because I can’t discuss it.) Maybe it was the fact that at only quarter to four the sky closed up, gathering its energy before spewing out the down pour that sent SGA students and teachers with palms raised about their heads as they raced to trikes, ending the seminar early, even though not even half the students had submitted to assignments they were supposed to complete for the weekend’s training. (And didn’t submit the assignment completely until the beginning of September!)

I think that I was feeling this way and that’s why it bothered me

I also was told about tings that other people were saying about me that really only hurt my feelings and made me more frustrated with my friendships here. I also learned a few things that left me feeling taken for granted, misjudged and generally frustrated. I am expected to never judge, comment, or react to Filipino culture while I am judged and told to my face why so many things that I do are weird and disagreeable to them.

I found myself sitting in my room that night feeling a little, like a patched-up Raggedy Anne doll. My feet and calve are covered in bug bites; I’m exhausted from a long weekend of helping with the journalism seminar; and feeling unhinged by all the comments people feel comfortable telling me about what others are saying about me behind my back; a few choice inappropriate and infuriating requests made of me (which I’m not at liberty to discuss); and for what, I have to ask myself. Yes, I was having my first, “what the hell I am putting up with this sh%&t for” moment.

(Now, as I edit these entries, I have a much tougher skin. I ignore the constant comments about an inch gained here or there, my every pimple or imperfection, and other appearance obsessions that plague the culture here. I am happy to share my differences with the Filipinos learn about their culture and maybe the third reason is to remember why I believe, live, who I am and learn to be more confident in that person when confronted with others that don’t understand my lifestyle choices, etc.)

Malingayang Kaarawan ka sa aking! (Happy birthday to me!)

2007-07-15T17:53:00.000-07:00

7/7/06
Kanta at sayaw kami
(We sang and danced)

What a fantastic birthday! What could possibly top having 2000 high schoolers singing happy birthday to you in English, their second language? I was overwhelmed and honored, and sweating like crazy from dancing immediately before in two faculty salsa dance numbers.

Then, the faculty climbed onto the stage and stood behind me singing “Narda”, a song that is very popular here. It’s about a superhero whose in a Filipino cartoon. One of my co-workers was standing behind me moving my arms for me to get me to dance but mostly just making me feel like an idiot. So, I swallowed my pride, tried not to blush and smiled widely.

The Filipinos are all about entertaining each other…I guess that I need to get used to being in the limelight…pretty much everyone is here…Which explains why anything you do in public and some of the things you do in private, if someone shares that information about you, are fair game for They do it not to be the center of attention, as we would believe in the states, but the exact opposite for the benefit of others..to entertain the children. The longer I am here the more attached I become to the Filipino people. They are the perfect melding of three cultures, Spanish, American and Filipino.

After work I went back to the house with five bags of candy for the dozen neighborhood kids who had been my kasamas up and down the street for the past two weeks, making it possible for me to do more than make multiple rounds back and forth on Mendiola. (They wanted to run with me along the highway to the next town and I was afraid they would follow me even though I kept protesting that I couldn’t bring them with me.) They kept begging to play house with me in the Realeza’s house. I said they could hang out on the porch on my birthday and we would celebrate together…I reminded them as I passed the horde of 3-9 year olds, my new found friends, in stretched out, shorts and faded t-shirts with logos for PEPSI, NIKE and Gatorade: Is it in you? They agreed to be at my house in 15 minutes…I realized as I sat for a half an hour and then 45 minutes in vain that maybe children who aren’t in school, as these children, might have no concept of time accept based on the lack or presence of sunlight. I walked down the street with my host cousin hoping to find them outside. I was feeling like an idiot carrying this huge bag of candy down the street and made the mistake of giving out candy to kids I saw on the way. I started to feel like Santa Clause and as nice as it was at first later I realized that I created a class divide between me and the kids in the neighborhood from that moment forward as the rich American, the opposite of what I was going for…I thought that I was being generous but by publicly displaying wealth, I was making people uncomfortable…I now realize the difference between generosity and showing off in the Philippines. I am slightly saddened by this because the kids don’t rush out to greet me anymore. I have a feeling that I embarrassed their families and their parents don’t approve of me as part of the community anymore. A hard lesson to learn.

I don’t how I wouldn’t have… The kids literally swarmed around me when they saw the big bags of candy and kept greedily placing their hands out moving me around the street like the center of a big ameba. I was totally overwhelmed and look to my host pre-teen cousin who was sanguinely sitting on the back basket of a trike looking at something just over my shoulder. There were two kids who looked dirty and their clothes had multiple holes in them. I had never met them but reached a handful of candy out to them only to have it snatched by some other kid that had already stuffed their face. I kept telling the kids that the candy was for the two other kids and they’d had enough…I know they didn’t understand me and spoke barely five words of English. I handed a half a bag of candy to woman sitting in a trike observing this obsurd scene, pointed at the two shy children and asked her to give the candy to them. I have no idea if the children got the candy. I only know that I was completely disheartened by the children’s behavior. Up until this point my experience with children has been nothing but respectful and courteous and these children at the sight of abundant bags of candy turned into gluttons. I was disheartened but realized that the fault lie with me not them…what did I expect their reaction to be? They’d probably never been handed so much candy in their entire life…and knew it might be their last…why wouldn’t they want to grab all that they could? It was probably a banner day for the kids but a tough one for the parents. I should have used more forethought before acting on what I thought was generosity…Appearance is of up most importance…I should’ve just left the candy to the owner of the sari-sari and asked her to distribute the candy to the kids to avoid embarrassing the parents publicly like that.

We had my host mother’s famous spaghetti for dinner. The Filippino tradition is to make spaghetti on ones birthday. It’s like blowing out the candles and getting your wish (Another difference in how birthdays are celebrated in the Philippines: there is always a birthday cake at parties but since the cake is given to the birthday celebrant as a gift, the cake isn’t consumed until the next day along with the other gifts. It’s rude to open gifts in front of the giver because the point is the though not what they gave you. This is also to avoid the giver’s embarrassment in case the gift is very simple.) The spaghetti symbolizes wishes of friends and family that you will lead a long life.

The Local Palenke, Siniloan

2007-07-15T17:52:00.000-07:00

6/20/06

After an exhausting day, I wandered around the palenke looking to drown my thoughts in the stimulus overload. Rows and rows of merchants selling t-shirts, fine leather shoes, boot-legged DVDs and CDs, cell phones and accessories, wide endless rows of meat and fish vendors leaning over their fresh cuts glossy and gleaming red and purple. Women are slowly sweeping fans or rags to and fro to chase the flies away, looking with interest at passers-by and watching the traffic at their competitors’ stands.

A few feet from the jeepney depot and the busy street of R. Gregos are rows and rows of wooden tables displaying papayas, mangos, melons, string beans (average length is as long as my arm), squashes in green, purple and orange as well as various other vegetables. Their sweet, sour, salty and warm soil scents welcome bumili (customers) to pick them up in their palm, turn them around inside their hand, let the fuzz tickle/smooth skin sooth/small prickles catch on their skin, sniff it, squeeze it, look it over for black worm holes and bruises.

In all the chaos of the 6 pm rush to sell off wares before the market closes in an hour, a two year old with curly black hair lies, open-mouthed on the empty vegetable stand. his face half-buried in the curly calabasa (a kind of squash) rinds, his slimey fingers gripping the slick edges of one marble orange and gray-green shell. His dreams must have been of something sweet but musty like a vegetable patch or a horse farm, no doubt.

lDiatribe on words

How weird and round English words look to me now. They are no longer these tangible things I can feel and touch on the page. I could through away my dictionary because they are three-dimensional to me now. I see the words as no longer literal and absolute in meaning because that is how Tagalog works and ultimately how all languages work. There are exceptions to every rule and humanity not editors and dignitaries, make the words mean something and change the meaning or ways the words are used. How amazing and empowering it is to realize that!

I don’t assume that the dictionary is absolutely correct, wonder if there is a margin of error. This is a miraculous gift. I’ve always wanted the absolute to know literally what everything means and feeling that I can’t accept certain things unless I understand the whole picture.

Now, I am understanding life from a different perspective where very often you can’t have even half the answers to your questions, you just go on instinct derived from intelligence and life experience. Life requires more risks in that kind of a world. It’s impossible to know if even though you are trying to make the best decision possible if you are because you never have all the information. This is the reality of living in a developing nation. Though democratic, corruption often keeps essential information from reaching the public and the media for the betterment of society.

lParasites, Bacteria and other conundrums

Parasites and other evil organisms would be somewhat bearable if toilets actually had seats and toilet paper, but squatting when you are already feeling weak and uncomfortable just makes the experience far worse. I guess that’s why dysentery was such a big problem for soldiers during the wars. There is nowhere to sit comfortably and deal with your illness in peace. I just can’t imagine if this was my everyday reality. At least, I know that I can go back to the conveniences of the states after two years.

What it must feel like to know that people live much more comfortable and convenient lifestyles in the Europe, the United States and other developed nations would infuriate me. I’d be seriously angry and belligerent. But maybe that’s because I am an American and I expect these conveniences and luxuries. If I never had them I probably wouldn’t miss them. This brings up a question that someone brought up to me…actually more than one person did: If you could leave all your earthy goods behind, what would you miss and could you live without them?

I realized that the only thing I would miss was my glasses because I wouldn’t be able to see as clearly. I guess that I could get used to living without them but I know that is one thing I would never give up. Would I be able to just walk away, sell everything like the author of Into Thin Air did? I don’t know, but for the first time in my life I’m actually considering the notion. I know well that I’ve wanted to relieve myself of the ways material things can serve as a artificial substitute for needs we can only find within us. Maybe I need to stop ignoring the fact that I have all I need within me; start paring down my life; and acting more resourceful and creative.

I think that I finally understand why my old roommate, Tony spent six months living in an igloo in Alaska. He was looking for spiritual enlightenment and to completely separate himself from all things finite. Malls, commercials, television, magazines and even some books try to sell a way of life that involves things and a dependency on things. Things only beget the need for more things. Why? Because things cannot fill the whole that spiritual enlightenment and peace within your self brings. You need nothing other than what you have inside of you, what God has given each of us. Also, what comes with that is accepting the package that God put us in. You can’t harbor resentment or anger about your inadequacies. This will only hold you back. You have to believe that you are who you are for a reason and that the best thing you can do is capitalize (excuse the expression) on your talents and skills for the betterment of human kind.

6/25/06
lKilometer 5
Go to “Kilometer 5”, where my host mother’s joint property with her sisters sits. 5 Hectares of land up down and across the woods full of buko, mango, langones, avacado trees, a chicken and rooster house, a 4 story very modern side slanted house with a roof deck. Photos of male servant climbing a buko tree to get our marienda

7/5/06
Quelle Bizarre?

Bizarre pre-birthday events include being asked about whether my friends were comign here for my birthday. (Because Americans are so rich they can afford to fly in for people’s birthdays from thousands of miles away, right?! Not anyone I know.)

Something else that seems bizarre to me: You are considered an old maid if you are single and over 30. (Dalaga pa at na 31) Still single and already 31. What do I think? I think that just like The Beatles song had subliminal messages saying Paul is dead, Filipinos send a subliminal message to their young with all the sappy love songs they are so find of that you're life isn't worth living unless you are in love.

Yet, most people aren’t allowed to date until they are 18 and some not until their 21! So you have to learn the rules of male female relationships in 6 years! I have been n trying to understand it for going on 15 years and I still don’t get it. Crazy!)

I celebrated my birthday with fellow Laguna volunteers: Suzie, Alfred and Keith. First, we stopped at this Neba hut videoke bar called “Isuperstar” and I sang “The Spaghetti Song” and “Ocho-ocho”, the only two Tagalog song I know well. Tthere's a lot of repetition.

Afterwards, we went to a beautiful old home with a heat-shaped staircase trailing from the second floor almost half way across the yard that stretched into the river of Santa Cruz. The expansive backyard is freckled with round wrought iron chairs and tables with glass tops.

It started raining so we had to trade the nice romantic river side view for a tiny living room with a half-linolium, half-wood paneled floor with a group of rowdy drunk men at the other table blasting the stereo sitting by the fireplace. Why you’d need a fire place in the Philippines is beyond me. For show like everything else, I guess. They offered a lobster tail to our table and Keith and Alfred shared it.

I was slightly tempted because I do like shell fish, but seeing the animal still in the shell turned me off. (By the way, the lobster was the size of a woodchuck! A lobster on steroids or reformed due to all the pollutants in Manila Bay, no doubt.)
It just wasn’t worth it for all the guilt I’d feel…taking part in an animals destruction for our pleasure. I couldn’t stomach it. The crunching of the shell and the way Keith ripped into the flesh made me think only of a wild animal. I am realizing more and more that choosing vegetarianism or any choices of conscience and the ability to reason are the only things that separate us from animals. And the way war is tantamount all over the world makes me wonder, if we all ate vegetarian, would we all think there is an excuse for war as a means to an end as many people do now or would they realize that it too is a choice of conscience_ war over diplomacy and patience.

Some may believe there is no connection between vegetarianism and war but I am telling you my feelings towards life and my attitude towards life is one of more sensitivity rather than one of purposeful and selfish ignorance..which is how I felt when I’d sit down to eat a shrimp salad sandwich during the past few years…I’d tell myself, it wasn’t a big deal to eat fish and I needed it for the protein. (I reverted to eating fish again when I started to have stomach problems a few years ago.) Yet, when I went to the fish market in May after eating fish not once in a blue moon but every day for lunch and dinner and I saw a pink and blue carp lying in a big metal bowl of probably luke warm water, sweating, and pulling himself up to breath by treading more quickly with one fin under the water, gills rising, exposing the very red flesh below pulsating. I swallowed hard and knew my days of eating fish were over…

It was too late to explain this to my host family in Limay and they had so little, I didn’t want to insult them by not eating their fish…I just took smaller and smaller pieces each time until I was just taking shreds of fish. I decided when I moved to Siniloan to not eat any fish from the start and hopefully, they would understand somehow. I have been eating mungo beans, soy beans, lentils and feeling fine if not better. I pile a lot more vegetables on my plate and eat a lot more fruit to stay full longer. I eat nuts for snacks and eat eggs for breakfast, my one exception….

Hopefully, I can find another alternative to this soon. Maybe, I’ll buy large quantities of tofu and make shakes for breakfast with it as a supplement. I know this sounds crazy but I’m thinking of investing in a blender. That way I can make fresh juice drinks and smoothies for breakfast or dinner when I don’t feel like cooking. I was also thinking about getting a small grill so I can avoid using a gas stove. I just hate the idea of buying oil. It just seems wrong. That’s going to be a conundrum for me.

It’s all about choices, isn’t it? And the question is, when do allow ourselves to compromise or should we compromise our beliefs at all? Many people do for convenience sake. Yet, I'm meeting more and more people who refuse to compromise their beliefs for convenience sake. The question is, will I?

Waking The Dead with Videoke

2007-07-15T17:50:00.000-07:00

6/15/06

Every month, at least, I cross a wake in progress during my late afternoon jogs. Tell-tale signs: a tarp draped from one side of the street to the other, folding chairs placed directly in the middle of the street, the smell of lechon (roasted pig), rice and pancit (rice noodles and vegetables); a rolling cart t.v. with a microphone (videoke) plugged into an endless extension cord and a door ajar where inside the open casket lies for morners to pay their last respects to the departed and close family.

All who even remotely knew the person are encouraged to drop by. It is often a way for the community to offer their support to the morners.

Funerals are very expensive and many people can’t afford to bury their dead even though most family plots merely require burying the bodies right on top of each other in the family graves. And some families play bingo during the wake to try and raise money for the funeral.

All graves are above ground due to constant flooding in the area, so they require not only a plot and a coffin but a fenced in room above the ground where the body can be sealed within. One volunteer told me that if people cannot pay the “rent” for their family member’s grave the body is unearthed and tossed above ground. This totally turned my stomach until my former host mother assured me that it is illegal to leave a human body exposed to the elements until it has reach a certain level of decay that would prevent the remains from being a health hazard. How horrible?! Can you imagine being already in debt because of funeral expenses and than having to worry on top of that as to whether you can keep your family members’ remains underground. How embarrassing would it be to have this happen and how sad for the person whose remains it may happen to….It seems so inhumane and un-Filipino to let peoples’ pains be dredged up in such a physical way again just because they don’t have the money. But this is a country struggling to get by so I suppose there is only so much funeral services can do to help poor families without endangering their own with complete impoverishment, tamat (correct)?)

Although I read recently in book called “Holy Cow, that a group of Indians who follow the … faith believe it is better to leave the human body to the elements……)

I went to my first wake in mid June. The mother of my host father’s employee had passed away.

Beneath the awning people sitting in plastic chairs staring at the videoke machine as a child of about seven sings, “I Believe I can Fly” in an endearing half-singing and half-talking way. Older uncles and cousins sit encouraging the youngster with their good-natured smiles and low chuckles, partly laughing at him but mostly laughing with him.

There is a record book set on a podium outside the door for guests and mourners to sign. Just behind the book is a clear plastic box full of mass cards with the image of an austere, Virgin Mary holding a huge bouquet of roses in her arms.

The house is dimly lit. An open casket sits against the far wall on a rolling cart with gold-leafed joints, flanked by two huge wreaths of purple, yellow, orange orchids bearing glittery sashes saying things like “Nanay, we love you”. Leaning against the coffin one a recent picture of “nanay” as an elderly woman in a flowered sleeveless house dress smiling gently, quietly and directly next to it is a black and white photo of a 20-something girl sporting a long bob and a demur smile, the curl in her lips revealing her high expectations for the future, maybe even one outside her small hometown wher she was born and died.

Many people inside are sitting around the living room and dining room, leaning close, talking quietly to each other while a house servant walks around again and again with trays pineapple juice and ?, a congeled rice and brown sugar wrapped in banana leaves.

In the kitchen, the mood is lighter. There is a group of young adults standing around talking about life in Manila where one girl, a recent college graduate is living. We discuss the places to go and things to do in Manila. She knows little about the city other than the bar scene. We have a spirited conversation about what is considered slang and what is considered common terms in English. I ask the same about Filipino but they mostly try to get me to repeat curse words that bring peals of laughter to the group.

6/19/06
American Pie
The students in one of the classes I observed this week talked me into singing a song. I sang the first two stanzas of American Pie. Not the wisest choice but it was the only thing I could think of off the top of my head. (“brough my Chevy to the levy…./good old’ boys drinkin’ and whiskey and rye” in a high school classroom hopefully won’t get me in trouble”.) It was highly embarrassing. They wanted me to show them how Americans dance too. There’s only so much I will do for my country. (Joke lang.)

lFriends Find Me

I decided to take a different route to school today and find myself trailed by eyes and a river of chatter that grows louder the farther I move down the street. I can see women and men holding their children to them with a palm pressing them towards their parents knees. They are peering out at me from behind the 4X4 screen of their sari-sari storefront. I walk by, exchanging smiles and “magandang umaga” adults standing in their doorways, behind the 4X4 screened in window of their store front-style sari-sari. I smile, greet them and make eye contact with as many people as I can.

As I reach the gray river smelling of rotting fish and human feces (throwing dirty diapers in the river is still a bad habit my neighbors haven’t overcome, yet), I hear the ticker-tap of 10 pairs of plastic flips flops (tsinelas) pounding on the pocked and muddy asphalt. There is breathless giggling behind me and then the inevitable question, “What is your name” in English. I yell my name and then the responding question, “Ano pangalan mo?” I stop at the corner, watch them catch up to me and then race past them in the opposite direction, they chase me, I turn back around and run in the other direction. Their laughter becomes breathless and apostrophed with high-pitched squeals and “hoyis”, an expression used to get someone’s attention. I talk to them a little and then run back to the house. I finally feel at home in Siniloan.

Meet (06/19/06) Leen Choi, a Korean volunteer it is a relief to compare notes about my experience in Siniloan with someone who has lived here…especially after working on a Saturday..not my favorite thing to do especially when I’m mostly just sitting at my desk studying Tagalog and occasionally observing class.

On the way home, I surrounded by kids in the neighborhood who are jumping off a pile of old asphalt on the side of the road. They chase after me yelling at again and again, “Moria, what is your name! What is your name!” Parents and adults standing in their doorways or in front of sari-saris talking to neighbors start laughing. I keep turning and waving to the group until I can’t see the barkada (group of close friends) of little hands moving in the air anymore.

The internet is still down and expecting as much, I had brought my sketch pad with me. I walk further down L. de Leon Street until there is only one two roomed shack between me and the palayan (rice fields). I sit there planning to sketch the purple mountain range of Sierra Madres and the rice fields but find the faces peeping out of the shack more intriguing. Before I known it, I am intrenched and fascinated by the beauty and care with which this home is pulled together. The faces, dark eyes peer out at me with curiousity and defensiveness. I am drawn to their faces and the look in their eyes that feels so familiar. The young daughter sits on the lawn and I attempt to draw her as she looks over her shoulder curiously pretending to look at a postcard. Her hair falls past her butt. And she has the fullest dark sad eyes. They remind of a line someone sent to me in an email
“Love
bares
the weight of the world
The weight of the world is love”.

Alan Steinfeld
(6/24/06)

A new life at site

2006-06-20T02:37:00.000-07:00

6/09/06

It’s hard to believe that I am here and finally starting my project. And the housing situation is a surprise. I am staying in one of the biggest houses on the block. It’s a big pink house with a tall white wrought iron fence and a white balcony with hanging plants with red flowers. I also have several conveniences that I didn't expect to have: a shower head and flushing toilet. (This is not a common PCV experience.)

I was walking home from school last night on an overcast afternoon, I noticed that two neighborhood boys slowly strumming and harmonizing to a ballad in Tagalog on their porch. I grabbed a cup of coffee and stood in the doorframe of my house listening.

Eventually, they noticed me standing there and I slowly made my way over to the porch. It turns out that the house across the street is my host father’s brothers’ home. Only the mother and her son live there. The two boys were from neighboring houses and were friends of my host cousin. He is a character. He doesn’t say much but has these wide brown eyes that always seem to stare intently and too long as if questioning everything. He is one of those kids who probably drives teachers around here nuts because he is always thinking of reasons why a theory might not work or be accurate. He watches me intently with a curiosity too blatant and direct for a Filippino but his excuse could be that his parents have lived overseas since he was four and they visit only every two years and he may beaffected by their modern Italian ways.

As for my job, I’ve only been going into work for three days and I’m already totally exhausted. It isn’t the job. I haven’t actually started any projects. I’m still in the planning process. Gathering contacts, making courtesy calls, writing letters and forming initial relationships.

It’s the language barrier that is really making my days seem endless and lonely even though I’m constantly surrounded by people. I only understand a 1/3 of what people are saying most of the time. They only speak to me in English when I don’t understand the Tagalog translation.

I know that the only way to resolve this issue is by working harder at studying the language, but I am feeling restless to get beyond this transition point and be really integrated into the community. I know that this will take time and I need to have patience with myself.

I’m also anxious to make new friends in my neighborhood people who I can talk to about something other than work and my housing adjustments, just about life, pop culture, lighter topics. I’ve started playing Scrabble with two fellow teachers from the science department in the library. It’s a nice break in the day and a way to get to know the teachers without having to speak much. I also really want to get to know my host siblings and their cousins. I am going to buy a deck of cards tomorrow and see if they’ll play Tongits (kind of like Gin Rummy except there’s more strategy involved and you place bets each round) with me tomorrow night after work.

6/10/06

Kumakain (Eat)

My host parents are being exceedingly kind and trying to accommodate my vegetarian diet. They made a cream based soup with sweet potato leaves, okra, mungo beans (slightly similar to lentils) and lanka and an omlette with lanka (has the texture of artichoke heart but is more sweet than salty) and banana heart (unripe banana) that I completely inhaled. So delicious! I have so many good vegetarian recipes to add to the Peace Corps Filipino Vegetarian Cook Book. Another volunteer and I will most likely come up with several recipes of our own as well.

Taytay Falls

Regardless of the good dining experience this evening, I would undoubtedly have eaten with relish tonight. It was a busy day. I was up early cooking lunch for our hiking trip. We took two different jeepneys to get to Taytay Falls. One from Santa Cruz to Barungay MaJayJay and than took another jeepney from the terminal to Taytay Falls to somewhere on the other side of the mountain, it seems where the trail leading to the falls were. The reason were traveled all that way to see the falls, it was only 20 pesos to get into the park whereas the Pagsanjan Falls only 4 minutes from Siniloan is 700 pesos. And was it worth the trip? Definitely.

The best part really was trying to get to the last waterfall in the park. The first one was the largest but its beauty was completely overshadowed by campers sitting right one the rocks in their beach chairs cooking and playing radios. Tents were set up on the rocks everywhere. It was so bizarre. I guess that it is cool at night and that is why the camping tents were set up on the rocks but I kept wondering how so many people staying in such a small space could possibly be hygienic or good for the park environment.

We climbed past all the seasonal campers, around some large mossy boulders until we reached a small, fast moving gap in the path with an unestimated depth. We stood there each in our own minds weighing the risk against the reward until a group of ten year olds and their fathers lithely skipped past us and over the dreaded gap. Feeling foolish we started to make our way over to the gap. One father turned around and reached out his hands to take our bags across. Then, he held out his arms to help us cross. When we reached another fast moving current, he stood in the river and helped us cross by holding onto a branch above our heads and then climbing up a steep boulder and being hauled over it by the person above us. The next challenge was walking along several feet of root and mud created cliffs only a foot wide. Yes, I’m proud of myself too, considering there was a steep drop of at least 20 feet to the stream below. Once we got the last waterfall. (See pictures on flicker.com site.) A Filipino man, the same one, let us use his rubber coated cable to lower ourselves down along the side of the rock face where he stood ready to help lower us down, only a few feet below. Basically, we never would have had this little adventure without the help of a few strangers (Filipinos) generosity.

And this is one of the many times this has been the case in the short time that I have been here. Basically, I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for the patience of my language instructor, the generosity and warm heartedness of my first host family and the welcoming spirit of the Filipino culture. I never would have made it this far. The Filipino people have made the hardest parts of the journey (so far) durable. Every time I’ve felt lonely or discouraged about learning the language, there was someone to talk to. (Of course, that also is true of my fellow volunteers, what would I have done without them!!)

Okay, enough with the sappiness this is starting to sound like an acceptance speech. What I really wanted to mention was the fantastic colors of the waterfall. The water is so clear but has this aqua green glow which one of the fellow volunteers believes is because of the lighting. I think it’s due to the chemicals in the water. Different types of linchen and plants on the rocks tend to make the water look a different color than it actually is. I'm just guessing, though. Also, as I looked around, I noticed small pinwheels of magneta covering many rocks at the water line and downward. I was amazed by the green and red colors and how there seemed to be not one kind of moss but several different shapes, lengths and sizes. Why was this so fascinating to a non-science major? The colorful affect of rose, green, white, red rocks all in the same shallow pool of water look like a Maxwell Fairchild painting.

Once we finish the hike, we returned to the jeepney terminal, a simple concrete bus station stop, doubling as a ticket box office with a card table and water-logged record book. (Everywhere you go in the Philippines you are asked to sign in and out, from the administrative offices of municipio (government) buildings to the smallest tourist attractions.) In place of a guard in a booth and an automated gate are two boys standing on either side of the gate. One pulls the rope to lower the stripped vertical plank (weighed down on one end by two full rice bags) across the road and the other raises the plank by leaning on the weights.

We waited for some time and ended up walking down the road before stopping a jeepney going in the opposite direction. We were lucky we got on before the jeepney got back to the campsite. Not only were the two long benches along the bed of the truck filled, but people squatted in the aisles facing forward and people sat on the roof of the truck, the legs hanging over the roof rack. One person even sat on the hood of the jeepney on the passengers’ side at one point. When we went up hills all the people on the roof had to get off and walk until we got to the top of the hill.

6/12/06
Independence Day
Today is the official day the Philippines recognize their independence from the Spanish and Americans. We stood in the town plaza, all organization representatives dressed in their pleated pastel toned uniform or polo shirt with the department/organizational shield on the right hand pocket. People presented flowers at the statues of Jose Rizal, Andre … and a WWII memorial all in the same section of the plaza square in recognition of all the important people who died and fought for the independence of the Filippino people. We also sang the “Bayan Magiliw”, the Filippino National Anthem and “ The Siniloan Hymn"

Belonging is important here. Uniforms denote ones unity with an organization. Recognition of titles is also expected. If someone holds an important role in their office or an organization in their spare time, you refer to them by their title: Priniciple, General Manager, or Chief So-and-so. Titles are a source of pride.

Afterwards, we had a meeting at a very nice restaurant outside of town, which to my “pagkamuhi”, displeasure, there was a videoke machine. The group insisted that I sing “Cruzin”. Big mistake. I have never been so embarrassed that I had a physical reaction. Sweat was suddenly trickling down my temples, back, neck, I was so nervous. The entire faculty staff was present including all the music teachers who undoubtedly laughing at me. How embarrassing. Fortunately, everyone couldn’t have been more pleased that I was a good sport and sang for them. I also showed them a little sample of my salsa dancing skills with the help of my co-worker.

A challenge that I am still having a hard time stretching my mind around is the importance of socializing with those you work with and not just dropping by and dashing out like we do in the states. You can’t do that here. You have to sit down eat, talk, sing and dance. There’s especially pressure on me to give people a chance to get to know me. And I want to it’s just pulling me out of my comfort zone to sing and dance, entertain people and act comfortable around them when I’m not ready yet.

Everyone wants to get to know me. And since I do not speak the language fluently, I still feel out of my comfort zone most of the time, which is sometimes exhausting. But people really go out of their way to get “mahinhin” (shy) me to dance and sing with them and not be shy. They equate shy with feeling out of place and they clearly want me to feel at home. I really want to be a part of things, but I am always worried that I will do something foolish. And before I know it, I am in the eye of a whirling spiral of tsimoso (gossip) that I can’t understand. Sentences with my name in it running through conversation around me like factory room full of automated looms.

Texted Hiku to fellow Volunteers:

Ode to the Tone Deaf

Sing an English song
Laughter_ at me or with me?
Sing another song?!

Ants Everywhere
(Revised)

Two-way traffic
over white tiled railing,
both to and from
the same sanguine peel

Beading like mercury
ants move up my leg
nipping me now and then
to see if I’m ripe, yet.

Kinana (Earlier)~~~

I was walking with a co-worker to our post-flag ceremony marienda (mid-morning snack)/meeting and we discussed raising children in the US and here. I said that in the states parents don’t leave their kids at home without someone to watch them and without knowing that person’s resume, ten references and social security number. Here, people find out if a nanny is okay through word of mouth. Tsimoso(gossip) is invaluable in that way. If you do anything that whole neighborhood will undoubtedly know about it, so everyone is very careful about appearances for this reason. It’s very important to behave appropriately in public and present yourself in the way you want others to see you.

If interested in hearing some local bands that I hear daily if not every five minutes:

Kamikaze
6Cycle Minds
SugarFree
Imago
Radioactive Sago

Most Popular Songs:
“Darna”
“Cho-co-late”
“High”

Favorite American/English songs:
"My Humps"
Any thing by Celine Dion and Air Supply. (Let me put it this way, ABBA toured here last year.)

Siniloan Legend
The legend behind the name of the municipality of Siniloan is closely incorporated within a popular story handed down from earlier times of which it also constitutes the legend of the nearby municipalities of Siniloan. Long time ago, there was a group of men who concocted to trap a wild pig in preparation for the incoming merry-making. They started by folowing the trails leading to a mountains. After a long walk they were fortunate enough to spot a big wild pig eating grasses and fallen riped fruits under the tree which they called "LUMBANG". They tried to trap the wild pig by using a net but the pig was able to escape. The men were so irritated and frustrated that they named the place Lumban.And so they ran after the wild pig until they come into a thick forest. They named the place San Juan which today a part of the Municipality Of Kalayaan. The strong desire of the men to cupture the wild pig propelled them to search eagerly in every part of the forest. Later, they found the wild pig hiding in the shrubs. They were able to tie the wild pig'd snout but they failed to capture it totally because it was able to lose itself and eventually eluded them. From then on, they called the place "Longos" another part of Kalayaan Municipality.Once again, they tried to run after the wild pig until they came to plain area when they decided to construct a coral to be used a wild pig's cage. From there, wood were gatheredand vent were made using a chisel or paet. From this word emanated the name "Paete." Still the wild pig remained at large. However, they didn't lose hope. they began to search again until they found out that their arrows needed to be sharpened. They used a file or kikil to sharpen their arrows. From that, a certain municipality named Pakil originated.
After all those time, the wild pig was still on the loose. And when the certain time arrived, the wild pig appreared once more and was stroke heavily by an angry man which cause several broken bones in the wild pig's body. Hence, spung "Balian". A name they used to refer to that place. Nevertheless, the wild pig continued to run desprite of its fructured bones. This effort was macth by the eagerness of the men to capture the wild pig until they were able to strike the wold pig sharply again. This time, the tusk or pangil of the wild pig was hit by the blow. Thus, originated the name of certain Municipality known as Pangil. Quite not expected, the wild pig ran amuck and started to attack them. However, a snare or silo was launched before it happend. The wild pig then was trapped. Emanating from the word silo is a name of another municipality known as Siniloan. They were so jubilant that they immediately tied and carried wild pig to Santa Maria. While they were walking, they passed to place where the roads were cracked and ruuged or \nmabitac.Thus, the name Mabitac came into existence. They continued to walk until they arrived to a place where the people were celebrating in honor of the Virgin Mary. Here at long the wild pig was roasted for feast.

After all this time, the wild pig was still on the loose. And when the certain time arrived, the wild pig appreared once more and was stroke heavily by an angry man which cause several broken bones in the wild pig's body. Hence, spung "Balian". A name they used to refer to that place. Nevertheless, the wild pig continued to run desprite of its fructured bones. This effort was macth by the eagerness of the men to capture the wild pig until they were able to strike the wold pig sharply again. This time, the tusk or pangil of the wild pig was hit by the blow. Thus, originated the name of certain Municipality known as Pangil. Not quite expected, the wild pig ran amuck and started to attack them. However, a snare or silo was launched before it happend. The wild pig then was trapped. Emanating from the word silo is a name of another municipality known as Siniloan. They were so jubilant that they immediately tied and carried wild pig to Santa Maria. While they were walking, they passed to place where the roads were cracked and ruuged or mabitac.Thus, the name Mabitac came into existence. They continued to walk until they arrived to a place where the people were celebrating in honor of the Virgin Mary. Here at long the wild pig was roasted for feast.

Good-Bye Limay

2006-06-16T22:52:00.000-07:00

5/27/06

Well, I said good-bye to my host family today. I had so much crap even though I'd already given away a whole bag of clothes to my host family. I had to fit everything in side a trike which is only a little bit wider than a telephone booth and half the length. It was like playing Tetris, trying to fit all my stuff in there. I snapped a picture of the house from the frontyard. It's on my flicker.com site. I was sad and scared about moving on. I never imagined how much my hose family would come to mean to me. They were my support system in so many ways and so kind and patient with me during those first few weeks as I struggled to communicate with them and manage the adjustments of the heat and washing with a dipper or without running water (when I showered late and the water was already shut down for the day).

I was sad that they weren't coming to the Handog (a celebration given to show ones appreciation). My host mother, host sister and host cousin were there when I got to the celebration. I felt like that day was my real graduation day celebration, because they were there to celebrate the end of my training and I would be pushed out of their protective nest. They participated in many of the silly games and activities each cluster team created to entertainthe families. My host family is using shy but they participated in many of the games and I was so pleased to be able to spend quality time with them before I left.

They text (nagtext) me often as do I but it's not the same. I miss them, but talking to them often makes me feel like I still have their support and friendship.I promised to visit them next November for their piesta.

The Aeta Experience

2006-06-13T02:31:00.000-07:00

5/28/06

My site project is over. It was a success, for the most part. I knew in my own mind things that could’ve been done differently to make the event better. I’ve accepted that..sort of.

Of course, the success of the project is mostly due to the SK (youth development officer of Duale, Limay) and so the project’s success and future sustainability belongs to him. And as long as the community gains empowerment out of the activity and the seeds for a sustainable project, the project was a success. That’s the most important thing.

We went into the uplands of Duale where the Aetas live. Up, up, up the muddy inclines that seem unwilling to allow the white department of agriculture truck with its seven plus passengers, four standing in the bed of the truck, hanging onto the roof rack giddy and bright-eyed despite their ages (25, 25, 48 and 55). My cluster group was all enjoying the chance to see what other projects the department of agriculture in Duale. We saw several locations where only a field of tree stumps stood above ravines of eroded land.

6/06/06

The date is an anagram. And I feel like I've been turned inside out and backwards and still nothing has changed (for the better). Too tired to write anything else.

6/7/06

(Entry from 6/5/06 continued)
The tree farm in the hills we stopped to meet a groundskeeper for Dept Ag. The Dept Ag person that we were traveling with to see some sites for reforestation needed to stop there first. It was the firstauthentic Aeta home that I'd seen...removed from a community and without any modern conveniences.

The groundskeeper was an Aeta gentleman with a smile a wide and tight as a raised sail. He waved us into his Neba hut. This must be how Aeta’s truly lived once, I thought. There was a dried mud shelf in the corner serving as the fire pit inlayed with wide flat gray rocks for cooking. There were five shy children with big brown eyes, wavy and straight brown hair standing around expectantly, waiting for us to do something “typically American”.

There were two rice bags on the floor of the kitchen/dining room, where flies were landing and taking off like a ferris wheel. Two boys sat by the bags holding flower patterned dinner plates filled with white rice and some kind of meat in a brown sauce, probably bangong baboy (pork sauted in a shrimp and soy sauce marinade).

The adjoining room had two long poster reproductions of Chinese paintings with red flowers, birds and bamboo trees. There was a bedroom across the room on an elevated platform of mud, shielded behind a bamboo railing. Straw mats with blankets of various colors lie crumpled still in the same positions their sleepy occupants had left them early that morning as they left to attend to kitchen and house chores.

The children were all under eleven and thin. The boys continued eating when we came in but the two youngest girls stood near us holding onto a supporting beam staring at use through down-cast eyes.

The mother was excited to meet us and chattered on about us (in Tagalog) to the Dept of Ag person we came with, a man whose name escapes me.

Site Visit

2006-06-13T02:29:00.000-07:00

5/1/06
Site visit to my new city:

Flanked by lush mountains, purple from a distance, Siniloan appears small. There are 15 barargays (neighborhoods), some are as narrow as one long street. Others seem to stretch across the city.

The houses look like they are attached to each other by icing. The pink, green and white houses seem to slouch/sink into the ground to one side or the other like the heat of the mid day sun itself is finally having an impact on not just the people hiding in the shade with wicker fans, handkerchiefs and perspiring glasses of sugar water, a confection of my mind, undoubtedly. Or is it because everything here is congealed, coated or cooked in sugar or condensed milk. Maybe that’s why I feel so happy all the time. I do have the worst sweet tooth.

Yet, the houses all have these ornate cages around the windows. The windows seem to mimmick the constant double standards that I see here. You can reach out of the window and feel freedom but you can’t step into it.

The principal is a joker (palabiro) and is always very light-hearted with his staff. Although there are many rules and restrictions imposed on the student body and staff. Apparently, this is to make up for the lackadaisical approach employed in the past. At once point, there was a wall covered with baseball caps that the prinicipal had confiscated over the course of a year, he returned them to their owners in May, of course.

Note about Philippines life in general:
I was watching the news with my host father and one of my co-workers who was visiting and I saw a shocking news report on the nightly news. There was a horrible fire that ravaged an entire block of houses. It looked like the houses had been shanties from the shells that were still visible. The tin roofs curled back like the lid of a sardine can by the fire. Each house, only a few feet wide and deep shared concrete walls with their neighbors as well as poorly constructed electrical wiring slipped through the walls without insulation which was named as the probable cause of the fire.

The news reporter noted that there were 1, 452 fires like this which occurred between January and May in 2006 in Metro Manila. Insane! Is anything being done to help protect poor people from these hazards? No evidence of change, yet. So sad.

5/2/06
May Celebrations
As I rode through a dark street after a meeting, I saw children and families kneeling at small card tables and boxes covered with gold, red, pink and green tablecloths, candles and statues of the Virgin Mary at the doorstep of every household. The children were singing songs. There were some children walking down the street stopping before each doorstep to sing a song. My co-worker told me that it is a tradition in the Philippines that children sing in celebration of the Virgin Mary every Sunday? night in the month of May. (I also saw this occurring in the tiny chapels when I returned to Limay.)

5/3/06
“Magjojogging” around my new home town

My co-worker and I “magjojog” down a side street to avoid on-coming trike traffic on the main street. Adults are bathing in sandals, shorts and t-shirts and pouring water rushing from a pipe in their alley or beside their house. Naked children skitter away from the pipes like a line of dragonflies swooping into the road and then back out again. The houses are linked together in a confusing network of clothes and cable lines.

5/3/06
Annex school in the upland region

I went to visit the annex school in the “upland region”, a more remote area in the hills far from the center of town. I walked around the property with my principle, the head teacher and two co-workers. They were still finishing one building. All the unused property was housing produce (kamates [tomatoes], calabasa [type of squash that looks like a small pumpkin but tastes sweeter] and sweet potatoes) served for breakfast and lunch at the school. I was impressed with the industrious nature of the head teacher and staff.

After we met in the head teachers office and discussed business we concluded marienda, a tradition observed by all Filippinos, (mid-morning and afternoon snack). The head teacher had the janitor climb the coconut trees bordering the school property and cut down a few. After drinking the “boku juice” out of the shell, the janitor handed me a semi-circle shaped piece of coconut shell. He’d carved a make-shift spoon for each of us out of coconut shells. The inside of the coconut is not as sweet as coconut shavings that I’ve eaten from the grocery store in the states. Instead, fresh coconut tastes like a salty/sweet melon, but is so watery and soft that melts in your mouth.

OFW (Overseas Filippino Workers)
OFW is becoming a coming phrase in conversations between co-workers and neighbors here. I haven’t met someone yet whose husband, wife, cousin or aunt isn’t living overseas to try to make money to send back to the rest of the family. Everyone seems resigned or on the verge of resigning themselves to the fact that the only way they can make any real money and break out of the financial hole they find themselves in is to work or send a spouse/relative or support a relative overseas by raising their children. It’s a difficult situation that is also a problem in my first host city. I can’t imagine trying to sustain a marriage from thousands of miles away over the course of two years never mind ten years or more.

5/7/06
Paete
It’s Saturday and I have the day off. I traveled to Paete with one of my host father’s employees who offered to show me around. The combination of the rain, old buildings and narrow cobblestone streets had the old-world charm of Old Quebec.

Despite the rain, we found our way from shop to shop. It’s an artist colony of wood carvers, paper machete artists and resin sculptors. I saw some wonderful pieces that I knew were far under-priced for their amazing detail to the faces and ornate designs. Most of the carvings were religious.

We were contemplating the period of the faded oils on the walls of St. James when a man working in the chapel offered to tell us about the paintings. Our conversation became so captivating that before we knew it he was inviting us to view the bell tower. After climbing up a staircase that was only a slightly wider that my shoulders and a few rickety ladders in the base of the tower, we were out on the ledge looking down at Laguna de Bay and probably hundreds of miles beyond to the hazy mainland of Luzon.

5/8/06
Mamba with a little halo-halo
After homemade halo-halo at a sweet shop owned by my co-worker’s lola (grandmother), I worked off the combination of coconut cream gelatin, beans, corn and condensed milk (which is actually a lot better than it sounds) by practicing the Mamba at another co-workers’ house.

I walked into room with a half-painted cement, half-linolium floor air sweeping freely through the open door and window from the large open courtyard with a covered veranda, trees, a neat vegetable garden and a few roosters and chickens. Music suddenly blasting from the speakers above the TV and we are moving across the floor. I am following behind my co-worker like a shadow channeling Fred Estaire, since I know no famous mamba dancers, thinking sweet feet, sweet feet. Isn’t that what his nickname was in his inner circle of friends? I am such a movie geek.

Children start leaning over the window sil and sink into the doorway giggling at the clumsy American trying to dance like their graceful neighborhood idol. After sweating at least twenty ounces, we stopped to recharge. We drank Cola Pop with large pieces of ice cut from a block with a large knife and played bingo with a dozen neighborhood kids, using tiny squares from old rubber sandals to mark the numbers.

5/9/06
Wedding Anniversary Toast
I escaped videoke for the first time at a wedding anniversary party by staying inside and talking to the guests in the living room. As I was about to leave, my principle asked me to come outside and say goodbye to the hosts. A drunken relative asked me to make a toast. I was speechless even though I knew a string of phrases to say, “Mabuhay, Mary and John”, “Maraming anyos ng masaya inyong (many years of happiness to you)”, “ Malingayang bati sa inyong kaarawan ng kasal (happy anniversary)” or simply “Happy Anniversary”. Everyone laughed and a woman came up to me and offered me a shot of “boki”, a coconut wine that is like 80 proof. I politely declined with a laugh and gave the speech and hurried off with a quick “Salamat, po(thank you, sir)”. Peels of laughter followed me. I was okay. I hadn’t been surprised that they asked me to make a speech. The trainers told us to expect to be asked to make impromptu speeches where we go in the first few months when we are going to community meetings and events to introduce ourselves to the community. Somehow, I was regretting not taking that shot after all. (Joke lang [Just joking].)

Mabuhay Kaibigan sa America

2006-05-24T03:33:00.000-07:00

“Peace Corps Volunteer In-training”
March 24, 2006
12 am (Eastern Time)
Somewhere over Russia, 4, 000 feet up

So, I am awake at this ungodly hour (after 20 hours) because the guy sitting in the window seat won’t lower his damn window all the way. I got up and walked around the cabin of the plane and looked at the Russian landscape; so white and barren that it looked transparent if not for the occasional distinguishing shadowed peak and valleys.

(5:45 am Eastern Time)
Nagoya, Japan
Nagoya Airport

We are now leaving Nagoya Airport in Japan. This is the final stretch of our trip to Manila. It took at least a ½ hour to get through customs. Mount Fuji seems to hit five feet from the glass window of the airport.The veiny, gray and green, craggy rocks leading up to the snow capped peak hidden in clouds was exactly as I’d remembered seeing it in National Georgraphic magazines, stately, ageless and awesome.. Right before we landed in Nagoya, it was the first thing I saw, appearing seemingly out of the clouds. A wide, impressive mountain that just challenges you to climb.

On a side note, I was really impressed with the patience of the Japanese people. When we were standing in line people were unbelievably calm and patient despite the long line. They also were strangely silent. I am used to the bustling and noisy airports in the states. This airport was strangely silent and everyone stood in line and when someone moved up in the line the person behind them wasn’t breathing down their neck to move ahead. They took their time moving forward. Sense of time and patience unseen in the states is already striking my attention.

The pathway we took from Detroit to Manila is called in aviation terms “The great arch”. It is the fastest and shortest route from the mid-western United States to Manila. We traveled up through the great lakes, past Ontario and the northern territories of Canada, the Berring Straight, through northern Russian, southeast towards Nagoya with a short stop over and then southwest past Taiwan to Manila. (See map)

Time arrived: 3/25/06, 9ish “Filippino time”

Landed in Manila. The funniest part of arriving in the Manila airport: The sign that says, “Welcome to Bird Flu-Free Manila” was somehow not comforting.

US vs. everyone else??

Captialism and freedom_ that is what most of the JVCs have been discussing for the past fews days in pre-training as the main catalysts for the difference in American and Asian cultures. It is the reason many Asians move to the states and start over but it is the lack of understanding/presumptive/entitled nature of Americans that keep us from connecting to other cultures. This will undoubtedly be our biggest obstacle in integrating into the Filippino culture.

There are many differences that they forewarned us about that may take some adjustment: having to walk with/ be with people constantly, especially women, never travel alone and you can be an easy target for crime if you are, women must cover their shoulders, chest, legs to the knees, not speak too loudly or drink or swear or smoke, also of course, always letting someone know where you are going and watching your health (hygiene) very carefully.

The acting Deputy Director asked us to “totally give ourselves over to the experience” and immerse in the culture. Well, isn’t that why we are all here??

3/25/06
Island Cove, Manila
“Orientation”

On the way to Island Cove, nothing can prepare someone for the reality of deloppedated houses or “squatter shacks” between storefronts and houses held together by different colored pieces of wood, blankets, on the main road from Manila to Island Cove. All I can say is that you feel like you are in an info-merical for Save the Children. It isn’t an exaggeration pumped up to make rich Americans feel guilty, as some people think, people really are that poor here. It’s an everyday reality.

3/26/06

I went to a trip to the SM malls. What an experience! We climbed onto a mini bus that is shiny silver chrome army jeep with multiple benches bolted to the floor. The late day sun was shielded from our eyes by a magenta table runner with braided ends hanging above the drivers head against the windshield. Multiple pentagrams, virgin marys and muslim symbols of faux-ivory, onyx, gold and/jade with tasseled ends hung between the cab and bed of the jeep. A husband wife and sometimes a child sit in the cab of the jeep silently. Goo-Goo Dolls is blasting from the stereo in English. It was an “oh” moment. The wind sweeping through the jeep, aaround the ends of my long skirt to the tips of my hair, the dusty road/pollution coating my face with a thin film, lifted me up and made me shed the winter coat I’d been sleeping in and start to see life from the perspective of an American living in Asia. Pink and orange lights above curbside fruit stands, cellar phone stores and GROs (Guest Relations Officer or registered house of prostitution) or full-nudity theatres stood out in the fading light.

And who could forget the sign at the health clinic that said "summer sale, free circumcisions until June"! I think almost everyone took a picture of that sign.

It was amazingly close to what I’d been looking for and I was suddenly happier than I can ever remember being.

I told myself that I would totally give myself over to this experience. I would learn Tagalog, eat with only a spoon (in the right hand) and fork (in the left). I was starting to embrace a new part of myself_ the expatriot.

April 2, 2006
Balanga, Bataan
The Philippines

3 Days in Detroit of pre-training, 6 days of pre-training at the Bataan hub site and then, 2 ½ months of training before I can start my position as a Peace Corps Volunteer. The process seems endless and the PC method very cautious, but now I believe that I understand why that is. The PC doesn’t want to bring someone new into the community who promises to do great things and then never fulfills all their promises. During one of our many meetings since I arrived at Balanga, the acting country director mentioned that the number of Peace Corps volunteers leaving service has gone down significantly in recent years due to stricter policies. Therefore, we should be thrilled to be here and honored. This also implies that there has been a problem with volunteers not fulfilling their two-year commitment. I am starting to see why. “The Hardest Job You’ll Ever Love”? Tell me about it!

I am aware that I am about to enter far from an easy lifestyle. I’ve been eating rice with every meal. The Philippinas eat rice with hot sugar mixture of oatmeal type consistency, rice, fish, tomatoes, onions, veggies for lunch and something of a similar variety for dinner. There are a wide assortment of fruits and vegetables here and the hub manager mentioned that she has sent the vegetarians’ host families a cookbook with a few Filippina vegetarian recipes. I am looking forward to trying some of them. I hope that my permanent host family allows me to cook for them sometimes.

The lifestyle that I am about to accept is not an easy life. I am starting to get a taste of it this weekend. The only major inconvenience was not planned and that is the fact that we do not seem to have a consistent source of water in our bathroom. Of course, the current arrangement of housing all 9 single women in one room in a separate building wasn’t planned. The showers are only available to the first few to shower after that, the bucket and dipper shower method is the only one available. (I have had to do this but you get used to it. When you’re hot and sweaty, you stop caring how you shower. The act of cleaning yourself and smelling clean is enough.) Some have had to go without showers. We’ve all been too nice to complain. At least, I wouldn’t. I might embarrass the training manager. We have all just patiently waited to take a shower later in the day. I’m surprised that we haven’t killed each other yet.

I have avoided the other difference in Asian and American bathroom culture and that is_the “dipper”. The dipper is literally an 8 or 9 measuring cup used to scoop up water and force the toilet to flush down any bodily waste into the sewer system. Lovely, ain’t it? This is the same dipper I used to shower and wash my hair the past few days. I haven’t had to actually use the dipper method or as we’ve started referring to it in my room “ method”, but I’ve been assured that I will eventually have to. The one way to avoid it is by always carrying toilet paper or wipes in your bag…always.

4/2/06
We went to the beach outside a tiny fishing village this morning to see the sunrise. It was stunning. The pictures hopefully came out okay. The sun was a tangerine. A fruit flavored candy melting in the dawn’s smothering humidity. (See attached pictures.)

4/3/06

Living in the Philippines has definitely been an adventure so far. A jog across Balanga’s main street is impossible without attracting plenty of unwanted attention. Young men stand up and walk towards me as I approach, making a “pissst, pissst” sound. This is not to be rude or intrusive but just to strike up a conversation with me. Philippinas also make this sound when they are trying to get each other’s attention.

I stopped running when I reached the mall, not that I could’ve ran with the mile long knot of pedestrians and tricycles (motor bikes with a covered side cart for passengers) in my way. Tricycles, cars and street vendors park indiscriminantly on both the sidewalk and curb at once. Another observation is that I was one of the tallest people in the crowd. Yet, I am only 5”2, so this surprised me. I also felt out of place and under dressed as I was sweaty, wearing clingy sweat pants and a small t-shirt and sneakers. All the women had their dark black hair neatly pulled back in a ponytail or lying flat and long, cascading down their backs. When I popped into a coffee shop for a diet coke on the way home I also got a dirty look from the older female manager who must have been in her fifties. I could tell that she didn’t appreciate that I was walking into her store looking so unkempt. This is definitely going to affect my lifestyle. I am used to being able to pop into shops looking unkept without feeling looked down upon and I will need to temper this habit if I want to give off the right impression within my community.

4/8/06

A typical morning in my small farming community.

Coconut branches bow in the early light like a handsome child humbly pointing only its parted crown towards his admirer. The roosters mark the beginning of another work day for rice farmers at 4:45 am. Their shrill 4 beat songs echoing in crescendo from the uplands to the low land. The birds are busily chirping in the coconut trees, making chika chika with their neighbors. Yet, niba and concrete houses alike remain silent. It is too early for children to wake. The wives of farmers are the only ones awake, quietly making breakfast for their husbands who are checking the fields, planning the work they need to do for the day and will return at 6 for breakfast. (The farmers will work from 6-10 am and return to work at 2 when the sun isn’t as hot and work again until 6 pm.)

Around 7 or 7:30, mothers and their children will appear in doorways, drinking their coffee (it is common for children to drink coffee too). Mothers and teenagers will start their daily chores of sweeping the porch or path to the house with a hand held long bundle of straw, scrubbing clothes with a bundle of fish net over a narrow wooden board.. Children wander over to the polluted, garbage-ridden stream across from my bahay. A 12 year old nanny standing silently near by watching the children closely.

Soon stereos will compete with each other for the loudest, clearest version of some celine dion song. Mothers’ sing loudly and passionately out loud ant song about a love far away. Many of them have husbands working Saudia Arabia or somewhere else overseas and only returning for a month or a few weeks out of the year in order to make enough money to enter a better lifestyle.

Around 8 am, people will take off for work on trikes (a motorcycle with a side car that has a metal roof and plastic side windows) to the bus stop or downtown Limay. Many work in the market place or in municipal hall for the government. Many others travel to Balanga (a crowded and smoggy city with two small malls and many small shops and restaurants lining the road) or even Manila daily.

Mamayan (later)……

I feel that I’ve grown since my prior entries. I have been living with my host family for only three days but I feel as if three weeks have passed since I left Balanga. My family is wonderful. There is the mother, two daughters, one son and miscellaneous cousins who appear daily on the porch and in the living room looking to entertain the older kids. They are generous, kind, flexible, and interesting people. Ate (big sister) is the daughter of the Barungay Captain. He is always poking his head into the house daily to say hello. I feel slightly pressured to behave well and adhere to all my host mother's wishes. She never says no to me she just raises her eyebrows. This is the Filippino equivalent of no but it is used for nearly everything else. It’s as multi-purpose as sarcasm is in the states; it works for any occasion where you are not sure how to respond.

I live in a beautiful rural neighborhood. The upper and lower halves of the town are flanked by high grass and steep valleys of chestnut groves and peanut plants. Just outside the town, there are endless rice fields either drowning in water or dry and bare from harvest. Completely symmetrical squares outlined by high green grass. The only thing that morphs these fields are the blue and gray mountains that stretch across the horizon even though they are only 7 kilometers away.

Every morning at six am I crawl from under the humid, somewhat fluid haze of mosquito netting and brace myself for my cold footbath ritual. I’ve managed to handle it or at least get used to it mostly because I no longer wear my glasses when I go in there. That way I can’t see the occasional palm length cockroaches that skitter across the concrete walls washed in black mold. My host mother lightens my mood each morning by having a cup of coffee and breakfast waiting for me. It’s so nice to be taken care of. I have to admit. The only thing that is driving me nuts is that she needs to know where I am at all times. Also, she followed me home the past two nights when I didn’t get back from my run at the exact time I mentioned.

As soon as I walk past the piece of sheet metal roofing that serves the driveway gate, I spot the open fields across the half cement/half dirt road and I am relieved. I walk past a babbling brook where children in t-shirts and shorts are playing. I pass a sari-sari and several nibah huts, houses made of weaved bamboo and grass or weaves roofs. I see the ox and cart as a man of forty who has the skinny, bent body and leathery skin of a 70 year old, knots the ropes that link the ox to the cart. Small puppies, skinny with patchy fur lie in the sun listlessly. Proud brown and black roosters perch in the eves of entrances, crowing even though it’s long past dawn. The best part of my day is when I go for a run and pass a stretch of open land on St. Francis Elementary School’s property where the mountains morph this small rural neighborhood. I suddenly feel free and overwhelmed at the same time. I guess that this experience wouldn’t be worth it if I didn’t or couldn’t feel both.

I had such a great time with my host family my first night in Duale. All the kids sat on the porch all evening looking at my notes and helping me practice Tagalog. I would think that I’d nailed a phrase and then I’d hesitate and we’d all laugh at the awkwardness of the situation. It was definitely my first “high” of my experience in PC.

My first low occurred today when I was told me my outfit had not been appropriate for a meeting. The person didn't seem to think anything of my outfit until a few construction workers stared at me as we left a barungay hall. I was humilitated and very angry at first. I felt disempowered. I was resentful that I had to change how I dressed just because a few men noticed my outfit and were aroused by it. I felt as if my appearance is up to interpretation. After a long run, I realized that I needed to accept the conditions of my trip here and follow the rules that were going to make my time here easier and safe. It will be an adjustment to also have to ask people to accompany me places. That is going to take some time for me to change.

My second high happened tonight when my host mother and I bonded as she showed me how to do my laundry. This requires two wide rimmed bowls, a wooden board and a tight bundle of fishing net for scrubbing out stains. As I did my laundry she crouched in the doorway and chatted with me. She talked about her husbands desire to have the family move to Saudi Arabia or Canada. He is in S.A. now. The children need to finish their education, though. That is why she chose to stay here and sacrifice seeing her husband so he can make enough money to help them survive and she can stay here while the kids are in school.

So far, I have visited (4/07/06) the barungay captain, or neighborhood official elected by the town to regulate local affairs and field public concerns. This is the first public appearance a person should make if they want to gain the respect of the local community. The second is to visit the local mayor and district superintendent of schools or head official for ones area of work. The following day, we went to a public meeting at Barungay hall. It was basically a lecture given by a chemical rep of a insecticide company. This seemed useless as the completely unrelated to our area of work. Everyone in our group is a BETA (Basic Education Training Assistant) volunteer. We also visited (4/9/06) two other barungay captains in Tongolo and Reformista as we were close to these neighboring barungays when we went to visit the mayor and stopped in to say hello and introduce ourselves. The beach is beautiful at Reformista and it was the hottest day ever. The sun beat right through my big hot pink umbrella, making it into more of a solar panel radiating heat than deflecting it. I peered over the gray concrete walls and saw the clear green water of Manila Bay and felt my Pavlovian urge as a former swimmer to dive right in with my clothes on! There was trash in the water and Manila Bay has a bad reputation. I might just dip might feet in though if I get to go on Friday when I have the day off from class. It’s Good Friday.

4/09/06
Bataan Day
Balanga, Bataan

I went into Balanga (Ba-lan-ga) today with my cluster mate. It was an adventure and definitely the much needed break from my host family/life that I needed. We walked into town from the bus stop off the main road of Balanga and stopped at The Beanery so a cluster mate could drink his 500 liter Pepsi and smoke in the shade. I went in to be embraced by the air-conditioned coffee shop and get a iced latte with French vanilla syrup. It was a taste of the states I needed. There are no air-conditioned stores anywhere in Limay or Longolo. This is definitely going to take some getting used to.

I was hoping to see the Bataan Parade in memory of the ten US/Ally soldiers who were marched by Japanese invaders from Manila to Bataan without water or rest only to be shot. Araw Ng Kagitingan. Apparently, the parade was yesterday as that was the official Bataan Day. I would like to go up to Mount Samat while I am in the area. I am planning on meeting a few fellow volunteers in Balanga again next Sunday for an early dinner or lunch. I would like to go up earlier in the day and go to Mt. Samat, first.

It’s amazing how fast you can forget how to react to people living in poverty when your not jaded from seeing it every day. I know that my neighbors have nothing yet they never ask for money. In Balanga, it is more accepted and practiced. Is it because everyone takes care of each other or because it’s pathetic to beg in the countryside??

4/11/06

I interviewed a teacher today and I believe it went very well. Even though I did not need any experience interviewing someone due to my background in reporting, I did benefit from the experience of interviewing a teacher and knowing what type of questions I needed to ask a teacher related to my job as I am new to the education field. I definitely felt meeting with the elementary school principal this morning helped me define my questions more professionally as a cluster mate, a university and high school substitute teacher asked a lot of good questions about the number of students per class, payment for absenteeism on the part of the teachers and whether the teachers get compensation if a certain percentile of students pass the high school equivalency exam.

I also found out about some interesting alternative programs in my town. I am interested in getting involved in a program that will get students, ages 10-65 or higher, who need extra help with reading to pass to the next grade, get their GED or go on to high school. I am going to sit in on this program next Monday. It should be really interesting. Even if I do not need to sit in on this class, I may offer my services during my off hours to help out when I can and get some one-on-one experience with students. I want to start doing something. I’m sick of talking about teaching and serving and just training in the subject. I am doer and I need to fill fulfilled in some way, spiritually. The waiting has delayed the satisfaction of serving that I enjoy so much. Fortunately, I am enjoying the leisure of studying a new language and bonding with my host family.

I sat up last night on the porch and spoke with Ate (my host mother) about her hopes and dreams, what she would like to have for herself once her kids are in college. It must be hard for her to stay in the house all day and do nothing but cook, clean and keep an eye on her kids. She seems very bright. She went to college for one year before dropping out to get married. She was going to study accounting. I told her she can still work her way up in the baking industry without a degree. She seemed relieved about this. I understand where she is coming from as my friends have told me about the woes of being a stay-at-home mom and the boredom/lack of intellectual stimulation. I wouldn’t be able to cope. I’d go nuts! But watch now I’ve probably jinxed myself and I’ll have a ton of children and spend my whole adult life at home...nah!

Her husband wants to move the family to Canada. Tonight, my host sister confessed that she wanted to study nursing like her sister so she could move to Canada. They all think that they will find a better life there. I hope they do.

I am starting to feel lonely_ for my friends and women my own age to talk to. I somtimes talk to my host cousin. It is nice having a girl my own age around but we can’t really talk yet. Her English is minimal and so is my Tagalog. I hope that this will force me to work on my Tagalog. I am trying to study hard, but I know that unless I start trying to apply the language more, it won’t stick. I called a volunteer in a neighboring city today. She is living only 15 south of Balanga. (I live 35 minutes north of Balanga). I am hoping to meet up with her on Sunday.

If there are no buses I may need to change the date. It would be great to meet up with Americans, talk about training and just chill out. I get so tired of always being in my role as a trainee. I do feel a little bit like I’m in a fishbowl as I’ve often been told I will feel. At orientation, they reminded us to break out of that fishbowl and be with other people, spend time doing things that matter to you to be healthy and happy in your normal life. For me, this is apparently feeling good physically, having clear skin, getting enough sleep and feeling comfortable and safe among the people I live and work with.

Oh, the other thing that I found really interesting about the schools in Limay. There are
mostly national teachers working in the schools. The teachers are not from Limay
originally. Also, the teachers I spoke with aren’t and haven’t in the past sent their
children to local schools. They are in private schools. Sustainability is a problem therefore. Also, they have this great language lab donated by the mayor, but after only a year a third of the units do not work. I am wondering if there was only enough funding to purchase the equipment but the installation had to completed by volunteers or locals willing to donate their time, therefore the electrical connections are faulty. This could be a sign of inefficiency. Here I am trying to dissect what they’ve done wrong. This isn’ my job to judge them or their government, rather, but to focus on what they do have and what their strengths are that I can work with to improve upon the school and help them grow further. Parents/Teachers Associations are strong in Limay. Unfortunately, our community project doesn’t give us a enough time to plan a fundraising event involving both the school and parents so we will probably run a workshop when the teachers are back in school on remedial reading/ discipline methods/etc.

4/15/06

My training is flying by. I’m nearly a ¼ of the way through. I am learning a lot but feel pressured to learn and speak more naturally without looking at my notebook. I am going to practice on strangers today. Interview some people. I will carry around my notebook if I have to and make myself get these important phrases nailed into my head.

I also am feeling pressure within. That old negativity is creeping out. I need to practice writing down new mantras and believe that I can learn the language. I try to keep the story in my mind that I read once in National Georgaphic before I came here. It was a story about to a woman on Pakistan who fought the family for comp[ensation when she was raped by a gang in the neighborhood. Instead of leaving the country, she stayed in her community and built a school for women. My miniscule battles are nothing compared to that kind of courage.

4/24/06

As I walked back from a visit to an alternative school for non-students (students who have not finished their GED, the ages range from 6 and 60 and the books are so outdated that they use two modules. The same two modules are used for all ages. There are 40 students and only 2 teachers) I see my host mother sitting in the next-door neighbors front yard. The wide porch is filled with people who are filling several bingo cards with river pebbles, cashew shells and traditional wooden bingo discs. She tried to coerce me to play, but the dusty trail up to the resorts and the Aetas, an indigenous group was calling me.

I am listening to The Hives, “Munich” and I am able to understand from a first hand experience exactly what the singer’s referring to in the lines, “There a few things you should know by now…you’ll speak when your spoken to…” I feel so repressed. The guys go out and don’t think to invite me. I can’t go anywhere without a kasama. They can go anywhere they want without a second thought or just a slap on the wrist. I do feel like a second-class citizen.

They have gone to all different unmanned trails around the neighborhood and go out of town whenever they want and don’t worry about getting in trouble. The Philippines wreaks of double standards. Women must dress conservatively in the office but can wear revealing belly dancing outfits when representing the office at a fiesta!? Women are told that they must cover up or they deserve any unwanted attention. It’s outrageous and not something that I can’t and refuse to accept. Sure, I’ll follow the rules but I feel even more vigilant about being involved in gender issues and helping woman see themselves as first-class citizens. Evidence of this bias is clear to me even in the choices made. The most difficult island and the one with the most health hazards have a team of only men going. Yet, there were equally capable women who could’ve been sent to the island. I can’t help wonder whether women were overlooked for this position because they are women. This is a major concern for me. I am going to do something about this. I will be involved in the GLOW group. I will write a GAD (Gender and Development), which will rip open the scandals that I see being committed. I will also get involved in Luzvi’s gender and development in my region, Laguna. Repression of women in this day and age is unnecessary and must end.

(Text to come from site visit week)

5/11/06

I’m feeling better today yet still a little frustrated and concerned about how I will be able to practice Tagalog without a partner. Mine decided to work independently.

I am trying to appreciate what I can about this period of my training: hanging out with my host family on the porch in silence and just listening to them talk to each other in Tagalog; eating lunch in their small kitchen by the bright mid day sun coming through the side door…Little Prince/Ungoy (monkey)/ two year old neighbor/nephew of my host mother is standing outside the door playing with the outdoor hose and laundry basin while roosters peck around him distractedly looking for spare crumbs which may have fallen from the small plastic basket for garbage hanging over the fence.

I love sitting at the lunch table eating fresh buttered vegetables (string beans almost as thick as my little finger, okra, baby corn, carrots and potatoes), rice, mangos and melon juice (freshly shredded cantalope, condensed milk, cantalope juice and sugar_masarap!) I enjoy talking to a cluster mate about our host families, what we ate for breakfast and lunch, listening to his personal and humorous tirades, talking about our permanent site, permanent projects, everything, pretty much….I know that I’ll miss my little country town. It’s so quaint.

The roosters and random dogs fill every available living space in people’s yards and no one seems to mind when they wander into their yards. Everyone is accepting of sharing their personal space with the rest of the community in order to remain on good terms with each other. People are more tolerant of each other here….less judgemental.

In my new town, I feel as if there is so much pressure. It was weighing me down the whole time was there. I am determined to fit in and know that becoming fluent as quickly as possible will help tremendously. Wish me luck!!!

5/14/06

Friday with power was out all day and also part of Saturday, luckily, it was so windy, the weather indoors was tolerable. The power outage was scheduled on Friday and the lines were down on Saturday due to the typhoon passing through the Vassiyas region. There was a warning stage 1 in our province, Bataan. This was my first experience with a typhoon. The wind and rain was such a relief after the constant stifling heat making my concrete room feel like a coffin even though the mass of mosquito netting is billowing all around me, violently alive all night. Still, I lay there wide- awake somehow too aware of the cool air running over my body. I felt too exposed lying there in my black full-slip. Strangely, I had grown used to falling asleep in layers of sweat and baby powder, exhausted by the heat, sun and exertion of the day. I felt too awake. I lied there wishing I could lie outside on the bamboo couch outside again.

I felt so comfortable lying there earlier in the evening, the wind and rain whipping around me. The chaos of the storm somehow calmed me within, as it always does. I felt protected by the wind and rain somehow. I fell into the deepest sleep I’ve had since I’ve been here. I woke up totally revived.

The evening had gone so strangely on Friday. Sitting there in the darkness on the porch, oblivious to the wind and rain, quizzing each other on Tagalog adjectives by the light of our cell phone flashlights, the boys occasionally breaking to wrestle and get out their restless energy. I sit content to laugh at them. Their figures only a white outline of overlapping lines and curves like an unlit windy country road. (This eventually caused_ as would all fooling around on a marble titled porch_ one to cut his knuckles; just a scratch.)

Later on, I sat around in the living room with host family, my host sister and I attempting to make shadow puppets on the wall in the candlelight. My host mother laughed and shivered when I asked if she knew any ghost stories. Apparently, it’s not smart to tell ghost stories when the powers off at night….Superstitions, hidden in the light of day, come out at night. There are so many in my little town. One that my sk told me the other night which he told me not to repeat out of superstitious reasons. Weird and bizarre story, though.

If I was happy then, I’m at the other end of the spectrum…okay that’s an exaggeration, but this past weekend was the most challenging that I’ve faced. My group was falling apart and everyone seemed comfortable blaming it on me even though it was a group dynamic problem.

We hashed it out after our language evaluation practice, which I think went pretty well. And I thought that we’d come to an agreement on how to work together from now on but I noticed a distance between some of my cluster mates and I..... Feeling frustrated.

5/20/06

A few really neat things of note happened over the past few days. First of all, the group had quite an adventure while taking the Department of Agriculture white 6-passenger truck up the mountainside to survey the site for a tree planting project as part of a conservation education project for youth. The very first steep hill we went up on the windy roads that curve up the mountainside, we got stuck. The guys, who were standing in the bed of the truck and holding onto the cab of the truck, got out and pushed the truck up the hill. I was in the cab of the truck and we’d jerk forward and then roll back in the heavy truck a few feet very quickly. It was a little scary. I kept imagining us sliding all the way down the steep incline of probably 500 meters. It was worth the trip though. We climbed higher and higher up the hill. We could see the blue layers of sea painted in a wash of watercolor in the background of the landscape of rice fields and woods. I was amazed at how low beneath sea level my town sits. The ocean sat so high on the horizon it looked like clouds instead of sea. It’s so awe-inspiring or …. To see all those streams, trees, rice fields, signs of prosperity and life…especially, before we came across the dry ravines that stood below the trees stumps on the sunken hills, eroded by rain and landslides. There were so many spots along the way that seemed as if they needed to plant trees there, even on the main road, but the government that controls the public property won’t let the department of agriculture touch it. Why I don’t know but I think it seems odd. The need is there…Why would we want to go all the way up into the mountains to plant trees? Maybe we need to rebuild the watershed system on the mountain.

Another neat thing that happened to me: I was returning from a short run. It was just around twilight when I saw the silhouettes of a bunch of children I knew standing on the top of a small hill on the road ahead of me. They were waving and calling me “Ate Moria” which made me smile. I approached them and then kept running. They followed and raced with me. The sound of their giggles grew in hysterical breathless laughter that gurgled into my blood and respiratory system until I felt giddy and breathless and young too. I was running with them with abandon and free of any care in the world. I was back on the golf course playing tag beneath the weeping willows, reaching between the feathery branches for the hand or shoulder peaking through. I was breathless in the cool relief of a late summer night. My sweat turning into a cool trickle as soon as it started to slide down my neck. I felt like a part of something important_ their neighborhood. I felt accepted by this bevy of children as one of their own and that felt immeasurably good. It made all the challenges, the cockroaches the size of D batteries, the dipper showers, the projects that never feel like they will get done, the days when I feel like I can’t remember even how to say I can’t remember….worth while. I am glad and feel fortunate that I already feel I’ve had a lot of memorable moments that make me feel lucky to be here, blessed and willing to face the first 6 months, which everyone says are the most challenging. Bring it on!

5/21/06

Small Red and Brown Ants (everywhere)

Two-way traffic over
the white tiled porch railing,
leading to and from
the abandoned banana peel
The same trails move around my bedroom windowsill
They bite me every once in a while
To see if I’m ripe yet.

5/21/06

Jeepney ride from Balanga to Limay

There are bubble-shaped decals “Socialite” and “Paint your love” on the rear view mirror. The jeep bears similar decal in larger letters where school bus would appear on the round arch of above the cab of the jeep-style bus, announcing the christened name of the jeepney . I think it was “Heaven’s Eyes” or something like that.

Don Henley’s “Boys of summer” is blasting from the stereo even though there are only five passengers on the bus including me. The metal bolted down seats remind me of school buses I took in the 80s in the states but the experience is foreign in every other way. The trip between small towns along national highway always looks so different. It only took me one trip on the bus to be able to identify the town and location of each stop. The bus stops are concrete three wall structures painted with the name of the town in large lean letters with a drawing of a tree or nibah hut. Between towns there are endless rice fields visible between chestnut, mango and avocado trees that line National Highway. Parted neatly into squares by thick high grass.

The large arch that bridges Limay townside and the barangay where I live is hard to miss. “Accept Jesus as Your Lord” commands the mayor in large red painted letters surrounded by four petaled flowers. Bulaklak intended to soften the blow of the dictatorial words, a typical Filipino command. Stern words accompanied by an apologetic smile.