Soul Highway

Guess my ethnicity

So you made it to your US port of entry after a 30-hour long flight. You’ve won the first half of the battle as an intending immigrant. As the excitement slowly subsides, you begin to notice the things around you. That you stand out. And that you are a minority.

Now that you’re here the word “minority” finally hits you and you slowly begin to understand it. People use this word all the time, and oftentimes loosely, in the Philippines but if you’re a) Catholic or b) you do not belong to a tribal group, you could not really fully relate to it. My man here told me that back when I was still in the country and now I understand.

I’m probably oversimplifying things but more than likely you will run into situations that will remind you of your identity. Or what percentage of the population you represent. Sometimes people you run into will try to second-guess your ethnicity and it’s interesting to know what they come up with.

Last month, a plumber came into the apartment to fix a leaking pipe. Himself an immigrant, a Peruvian, he made an effort to engage in small talk. He was courteous enough to ask where I come from but when I said I was Filipino, he responded: “Oh, I thought you were Chinese.”

Uh, what? Nothing against the Chinese but I never, ever considered the possibility of being mistaken as one. Slanted eyes? Nope. Fair skin? Nope. Not that I’m stereotyping but hey, I am what among Cebuano-speaking folk would consider “bisdak” or “bisayang dako.”

A friend of mine living in New York, another “bisdak”, was once mistaken as of Hispanic origin. I guess the possibilities are endless. My man here told me to get ready to be generally labeled as Asian because most Americans can’t really tell us (Filipinos) apart from the Vietnamese, or the Indonesians, Malaysians, the Chinese, Japanese, and so on and so forth. I don’t think I can distinguish those other nationalities as well based on appearance.

I have read once that when you find yourself in a foreign country, chances are you will try to seek out compatriots within your area. I think it is innate among Filipinos to want to be surrounded by many people – family, relatives close and distant, friends, friends of friends, even friends that we don’t really like. Out here it is easy to feel so alone that finding a fellow Filipino, and especially one you feel you could start a friendship with, is like manna from heaven.

The friend I mentioned earlier shared that in the streets of New York, Filipinos who come across those they suspect as Filipinos simply state that one familiar password. “Kabayan?”

Morbid? It’s called fun!

We toured (read: walked for more than an hour) the mall yesterday to accompany the little guy as he went trick-or-treating, the modern way. Dressed as Scream, he joined the hordes of various characters out there to load up on candies and chocolates and what-not. The kids were obviously having the time of their lives as parents patiently ushered them from one store to another. Ah, what better way of revolutionizing tradition. You stay in one place, and you do not have to knock on doors hoping for generous occupants.

There were some interesting characters and there were those that make you think, “What in damnation…” But I guess that is the whole point of Halloween – to be as scary, funny or outrageous as you can be. I saw a girl imitating Chucky’s bride and a baby less than a year old dressed as a little red devil.

Life imitates art. Edvard Munch's "The Scream" lives on, thanks to Halloween.

Halloween here is nothing like how we celebrate it in the Philippines. The man here calls it morbid and I say it’s fun. So I dedicate this entry to childhood memories of All Souls Day in the home country when all that we needed was a mask costing less than five pesos and lots and lots of imagination.

I grew up in a small town and so while we occasionally received candies from friendly neighbors we often ended up bringing home bibingka, puto and budbud. I’m sure we made our parents proud. When we moved to the city, our parents maintained the tradition of cooking those delicacies on All Souls Day. Now I’m craving for them.

And what would kalag-kalag be without the customary visit to the cemetery? We spruce up the tombs of our dear departed. A lot of people still bring food as “offering” to the dead. Candles and flowers make good business. And the police go crazy on this day trying to maintain security in and around cemeteries. Yes, it is a big thing in the Philippines.

Over time some of these traditions have become a little strange (to me, at least). I’m just glad my family has stopped setting up a little altar at home and putting food on it as so-called offering, with the belief that the dead would take part of the feast.

Of course, we have gone high-tech too. In cities, Halloween parties are becoming increasingly popular, so popular that some of them are being held right at the cemeteries.

What? Oh come on, they're dead! I know some of you aren't smiling. Hehe. But notice the contrast?

Surreal day

Ever put yourself, intentional or otherwise, in a place that shocked you that you don’t even know what to say or think in those first few seconds? I believe my personal education of life in America has really began. I knew that in the days to come, as I get to know this country and its people better, I should be prepared to be either amazed or shocked. Well, I wasn’t quite ready for what happened yesterday.

So here it is: We went looking for a family doctor and wound up in an abortion clinic. Big deal? For a Philippine-born and raised Catholic like myself, yes it was. As in I could picture my grandaunt crossing herself three times in horror if I were to tell her this story. (As a sidebar, my grandaunt is one of those rabid, I mean intense, Catholics I know who compelled us to recite the rosary every night prior to going to bed even if it meant mumbling the prayers in half-awake state.)

But back to the clinic. Nothing about it would have betrayed what the place really is for. It looked and even smelled like any other doctor’s clinic. Until a receptionist told us that we were in the wrong place. Me: eyes wide, mouth agape. After recovering from the initial shock, all I could say was, “Oh.” The receptionist casually directed us to where we should have gone. Wow.

Now, I do not intend to sound sanctimonious. Trust me, I am one of those Catholics who, if we speak out openly about our religion and its imperfections, would get a good dressing-down from our more devout brethren. I do not want to sound hypocritical either. Even if more than 90 percent of the Philippine population is Catholic, abortion is very much taking place, from the smallest barrios to the biggest cities. I recall reading an article last year about abortifacients being sold right outside a Catholic church in Manila with the full knowledge of the priests running the parish.

I also know of people who have gone through the procedure and I do not pass judgments on them. My stand on abortion is quite flawed and a conversation with The One following yesterday’s incident was a real eye-opener. It was one of those conversations that make me think – and rethink – my opinions on certain things. Bless him.

So, the experience was quite surreal, but a learning experience nevertheless. I think I will even tell my family to shock them a bit.

Open package, will cook

I mentioned “little discoveries” in my previous entry and those two words best describe this so-called adjustment phase that I now find myself in. The man of the house seemed a bit surprised I haven’t burned the lines yet trying to overcome hysterical bouts of homesickness. I’ve heard of stories of women who have gone through a similar immigration process experiencing the worse case of that “affliction”, driving their partners to discussion boards to seek help. I have my sentimental days as well but I guess having been independent for a long time back in the Philippines has its benefits.

What I was actually more concerned about was the skills required or expected when one changes or is about to change his/her civil status. I’ve made no secret of my misadventures in the kitchen. Prior to leaving, I made desperate attempts to equip myself with what a friend of mine called “minimal” requirements, gathering recipes, buying cookbooks and watching my mother cook with forced interest. I felt I was doomed.

Well, turns out America has a way out for kitchen dummies like myself and they’re called packaged, frozen, microwaveable, ready-to-bake food. The first time we went grocery shopping here I was amazed at the mountain of boxes, cans, bottles of various food items sitting in the cart that we were getting ready to push toward the counter. In the following days I got myself acquainted with cooking meals under 30 minutes without much activity involved. Open box, pour, stir contents, boil, simmer, serve. I have been redeemed.

Say what? Coming from a country where a crab is a crab, I had to do a double-take when I saw the word "imitation."

Back at home cooking seemed far more complicated. The whole slicing and dicing and carving and cutting was anything but appealing to me. Then, there is of course the matter of ingredients – almost everything is fresh. And then almost everything is fried. Both my parents are passionate about cooking (something which they obviously failed to pass on to me) and there is not a single cookbook lying around the house. I felt resigned to the fact that some people are simply gifted in the culinary department.

My friends would probably laugh at this, but I find myself beginning to like being around the kitchen. My so-called experiments are not always a success but cooking has finally caught my interest. I guess I am getting better at following recipes. But who would have thought I’d finally learn to do more than just boil an egg?

I’m back – but over here

So, I’ve vanished from the blogging scene for over four months. In those months of absence, my life has taken different turns since I got on this road dubbed “following your heart.” Cliché, yes, but it sums up quite nicely recent events. I survived the nerve-wracking immigration process, gave up a job which three years ago I would have thought unthinkable, bid goodbye to long-time friends, traveled 10,000 miles away from home, closed an old chapter to begin a new one. Life as I knew it the past 30 years is left behind. In place of the familiar is a new and foreign world that is both exhilarating and frightening.

This blog began with the intention to set up a discussion place for life in the Philippines. Because I did not blog that often, I don’t think I served that purpose that well. Now that I am a transplanted Filipino (ah, a new identity), the writing will take a new turn too. Hopefully, I will be more diligent in typing away my thoughts. I will probably start off chronicling my life here as I seek to fit in and bring back that comforting sense of familiarity.

Walking toward Capitol Hill with 8-year-old tour guide of the day, Re'Sean (foreground).

I have been contemplating on blogging again the last couple of days. I woke up this morning and finally found the resolve to sit in front of the computer and begin writing. I think I got scared with the realization that with so much time in my hands, my brain has not been that productive. Brain freeze. Scary. Not that I’ve been sitting on my butt (pardon the language) every day but that I’m still trying to get used to the absence of a work routine. Now I can relate to how my grandfather, a farmer all his life, used to say that living in the city was sucking the life out of him.

On the contrary, I don’t feel drained. I simply need to get busy. My friends had predicted that being jobless would be my biggest hurdle, although I occasionally write for the newspaper I used to work for. Into my first week living in this country, The One feared I will get bored and take out my frustrations on him. Luckily for him, that hasn’t happened yet. There are times when the day seems to stretch on unnecessarily but I think I will be okay. I am, however, enjoying moments of little discoveries about myself. Like (gasp!) I can cook dinner for three! Shocking. Will return with the tales.