Saturday, August 8, 2009
What the hell is an aircon?
We never stopped sweating. Mosquitoes loved whatever sweet 1st world excess gushed from our pores. My tubao was my best friend and my second line of defense. It wiped away the sweat streaming into my eyes when my thick eyebrows didn’t complete its evolutionary task. How stupid would I look with a sweatband on? What the hell is an aircon? Mel once crazily fanned herself with her notebook to keep cool during a jeepney ride. We were in a traffic jam. The heat from the pavement rose up to the big metal chunk of jeepney we were in and turned it into an oven. “Stay still,” I said. “You’ll feel cooler if you just stay still.” Watching her frantically fanning herself - and me and Cris, cuz this is a collective struggle - made me feel even hotter and more anxious for the traffic to move. At least when the jeepney is moving, the breeze through the windows cools me down temporarily until the next para and we have no choice but to step out into the merciless Manila heat again. “Ay, tanga. Sana dinala natin yung mga pamaypay na binili natin,” Mel said. “Ugh, stupid. We should have brought those fans we bought.”
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Starting to process.
For a while, I couldn’t be focused enough in front of the computer to process my exposure trip with GABRIELA Philippines. The whole month has been such a whirlwind of experiences and emotions and new ideas. I’m thinking a lot faster than I can type. I don’t know where to begin. Should I recount this last month chronologically or blurt out a young adult stream of consciousness a la Holden Caulfield?
One thing I know for sure: it’s all real.
There are a few heartless, greedy muhfuckahs out there. They are the reason that millions of other people suffer. And it’s up to those who are oppressed to get together and [figuratively] kick their asses for the betterment of our society.
My processing will be a process. Let’s start here:
ANONANG
Anonang is a small barangay in the municipality of Rizal in the province of Kalinga in the Cordilleras Region of the Philippines. Here, members of the indigenous But-But tribe lived a simple day to day. Most were farmers who relied on the rain to water their crops because the government (always hungry for photo-ops) only continues construction on the years-long irrigation system project when nearing infrequent election periods. Some were blacksmiths who still used dangerous, centuries-outdated, fire-breathing machinery to produce bolos out of old car parts to sell to their neighbors for 100 pesos a pop. A lot didn’t have a job and hung around the hut in which my host family lived, picking at the mud on their slippers, shooing away the chickens from that day’s breakfast, lunch, and dinner of beans and rice, and eating fruits they picked from the bayabas tree down the dirt road. Around 4PM everyday, we sat on a bench underneath the roof made out of dried palm leaves and waited for the thunderclouds to brew up a cool, refreshing storm.
On Sunday, Eden, my guide, took me to church. They’re Roman Catholic too, all the way over there. Did the Spanish priests long ago brave the same bumpy 20-minute tractor ride that I went through to spread the Good Word? These days, one Filipino priest braves that ride once a month. I happened to be there on a weekend he wasn’t available. A But-But woman led the mass in lieu of the priest. More than 10 years of Catholic school told me that she can’t do that cuz she’s a woman. I like Jesus and all, but this patriarchal dogma is really the only reason I don’t go to church anymore. She welcomed me to their community. She spoke to me in English, because she couldn’t speak Tagalog and my Ilocano parents never taught me Ilocano. The whole mass was in their But-But dialect. The only thing I understood, because it was the only other thing in English besides my welcome, was, “No one in this world is dispensible.”
Everything in Anonang was so green. I felt organic, like a Whole Foods store. This was the closest I had ever come to nature in my whole life growing up in the concrete jungle that is New York City. I breathed in clean air for once. It was refreshing. It wasn’t that bad. It was like a vacation.
And then I asked Eden where the restroom was. “Our restroom is outside! One whole hectare! Pee or poo?” She took me behind a tree which was a little trek from the hut. “Are you sure it’s safe here?” I asked nervously. “You sure no one will see? I mean, we are on flatlands.” She laughed at me. “No one will see. No one will care. Just go. You know your way back to the house right?” And she walked away. I looked back at her, feeling more and more abandoned with every step she took. I looked ahead at miles and miles of flatlands leading into mountains in the distance, the mountains we should have hiked if we were scheduled to stay here for longer than 2 days. I looked around once more for any peeping eyes. Seeing none, I judged it was safe to drop my pants and drop the kiddies off at the pool (fuck, there was no toilet so that euphemism does NOT work here). Thank goodness for the plastic on-the-go Charmin toilet paper dispenser I kept in my cargo shorts pockets, because this Fil-Am from Queens had parents who saw no point in signing me up for Girl Scouts and I hella wasn’t gonna gamble my ass’ well being with some potentially poisonous leaves to wipe up with.
Then I heard a rustling in the tall brush. Some rustling and some oinks. Eden’s family pig followed me to the tree and was the only being in Anonang’s entirety who was interested to see what I was up to at the moment. I hadn’t finished what I went there to do, so I shooed the piggie away with my hands. I kept my crouching balance surprisingly. Piggie went away. Then came back soon after from another angle in the brush. Stealthy, she was. This territorial game continued until I thought I was stable enough to get up and run. Pigs are herbivores, I thought. But I ran anyway, hearing the pig squeal joyfully behind me. She won and she knew it. I got back to the hut, panting and double checking my sandals to see if I stepped in anything funny, which I later accepted would be inevitable in Anonang. Eden told me that the pig follows whoever goes out there to poop so that she can run and eat what the person leaves behind. And that’s why they taste good when we eat them. Eeee.
Wake up, First World!
Thanks to the women of GAB Philippines who set up our program. They dropped us off in a world that was the complete opposite of ours. I got to know discomfort very well. The world was testing me, I felt it. I was always sticky with sweat. I had to reapply Off bug spray every four hours. The mosquitoes bit me anyway despite that effort. I was afraid that my body couldn’t handle drinking the water from the water pump so I lugged around the mineral water bottles our guides bought us just in case. I slept on a banig with itchy blankets. I always always ALWAYS stepped in someone’s shit. Tabo showers with freezing water. Naked children. No internet. No electricity. No running water. Darkness come night.
The right approach, said the GAB women, was not to feel pity towards their hardship. Turn all those emotions to acceptance and understanding of where you come from and where they come from. Turn it into admiration that no matter how hard life could be for these people, they continue to organize and struggle for true national democracy. Use this experience and what you saw as a means of contextualizing theory into practice. And tell them about your life too. In every corner of the world, there is a struggle whose story must be shared. Share your struggles.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Rainy Season: a joint poem by Mel and Jax
Everything is a prelude to the storm.
An acquaintance in LA scoffed at me when I claimed I could smell when it was about to rain.
But, you see, you can. Smell it I mean.
I scoffed at the immediate downpour because I carried my Tote in my totebag and she forgot her umbrella.
I did not need to say, "See, I can smell the rain. Borne of a land where water is above, below, and all around me. Borne of a long line of babaylans who could not only smell rain, but bring it, too."
She frowned at her drenched suede moccasins and I thought, "It already been broughten."
Mel and Jax
Rest Day - July 28th, 2009
Starbucks, Old Manila
An acquaintance in LA scoffed at me when I claimed I could smell when it was about to rain.
But, you see, you can. Smell it I mean.
I scoffed at the immediate downpour because I carried my Tote in my totebag and she forgot her umbrella.
I did not need to say, "See, I can smell the rain. Borne of a land where water is above, below, and all around me. Borne of a long line of babaylans who could not only smell rain, but bring it, too."
She frowned at her drenched suede moccasins and I thought, "It already been broughten."
Mel and Jax
Rest Day - July 28th, 2009
Starbucks, Old Manila
Friday, July 24, 2009
Collective decisions...
...have saved the three of us from a lot of confusion, pain, tension, anger, tears, cuss words, and overall negativity.
Monday, July 13, 2009
First Integration: DONE!
Just hella assessed our first integration.
Something that had surfaced in our assessments with Ate Vernie was the question: How does this particular integration help with your political work.
1. Concretization: There's a difference between talking about how 80% of our population are farmers and talking about their issues to actually being there and seeing it with your own eyes, hearing it and tasting it and feeling it. From having your feet muddy ALL THE TIME to having your back ache from planting (you know the song? Magtanim ay 'di biro, Maghapong nakayuko...so true and even more) to knowing how this community is struggling because freaking politicians will only work on promised irrigation systems during election time. It is a story to bring back to New York and use to arouse other folks into anger, into organizing (the focusing and giving direction to your anger).
2. Heighten the contradictions: It was Jax's continual struggle and I'll let her tell her stories, just want to mention the 1st world versus 3rd world .
Something that had surfaced in our assessments with Ate Vernie was the question: How does this particular integration help with your political work.
1. Concretization: There's a difference between talking about how 80% of our population are farmers and talking about their issues to actually being there and seeing it with your own eyes, hearing it and tasting it and feeling it. From having your feet muddy ALL THE TIME to having your back ache from planting (you know the song? Magtanim ay 'di biro, Maghapong nakayuko...so true and even more) to knowing how this community is struggling because freaking politicians will only work on promised irrigation systems during election time. It is a story to bring back to New York and use to arouse other folks into anger, into organizing (the focusing and giving direction to your anger).
2. Heighten the contradictions: It was Jax's continual struggle and I'll let her tell her stories, just want to mention the 1st world versus 3rd world .
Monday, July 6, 2009
Anger Management
I had all these fancy things in my head about going on Expo finally. But I think this may be important to write about.
I have friends who describe me as really happy. My gay friend says he can't imagine me ever being bitchy or angry. Of course, I told him, if you were family, you probably would see me as being capable of both.
I had this fight with my nephew, whom I'm close, too. Suffice to say, it is still not resolved. But I keep thinking about how, after I fought with him and we weren't speaking with each other, how my temper would flare and I could so easily yell at my nieces. I wish I could also do a process of evaluation and assessment with my family. Even though, I do a form of it when I apologize, it's not the same. I understand now what Val means when she says that if they don't hold the same principle, they're not on the same page as you, then the process might not mean as much, although the sorry will certainly still be needed.
Being with people 24/7 can trigger, I see, your darkest self. No question.
So, I'm trying to prepare myself. As much as I love Cris and Jax, I don't want to be caught unprepared and be in the same situation as I am now with my nephew. On un-speaking terms.
So, when Cris and Jax and I have a moment when we can breathe, I'm hoping to review with them our principle of evaluation and assessment.
I self-criticize that I haven't been able to see Joan at the Gab office.
I have friends who describe me as really happy. My gay friend says he can't imagine me ever being bitchy or angry. Of course, I told him, if you were family, you probably would see me as being capable of both.
I had this fight with my nephew, whom I'm close, too. Suffice to say, it is still not resolved. But I keep thinking about how, after I fought with him and we weren't speaking with each other, how my temper would flare and I could so easily yell at my nieces. I wish I could also do a process of evaluation and assessment with my family. Even though, I do a form of it when I apologize, it's not the same. I understand now what Val means when she says that if they don't hold the same principle, they're not on the same page as you, then the process might not mean as much, although the sorry will certainly still be needed.
Being with people 24/7 can trigger, I see, your darkest self. No question.
So, I'm trying to prepare myself. As much as I love Cris and Jax, I don't want to be caught unprepared and be in the same situation as I am now with my nephew. On un-speaking terms.
So, when Cris and Jax and I have a moment when we can breathe, I'm hoping to review with them our principle of evaluation and assessment.
I self-criticize that I haven't been able to see Joan at the Gab office.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
I'm dreaming.
At least that's what it feels like. Ever since I left New York, I feel like I've been dreaming.
LA was a hazy dream. I saw faces that I didn't see on the daily in NYC, but they all looked so familiar. Kasamas' faces never leave you, I guess. It feels good to know that I will be welcomed with open arms wherever I can find my kasamas.
I stayed at Terrie's place Mondays through Wednesdays. She and her roommates and most of the women in SiGAw seem to be vegetarian. I thought it was funny that when I was feening for tacos for dinner one night, I ended up eating a jackfruit "carnitas" taco at this vegan restaurant that the SiGAw ladies took me to. I felt much healthier. But sometimes, my usual carniverous diet left me craving to chow down on BBQ ribs or something. I once had gone through two meatless days. I spent the end half of the week with Alex in Long Beach. He has been a wonderful kasama-partner, always helping me calm my pre-expo jitters. Knowing that I've come to the Philippines to do something real big has left me less heartbroken about leaving Alex in LA, and ready to face my people, all eyes and all ears.
The flight here was sooooooo quick. I flew Philippine Airlines from LAX nonstop to Manila. 13 hours only seemed like 2. Each seat had a personal TV thing, on which I watched movies to pass the time. I slept a lot. I felt like I was tossing and turning for most of it. It was such a shock to hear the captain say we would be landing in 20 minutes when I woke up. I felt like I was in a time warp. For almost a day, I did not see sunlight. Huge change from those two weeks in sunny LA. It was just darkness outside my window seat. Sometimes, if I squinted, I could see clouds reflecting the light from the moon. The first burst of light I saw from my window was the full moon. During my weeks in LA, I had been watching the moon become bigger and bigger, night by night (waning or waxing?). I was hoping that on my last night in LA, I would see it full. Instead, I saw it on my first early morning in the Philippines. It was whole. As whole as I feel right now being back in the motherland.
The seat next to me was empty. That's the second time that happened to me in a row. The seat next to me during my flight to LA from NY was empty too. I hope it's not some bad omen. I hope that whoever those seats belong to is okay.
I was looking forward to an extreme culture shock. But my Tita Liz said she would try to make the Philippines feel like "America" for me. I'm not really allowed to roam around by myself. Understandable, but that's a freedom I'm used to getting away with back home. Tita Liz is mad bougie. She stuck me in her extra airconditioned condo in Pasig City for the day while she and Tito Philip are at work and my cousins are at school. (They also have a big house in a gated community also in Pasig, retail property next to the condo, and a farm plot in Zambales).
She didn't stick me here alone. She has two katulongs at home. One of them, Mira, was assigned to babysit me. I am NOT used to asking someone to do things for me. So I didn't. But Mira insisted. I was looking for where the drinking water was in the condo and instead of just showing me where it was, Mira prepared a glass for me with ice and all. I tried to make conversation with her about how hot it is in the Philippines and she offered to turn on the airconditioning in my room. She held my groceries. She held my hand when we crossed the street. I feel like I'm being forced to play a really feudal role. I don't want to boss Mira around. She has been really confused that I don't have anything for her to do. And I'm afraid that she'll come offering to do things. We're both really shy around each other and are sitting in separate rooms to avoid each other like the plague. But I realized...she's masa. She's someone I want to get to know. I want her to see me as a peer, as a friend and not as her employer's niece, and especially not as her boss. I tried making conversation with her again. I found out she's 20 years old, like me. She's from Leyte and is the youngest of 10 children. She speaks Cebuano. Our conversations are filled with long, awkward, fidgety silences. I told her I was sorry if I seemed to be acting weird around her. I'm just not used to having someone wait on me all the time. We'll warm up to each other soon. We have a whole day to spend stuck in a condo together. The rainclouds have arrived.
For the record, Jollibee is a heckuvalot better in the Philippines.
Jeepneys and tricycles are a lot smaller than I remember them being. I was fearing for my life while riding in them. I want to reach the point where I'm not afraid anymore.
Expo starts tomorrow.
Mel and Cris, are y'all ready?
-Jackie
LA was a hazy dream. I saw faces that I didn't see on the daily in NYC, but they all looked so familiar. Kasamas' faces never leave you, I guess. It feels good to know that I will be welcomed with open arms wherever I can find my kasamas.
I stayed at Terrie's place Mondays through Wednesdays. She and her roommates and most of the women in SiGAw seem to be vegetarian. I thought it was funny that when I was feening for tacos for dinner one night, I ended up eating a jackfruit "carnitas" taco at this vegan restaurant that the SiGAw ladies took me to. I felt much healthier. But sometimes, my usual carniverous diet left me craving to chow down on BBQ ribs or something. I once had gone through two meatless days. I spent the end half of the week with Alex in Long Beach. He has been a wonderful kasama-partner, always helping me calm my pre-expo jitters. Knowing that I've come to the Philippines to do something real big has left me less heartbroken about leaving Alex in LA, and ready to face my people, all eyes and all ears.
The flight here was sooooooo quick. I flew Philippine Airlines from LAX nonstop to Manila. 13 hours only seemed like 2. Each seat had a personal TV thing, on which I watched movies to pass the time. I slept a lot. I felt like I was tossing and turning for most of it. It was such a shock to hear the captain say we would be landing in 20 minutes when I woke up. I felt like I was in a time warp. For almost a day, I did not see sunlight. Huge change from those two weeks in sunny LA. It was just darkness outside my window seat. Sometimes, if I squinted, I could see clouds reflecting the light from the moon. The first burst of light I saw from my window was the full moon. During my weeks in LA, I had been watching the moon become bigger and bigger, night by night (waning or waxing?). I was hoping that on my last night in LA, I would see it full. Instead, I saw it on my first early morning in the Philippines. It was whole. As whole as I feel right now being back in the motherland.
The seat next to me was empty. That's the second time that happened to me in a row. The seat next to me during my flight to LA from NY was empty too. I hope it's not some bad omen. I hope that whoever those seats belong to is okay.
I was looking forward to an extreme culture shock. But my Tita Liz said she would try to make the Philippines feel like "America" for me. I'm not really allowed to roam around by myself. Understandable, but that's a freedom I'm used to getting away with back home. Tita Liz is mad bougie. She stuck me in her extra airconditioned condo in Pasig City for the day while she and Tito Philip are at work and my cousins are at school. (They also have a big house in a gated community also in Pasig, retail property next to the condo, and a farm plot in Zambales).
She didn't stick me here alone. She has two katulongs at home. One of them, Mira, was assigned to babysit me. I am NOT used to asking someone to do things for me. So I didn't. But Mira insisted. I was looking for where the drinking water was in the condo and instead of just showing me where it was, Mira prepared a glass for me with ice and all. I tried to make conversation with her about how hot it is in the Philippines and she offered to turn on the airconditioning in my room. She held my groceries. She held my hand when we crossed the street. I feel like I'm being forced to play a really feudal role. I don't want to boss Mira around. She has been really confused that I don't have anything for her to do. And I'm afraid that she'll come offering to do things. We're both really shy around each other and are sitting in separate rooms to avoid each other like the plague. But I realized...she's masa. She's someone I want to get to know. I want her to see me as a peer, as a friend and not as her employer's niece, and especially not as her boss. I tried making conversation with her again. I found out she's 20 years old, like me. She's from Leyte and is the youngest of 10 children. She speaks Cebuano. Our conversations are filled with long, awkward, fidgety silences. I told her I was sorry if I seemed to be acting weird around her. I'm just not used to having someone wait on me all the time. We'll warm up to each other soon. We have a whole day to spend stuck in a condo together. The rainclouds have arrived.
For the record, Jollibee is a heckuvalot better in the Philippines.
Jeepneys and tricycles are a lot smaller than I remember them being. I was fearing for my life while riding in them. I want to reach the point where I'm not afraid anymore.
Expo starts tomorrow.
Mel and Cris, are y'all ready?
-Jackie
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Cold Water
I took a bath when I landed in the Philippines. But not filling-up-the-tub type of bath. That's a Western thing. Water's really expensive here (see the irony, we're living in islands, surrounded by water). And no such thing as showers. No, what you do is you fill up a pail with water, sometimes you pump it, if you're lucky, it comes from the faucet in your bathroom. Then, you use a tabo (a cultural icon, I swear. Rizal used it as a metaphor in his book, El Filibusterismo; and every Filipino around the world has it and it's simply this large plastic bowl with a long handle).
You scoop the water with the tabo and upend the tabo over your head. If you do it right, the water will stream down your body, so that you can rinse with one tabo of water (a handy skill of you've got only a gallon's worth of water for the day because sometimes the water stops running).
It's cold water on a humid, hot day. Imagine the shock of that water, but the deliciousness of it when it's 90 degrees out.
That's how my homecoming was, too.
It hadn't really sunk in. That I was going home. Not through the packing, the shopping, or the goodbyes. It was that water, baptizing me, that made me feel at home.
For 19 years, I lived in this place. Studied here and went to school. Had friends and went to places. Knew the ins and outs. Where the bookstore was, where the grocery was, where the special jeepney stops where. Then, when I landed, everything was so familiar---and not.
Ibang-iba na. Everything was so different. Places I thought I knew weren't there, anymore, and buildings that I'd never seen before sprouted up in what was vast spaces of grass. And it happened on a personal level, too. Seeing old friends and having an entirely new dynamic with them.
Cold water. In the face.
You scoop the water with the tabo and upend the tabo over your head. If you do it right, the water will stream down your body, so that you can rinse with one tabo of water (a handy skill of you've got only a gallon's worth of water for the day because sometimes the water stops running).
It's cold water on a humid, hot day. Imagine the shock of that water, but the deliciousness of it when it's 90 degrees out.
That's how my homecoming was, too.
It hadn't really sunk in. That I was going home. Not through the packing, the shopping, or the goodbyes. It was that water, baptizing me, that made me feel at home.
For 19 years, I lived in this place. Studied here and went to school. Had friends and went to places. Knew the ins and outs. Where the bookstore was, where the grocery was, where the special jeepney stops where. Then, when I landed, everything was so familiar---and not.
Ibang-iba na. Everything was so different. Places I thought I knew weren't there, anymore, and buildings that I'd never seen before sprouted up in what was vast spaces of grass. And it happened on a personal level, too. Seeing old friends and having an entirely new dynamic with them.
Cold water. In the face.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Despedida.
Terraza.
I told folks the party started at 7PM, cuz I knew that when you dealin' with a buncha POC's, they gonna be late. Most folks made it just in time for happy hour, though. One dollar off of a pina colada is so worth it. I was a little sad that Ricardo, my favorite bartender, wasn't there. I didn't learn the unfamiliar bartender's name, but I liked his hair. I tipped him with quarters from Zabrina's wallet. I always feel a little silly paying for shit with coins. But times is tough. (And Zabrina, I owe you a dollar).
We filled up the second floor of Terraza. That place has a bohemian feel to it. Like an artist's loft, as Irma described. In a far corner, by the big bay window, hung a hammock. I swung in it for a second, concluded that it would feel real nice swingin' in there if I had a stronger buzz. I only had one drink all night cuz it was free and I wanted to enjoy this party sober. Downstairs, it was queer night, and folks gave you a free drink ticket in exchange for your e-mail address. Too bad that there were no cute ladies for me to talk to (in addition to my cute FiRE ladies and friends upstairs). Just gay middle-aged white men who really dug my messy rained-on hair.
I made sure to catch up personally with every person who was there to see me and Cris off. I probably won't get to see all those faces for another two months. Those faces have always been so comforting, so pleasant. At meetings, at events, on smoke breaks, at Terraza Happy Hours, at PF, in school, on Twitter. Those faces, those people, those friends will remain in New York for now. And I'm sure I will see them again when we get back. We will come back, you know? Some folks are brave enough to face the slim possibility that we might not.
"Be careful! Be safe! Keep a journal. Write about your experience. You will see the truth. You're gonna come back a changed woman. Have fun! What's the link to that blog? I will pray for you."
In the midst of hugs, kisses, and good wishes, I teared up just a little bit. Just in time, cuz my contact lenses were gettin' kinda dry.
-Jackie
I told folks the party started at 7PM, cuz I knew that when you dealin' with a buncha POC's, they gonna be late. Most folks made it just in time for happy hour, though. One dollar off of a pina colada is so worth it. I was a little sad that Ricardo, my favorite bartender, wasn't there. I didn't learn the unfamiliar bartender's name, but I liked his hair. I tipped him with quarters from Zabrina's wallet. I always feel a little silly paying for shit with coins. But times is tough. (And Zabrina, I owe you a dollar).
We filled up the second floor of Terraza. That place has a bohemian feel to it. Like an artist's loft, as Irma described. In a far corner, by the big bay window, hung a hammock. I swung in it for a second, concluded that it would feel real nice swingin' in there if I had a stronger buzz. I only had one drink all night cuz it was free and I wanted to enjoy this party sober. Downstairs, it was queer night, and folks gave you a free drink ticket in exchange for your e-mail address. Too bad that there were no cute ladies for me to talk to (in addition to my cute FiRE ladies and friends upstairs). Just gay middle-aged white men who really dug my messy rained-on hair.
I made sure to catch up personally with every person who was there to see me and Cris off. I probably won't get to see all those faces for another two months. Those faces have always been so comforting, so pleasant. At meetings, at events, on smoke breaks, at Terraza Happy Hours, at PF, in school, on Twitter. Those faces, those people, those friends will remain in New York for now. And I'm sure I will see them again when we get back. We will come back, you know? Some folks are brave enough to face the slim possibility that we might not.
"Be careful! Be safe! Keep a journal. Write about your experience. You will see the truth. You're gonna come back a changed woman. Have fun! What's the link to that blog? I will pray for you."
In the midst of hugs, kisses, and good wishes, I teared up just a little bit. Just in time, cuz my contact lenses were gettin' kinda dry.
-Jackie
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Counting down the days...
I haven't been back to the Philippines since 2003.
I was 14 years old, freshly graduated from Catholic school, and making a trip back to the motherland with my family before I embarked on my high school career.
It was all just a pretty blur.
I remember...I stayed at Tita Liz's fancy air-conditioned house in Pasig City. The house sat in a private, gated community, among other houses of its kind. All of my free time was spent watching TV, exploring the bajillion mega malls in Manila, or eating dinner at fancy air-conditioned restaurants.
I don't remember...heat, hunger, discomfort, struggle...reality.
This summer, I hope to be exposed to reality.
-Jackie
I was 14 years old, freshly graduated from Catholic school, and making a trip back to the motherland with my family before I embarked on my high school career.
It was all just a pretty blur.
I remember...I stayed at Tita Liz's fancy air-conditioned house in Pasig City. The house sat in a private, gated community, among other houses of its kind. All of my free time was spent watching TV, exploring the bajillion mega malls in Manila, or eating dinner at fancy air-conditioned restaurants.
I don't remember...heat, hunger, discomfort, struggle...reality.
This summer, I hope to be exposed to reality.
-Jackie
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