I'm leaving New York City in just a couple of hours.

Oh my God.

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.

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

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