Apparently, that’s what I have to look forward to during my time in the Philippines. Not the invaluable experience of being immersed in another culture, or getting to finally know and appreciate fully my background and heritage, or the intellectual stretching I will undoubtedly go through in my studies, or even the simple fact that I’ll be participating in theatre…
I’ll be much too busy fearing for my life – from terrorists, thieves, drug smugglers, malaria, corrupt immigration officials, typhoons, death by no air-conditioning, greedy cabbies, child pickpockets, constipation, mosquitoes, smog, salmonella-by-street-vendor, anti-government rebels, dengue fever, pusacal rabies, and crazy Manila drivers.
This is what I’ve been hearing since I got the Fulbright. From the movie industry to CNN Breaking News, from the L.A. Times, to acquaintances, friends, and even/especially my own family.
And I’m fucking terrified because an irrational part of me believes them! After being bombarded from every angle with fear and violence and mistrust and media whirlwinds and family experiences and ingrained racism and colonial mentalities and American xenophobia –-
I am only one psyche against systematically perpetuated fear.
Not only am I educated, but I’ve been there before. Not only have I been there before, but I have family living in Manila now. And yes, they may be living a life different than mine, with thoughts and threats and paranoias and comforts different that what I am used to (especially after spending four years in happy Northampton), but probably not a life too removed from the day to day in South L.A., or the Bronx, or Miami – or any large city with its riches and its slums and its wi-fi cafes and its strip joints. My father never talks of ever getting robbed or held up when he lived in Manila. But I know it happened when we lived in South L.A. Then again, my father didn’t sweet talk customs officials to save his ass getting out of L.A. like he did scrambling to get out of the Philippines in the early seventies. But he did move his wife and young daughter out of L.A. and to the ‘burbs for a better, safer life.
And yes, I also know that the historical context of the U.S. is different. We don’t fear a government uprising, and the threat of anti-establishment guerillas is not nearly as real. But the day to day is not the same as what we see on our bloodiest-news-gets-the-best-ratings or our blockbuster-anti-terrorist-racist-movie-trailers.
I watch The Bourne Ultimatum and sit through several trailers with CGI bombings and plot lines about international terrorism. Then I come home to CNN headline news covering a massive typhoon sweeping houses away in South Asia. I check my email and in my inbox I read an email from a beloved cousin happily declaring that she doesn’t have class the rest of the week due to the typhoon. While I know that some people worry about losing their houses to this storm, and not celebrating the loss of class time, her email grounds me in her reality – a reality of going to class everyday, of sitting in bars with friends, of public transportation and shopping and homework. Not one of fear. Especially the kind of fear that we in America like to perpetuate about the Other countries.
Then I come home and talk to friends who, in the nicest possible way and don’t mean any harm, but haven’t been to other countries ask me if there is running water and electricity and malls in Manila. Three words: MALL OF ASIA. It’s not even called the mall of the Philippines people – it’s the Mall of ASIA.
Then, the advice from my family is the most complicated and fraught part of it all. Here I am, Miss Privileged Fil-Am going to this place for my cultural and intellectual expansion wanting to “learn more about my heritage” (what a snot). I’m returning to the country that to my parents represents what they left behind: poverty and struggle. I feel like the rich white girls who work on farms because “Farms are SO COOL!” Where to most of the world, farms aren’t “cool” – they are places of hardship and labor and subsistence.
An aunt gave me a pair of granny panties with pockets so that I don’t have to keep my cash in my jeans or purse, because apparently people slash your thighs with knives to get to your wallet.
Hold your bag in front of you.
Don’t get into a taxi alone.
Watch your wallet and cellular.
Do give out U.S, dollars for tips, they’ll like that.
Don’t give out U.S. dollars for tips, they’ll take advantage of you.
I am writing this because I am afraid.
But, I am also hungry to know different than what I know now.
Apparently, that’s what I have to look forward to during my time in the Philippines. Not the invaluable experience of being immersed in another culture, or getting to finally know and appreciate fully my background and heritage, or the intellectual stretching I will undoubtedly go through in my studies, or even the simple fact that I’ll be participating in theatre…
I’ll be much too busy fearing for my life – from terrorists, thieves, drug smugglers, malaria, corrupt immigration officials, typhoons, death by no air-conditioning, greedy cabbies, child pickpockets, constipation, mosquitoes, smog, salmonella-by-street-vendor, anti-government rebels, dengue fever, pusacal rabies, and crazy Manila drivers.
This is what I’ve been hearing since I got the Fulbright. From the movie industry to CNN Breaking News, from the L.A. Times, to acquaintances, friends, and even/especially my own family.
And I’m fucking terrified because an irrational part of me believes them! After being bombarded from every angle with fear and violence and mistrust and media whirlwinds and family experiences and ingrained racism and colonial mentalities and American xenophobia –-
I am only one psyche against systematically perpetuated fear.
Not only am I educated, but I’ve been there before. Not only have I been there before, but I have family living in Manila now. And yes, they may be living a life different than mine, with thoughts and threats and paranoias and comforts different that what I am used to (especially after spending four years in happy Northampton), but probably not a life too removed from the day to day in South L.A., or the Bronx, or Miami – or any large city with its riches and its slums and its wi-fi cafes and its strip joints. My father never talks of ever getting robbed or held up when he lived in Manila. But I know it happened when we lived in South L.A. Then again, my father didn’t sweet talk customs officials to save his ass getting out of L.A. like he did scrambling to get out of the Philippines in the early seventies. But he did move his wife and young daughter out of L.A. and to the ‘burbs for a better, safer life.
And yes, I also know that the historical context of the U.S. is different. We don’t fear a government uprising, and the threat of anti-establishment guerillas is not nearly as real. But the day to day is not the same as what we see on our bloodiest-news-gets-the-best-ratings or our blockbuster-anti-terrorist-racist-movie-trailers.
I watch The Bourne Ultimatum and sit through several trailers with CGI bombings and plot lines about international terrorism. Then I come home to CNN headline news covering a massive typhoon sweeping houses away in South Asia. I check my email and in my inbox I read an email from a beloved cousin happily declaring that she doesn’t have class the rest of the week due to the typhoon. While I know that some people worry about losing their houses to this storm, and not celebrating the loss of class time, her email grounds me in her reality – a reality of going to class everyday, of sitting in bars with friends, of public transportation and shopping and homework. Not one of fear. Especially the kind of fear that we in America like to perpetuate about the Other countries.
Then I come home and talk to friends who, in the nicest possible way and don’t mean any harm, but haven’t been to other countries ask me if there is running water and electricity and malls in Manila. Three words: MALL OF ASIA. It’s not even called the mall of the Philippines people – it’s the Mall of ASIA.
Then, the advice from my family is the most complicated and fraught part of it all. Here I am, Miss Privileged Fil-Am going to this place for my cultural and intellectual expansion wanting to “learn more about my heritage” (what a snot). I’m returning to the country that to my parents represents what they left behind: poverty and struggle. I feel like the rich white girls who work on farms because “Farms are SO COOL!” Where to most of the world, farms aren’t “cool” – they are places of hardship and labor and subsistence.
An aunt gave me a pair of granny panties with pockets so that I don’t have to keep my cash in my jeans or purse, because apparently people slash your thighs with knives to get to your wallet.
Hold your bag in front of you.
Don’t get into a taxi alone.
Watch your wallet and cellular.
Do give out U.S, dollars for tips, they’ll like that.
Don’t give out U.S. dollars for tips, they’ll take advantage of you.
I am writing this because I am afraid.
But, I am also hungry to know different than what I know now.
Filipina-Americana-1st Gen.
MixedCultureWomon
queer-P.O.C.
workinclassbrowngirl
with a Smith degree
artist.activist.scholar
straddling the picket fence of
privilege
one unshaved leg
on each side gyrating – trying
to find the right
S-s-s-spot G !!! /slash/ Place to Be
It is the negotiation of location
when you are Ohh-So-Close!
so close to being yuppie up-by-my-bootstraps puppy
so close to low-credit-score-call-now-1-800-debt-free
so close to wanderlust-backpacker-the-world-is-my-oyster
so close to slaved-for-saved-for-remittances-money-wire-transfers
a white picket fence wedgie’s
the true reality of a
degree wieldin’
hummus-loving, recycling, organic-vegetar-I-eatin’
creditcreditcredit charging
lola and lolo respecting
independent self-reliant woman/familial separatist
good-girl-no-boyfriend!
no-boy-period! this-lady’s-lady-chasin’
family hurting
family loving
P.O.C.
Filipina-Americana-1st Gen.
MixedCultureWomon
queer-P.O.C.
workinclassbrowngirl
with a Smith degree
artist.activist.scholar
straddling the picket fence of
privilege
one unshaved leg
on each side gyrating – trying
to find the right
S-s-s-spot G !!! /slash/ Place to Be
It is the negotiation of location
when you are Ohh-So-Close!
so close to being yuppie up-by-my-bootstraps puppy
so close to low-credit-score-call-now-1-800-debt-free
so close to wanderlust-backpacker-the-world-is-my-oyster
so close to slaved-for-saved-for-remittances-money-wire-transfers
a white picket fence wedgie’s
the true reality of a
degree wieldin’
hummus-loving, recycling, organic-vegetar-I-eatin’
creditcreditcredit charging
lola and lolo respecting
independent self-reliant woman/familial separatist
good-girl-no-boyfriend!
no-boy-period! this-lady’s-lady-chasin’
family hurting
family loving
P.O.C.