(sasja and lou ... plus chicken!)It seems like I've written in this blog multiple times since I've last written, but it has yet to happen. I suppose a lot of things have transposed. I have been many places and seen many things in the Philippines. I have written many chemistry tests, argued with taxi drivers, been laughed at nervously, slept on buses, slept with cockroaches, walked way up in the rice terraces, seen a women incapable of standing up straight from working in the rice fields, driven a motorcycle, scuba dove with white tip sharks, watched a cock fight and slept in the same bed as my (female) professor. I suppose many of those things were firsts for me. And I think I have grown.. I think that living in a developing country, not just being a tourist here has changed parts of me. But it isn't the kind of change that is on the surface. Mostly it is little things, like I feel capable and confident in handling my travels, I feel like I no longer walk into my hostel and cringe, I know who is trying to bullshit me and who is genuinely telling me the fair price and I feel like I know how to work within a system that is unorganized, inefficient and brutally corrupt. I feel both patient and impatient at the same time, and if i didn't have other people here who could blanket my rants with understanding, people who know that there is another way to do things, then maybe it would get the best of me sometimes. But I don't exactly know how to share all of these things.
I have been away a lot in the last two years of my life, and due to this constant moving and wandering I have gotten quite used to introducing change into my life. I think change suits me, in a way that my favorite boxers do, but I don't expect this relationship to last forever. I think the trick is that I never seem to give myself enough time to fully adjust to the fact that one part is ending and the next is beginning, that way the door is always moving and I never have to stop and face the fact that I'm always leaving people behind everywhere I go. And of course it hits me, but always in the most awkward times, like in the middle of the night, or on a public bus with no escape. I suppose it is unique because I haven't simply been traveling, I have been going to school or working in these places, and every situation has placed a mirror in front of me, forcing me to find out who I am and where I want to go, all the while taking a little bit of certain people with me. I seem to hone in on different aspects of my personality in every location, and my failures and secret memories come back to me in a flush of emotion once I'm a plane ride away. I always miss my family more than anything. I miss them on different days and always just one person at a time, and I never reach out as much as I should. I suppose I tend to reflect a lot on things that once were and I know I will miss the Philippines. I have made a friend here who is sarcastic, quick, hilarious, critical and loves to complain with me... I think she is a truly unique pinay and if I hadn't met her I would be leaving the Philippines with a much different idea of the locals, and having not truly had made a meaningful connection with a Filipina. I wish I could give her all the opportunities that I have sitting at my feet in Canada, she deserves everything.
It is hard to escape the fact that Pinoys and pinays do not complain about their situation. They rarely raise a word when our teacher walks into class with only two weeks of class left and says "what class is this!?", but I can't help but notice that I'm fuming at the seams. Or, lets say an 8 hour bus ride on a non-air con bus, I seem to be the only one that can't sleep with Jackie Chan movies blaring (and I really mean blaring), the back door opening every 2 minutes for no apparent reason except to let the wind and rain in. It truly is a remarkable feat to sleep through this, but alas it is possible, for Filipinos only.
On our fieldtrip for my Cons Bio class, we left at 3:30 Am and then finally got to our island destination, where we walked for five hours through mud slicks and coconut plantations to never truly reach the location where we were supposed to accomplish the point of the walk which was to do field work. Sidebarnote: our teacher fails to mention to the class that we should wear proper footwear, hiking clothes and water.... so other than the Canadians who went an bought some rubber boots just in case, it was a sad affair of falling in an out of mud puddles by our flip-flop wearing classmates. So, the next morning our teacher wakes us up at 6 AM the next morning for no apparent reason, but to have us sit around until noon at an awkward "resort" that is more litter and dead street dogs on the beach than pina colodas, where we eat our fifth meal of the trip which consists of rice and pork that still has hair on it. I turn to my Canadian classmate and we're the only ones who thinks this is some sort of cruel joke.
I know there are some brilliant people here, students and teachers both, but they are hindered by the structure they are confined to. It seems like the solutions are simple, that if you had five qualified people they could really turn the effectiveness of the University around ten-fold... but it seems to be more deeply ingrained than that. It is part of the culture, and part of it comes from a lack of complaining.
I'll write about what I did since Christmas later...
Colourful clothe lines adorn the streets
like tibetan prayer flags grace a hillside.
the people walk with no rush or intention,
a casualness in every side step off the curb;
But are barely missed by the oncoming blur of metal.
The man in the jeepney coughs a hack and
a puff of black smoke is mimicked out the exhaust pipe.
As the people exhale into their tissues,
the mixing of the days perfume rises into the air.
The red sun settles in for the long haul.
