Volunteering: An Awsome Way to Gain Access to the Restricted

It has been the dry season for about six months now. This is a much drier summer than last year. It is hot and very dusty. A lot of people think, you live in a tropical country must be green. There are parts that are green but we live in the city. The dirty, smelly, dusty city. The part that we live in has really just sprung up in the last ten years or so and so there is construction EVERYWHERE. Which means the vegetation that once was there has been bulldozed and now we just have lots of dry dead grass littered with dog poo. Even a slight breeze brings in a giant tornado of dust.

There is an a oasis in this dry dusty city, the American Cemetery. It is beautiful, green, lush and totally off limits. In fact every time I go I am accosted by a very rude guard who is annoyed that I walked over (it is seriously two minutes away, I am not about to drive). He assumes somehow I am going to get a nice jog in with my three year old and baby. This has happened about five times now, I have stopped visiting because I am just tired of the third degree. Once (when I was preggers of course) I started crying they were so rude.

On Saturday at 6 am, as usual we were up so we went over to volunteer and put in flags for the Memorial Day celebration. Stella and Tiger were good sports and Stella even put in a few flags but the urge to soak up the lush green hills could not be stopped. She ran and ran and ran. And you know what, I let her. I think she will be loving Park City this summer.

Stella is the great-granddaughter of two World War II veterans, both of whom would be delighted to see her enjoying the green space that they fought for. My grandfather fought in the Philippines and was a chaplain at the time. I like to imagine he might have met a few of the names I put flags on Saturday.

Sometimes You Just Become Local

This was honestly the outfit I let Stella go to school in yesterday. Please note the pink cowboy hat, pink shoes, and headband. She was trying to "accessorize" (her word not mine).

Living in a foreign country requires a delicate balance, especially when raising your children. You want to teach your children who they are, where they come from, and how we do things. At the same time they are exposed to the cultural norm and despite all you do, you find your child picking up the local ways.

Never was this more apparent than this week. My two-almost-three-year old has her preschool graduation. I could easily write a six paragraph rant on how annoyed I am that toddlers are having a very long and drawn out graduation ceremony that includes requests to "dress her in a white dress" and bring a change of black clothes for a costume change. Yup, a costume change. You might wonder, why does graduation require costumes?

That would be simple, we are in the Philippines. And for better or worse Filipinos love to perform. Some may recall the famous Philippine prison dance. Preschool is not too different.

Stella's preschool, Amerikids as it is ironically called, has been practicing for the past four months a dance to "Nobody" by the Wondergirls. She comes home and starts this sassy dancing in my living room singing "Nobody, Nobody, BUTCHOO." The funny thing is all the Filipino dance moves seem to involve a move where you put your hands on your hips and wave them side to side. She even has that.

But even more frightening was Tiger singing, "Naaabuuu, Naaabuuu" and then clapping three times on beat.

Seth and I have vowed to try to erase all tasteless music this summer by brainwashing Stella and Tiger with rock classics that did not originate in Korea (sorry Rain, this just isn't your year).

Whine, Whine, Wine

Before I ever really even met Seth I had this image of the foreign service as a place of country club gallivanting, balls, cocktails, cheese, and wine. Now that I am living the life I realize it is nothing like that, so if you want the James Bond lifestyle, sorry folks it isn't the foreign service. The one thing that is generally true however is the use of alcohol at a lot of events. Diplomats can not only speak languages, they can drink.

And those who know me well know that I don't drink.

There are lots of reasons why I don't drink. The nursing thing, the health thing, and ending with the religious thing. Really it started with religious beliefs but now it has just become part of my lifestyle. Much like drinking has become part of diplomatic lifestyle.

Here is the thing though, I am a perfect dinner date. I am good company, don't get too embarrassing, and I don't drink all the alcohol.

For the most part people have been totally cool with my sobriety. Everyone has been super respectful towards my belief and it has never been an issue. I am not bothered by other people drinking so it is a non-issue. Or was a non-issue.

This past week I had several ladies over to my home (not an official event, embassy event or anything just me having some ladies over, the rules change when the U.S. government is hosting). I made sure there was delicious food and there were ample and a variety of beverages for everyone. My drinking friends, knowing beforehand that I am clueless about wine, brought some bottles. Everyone had a great time except one who marched into my kitchen looking for the white wine, which I didn't have. And then asked me accusingly, where is the white wine? I gave a shrug, there was an ugh.

Here is the thing, you would not ask someone who practices a Kosher diet where the bacon is and you shouldn't ask someone who doesn't drink why they don't have white wine at their house.

Tiger is One!

I can't believe that one year ago my little boy came into our family. He was a mild, sweet boy, who rarely cried (the doctors didn't want me to leave the hospital because he was so quiet). He has been a delight this whole year and it has been so fun to watch him grow up. Now he is not so much a mild boy but loves to get around, run, scream, and play. He loves to dance, chase his sister, and tickle me. I love you little buddy!

We threw a party for Tiger yesterday. What started out as a small casual party turned into a loud crowded get together. Everyone had a lot of fun and it was a good time. I had to preface verbally as we handed out invitations that this would not be a standard Filipino birthday party. Here people spend what they earn in a year on the first birthday. Kids come home with rabbits, fish, birds, junk, food and rarely do parents attend the birthday party. No. No. No.

Instead we ate pancit, lumpia, pizza, cake, and had a great time. Sadly for Tiger's real birthday (today), he has a nasty cold and I am coming down with the same cold.

We paid for our summer home leave rental today and I CANNOT WAIT. Its not that I hate Manila, I don't, I love it. But I am just so excited to go home. We decided this year to hold court instead of live with our parents for a month (after 30, after children, and after 10 days you need to buck up and get your own place). Stella was trying to learn how to ride a bike in the house today and I realized we are ready to get out and be normal people again.

And for those keeping track, we did get a house in Arlington, not Oakwood. It is awesome. It is within per diem and about 5 times the size of Oakwood, and walkable to FSI or the Metro. But for me the sale is this: parks and yards. My children get to run outside without the risk of dengue. Yay!

Metro---Portal to Hell

As a foreigner in Manila there is a place in this city that is more torturous, offensive, and exhausting than any other shopping experience on the universe.

The bartering and crowds of divisoria--a joke. The mam/sirs of Greenhills, child's play. Metro, however is a place that I have seen grown BRITISH men break down and weep out of frustration.

On the outside it looks much like any American department store. It has neat displays and at any given time at least 50 employs on each floor. The salesgirl's eyeshadow matches their seafoam green dresses. But what appears to be a functioning store is purely a portal to the depths of hell itself. It is physically impossible to leave that store without anger or tears, sometimes both.

Today I ended up in Metro. I knew going into it, it would only end in tears. I brought Stella to help me keep my cool, be a good example, act like an adult. An attempt in vain.

I found what I was looking for, the siren song of imported American products is usually what ensnares me in this trap. They have non-UHT milk, granola bars, and the occasional surprise import. Its not worth it, whatever the product is NOT WORTH IT.

Stella and I get into the checkout line, we have to go to a special check out line because we are diplomats and as such we are not supposed to pay Value Added Tax (VAT). This requires an additional 10-20 minutes of our time. I have a rule, I only get the VAT off if it is over $10. Which sadly, this trip was.

I go to check out. Stella starts whining about being hungry. I tell her she can eat item x as soon as I pay. We wait, and wait, and wait. Whine, whine, whine. Wait, wait, wait. Finally they tell me the total. I forgive the fact that I cannot keep the receipt (they say they need it for VAT and they are the ONLY store in metro Manila that does this) and roll my eyes but move on, one step closer to going home and feeding this toddler. I hand them my VAT card, it has my picture on it, signature, and is issued by the Philippine government. They give me my total, again, and then I pay with my credit card. I sign three credit card slips and another piece of paper, in haste. They look at my credit card and look at my signature and *gasp* they do not match.

Apparently metro trains their employees to be graphologists. Which is amazing because they do not seem to be trained in any kind of retail skills. They tell me my signature does not match my credit card and ask me to redo it.

This is when I lost it. THEY HAD MY GOVERNMENT ID!!! I told them to look at my ID, which has my name on it, the name that matches my credit card and also has my signature on it, which matches my credit card. I told them I would not be resigning anything.

The manager came. I blurted out my frustration and she did indeed confirm that my VAT ID matched my credit card. The girl in the green eyeshadow kept her eyes on the floor.

I left ashamed and angry.

I am ready to go home. I understand why they require repatriation. I need to go back to the mothership.

Karaoke

I was reflecting this past week about what I thought my life would be like as a teenager/child and what it has turned out to be. One of the myths or ideas I had was that life is at its peak of fun when you are in your early to mid twenties; while I would never give up those days or times, BUT my thirties are so much better. I don't have anxiety about dating, I love my kids, I have my education out of the way and really what it comes down to is I am happy with everything I have been given and extremely grateful for the people in my life (especially my husband who keeps me centered).

And so another year has past, I am now older and we decided to celebrate karaoke style. We ate some Thai food and then rented a room at Redbox, a Karaoke joint that gives you your own private room to sing it up and play pool. I stayed out until midnight (gasp!) singing loudly. I woke up the next day with no voice. It was fantastic!

Barnabus Addai

Dear Mr. Addai,

We have something in common, though we have never met: those ten digits, once yours, that have been our phone number for the last FOUR years. We now live in Manila far from you in Woodbridge, Virginia. Yet, still you keep putting our phone number on credit applications and bills that you refuse to pay. We are the recipients of all of your creditors phone solicitations. Since we have a 12 hour time difference from you the majority of these calls come from 11 pm to 3 am.

It has been four years Mr. Addai, four years. Get a new fake number to put on your credit applications and start paying your bills!

PS A Vonage phone is a necessity for those who live abroad. Putting it in a room where you can't hear it ringing in the middle of the night is also a necessity.

House Hunting With an Ocean in the Way

or


We are going back to DC soon to do some training for about ten months this fall. The State Department has a program that has a furnished apartment and a small living space and they take care of the paperwork, you just show up. It is ok. OK. But that is all I can say about it. It is okay, it has a nice pool, small tot lot, and the community is great but it is rabbit hutch living and I have read Watership Down one too many times to want to live in a hutch.

The other option you have is to find a house yourself and take the money they grant for temporary training, figure out a convoluted crazy lease that has tons of weird stipulations and then submit vouchers and get reimbursed.

The easy option is the hutch. Take the hutch, take the hutch.

But after living in DC for five years I just can't do that.

What would you do? Headache government paper mess but big house with yard or rabbit hutch with lots of friendly folks?

For us the square footage difference is 1200 square feet versus 2500 square feet with a yard.

PS the picture above is not our house, just a conceptual image

Single Mother's Day

In the Philippines right now we are waiting to find out who the next president is. This is a historical and significant event that effects 300 million people and international politics. It is a big deal. So let me tell you how this big deal affects me directly, it requires me to be a single mom for 72 hours.

My maid and driver have all gone to the province to cast their vote (this year they are using scantrons which is a big deal). Seth has gone to watch people in the province cast their vote and I get to stay home and try to keep the house clean and take care of the kids.

This has been a wake up call in American living. It has been really hard doing it all and in less than three months I will have to do it all alone (well at least until Seth comes home in the early evening). I suppose I will have to prepare to have a messier house, more crock pot meals, and need to buy more socks because I cannot do laundry every day like my maid does.

At the same time, I have secretly reveled in this new found messy house independence. I felt like I was able to gain back control of my kitchen and put things where they go instead of where my helper feels like putting them.

Lest anyone think I was neglected on Mother's day, I was not. Seth totally spoiled me on Saturday. We went to breakfast, I got a pedi/facial, and then he took me to a french restaurant. I bought myself some pearls with him the week before and I was taken care of.

I suppose my last post made some people throw a pity party for me because we were invited to a few places for dinner. We ended up going with the Sara and Justin W. to dinner at Chelsea. The food was awesome (they now make Belgian waffles which is Stella's most favorite food ever) and all four of the kids were really well behaved. Stella and Addie have been best friends since we moved here. Sara has become one of my closest friends here and we both endured third world pregnancy together. Now our babies are turning one. The table we sat at looked like two sets of fraternal twins. The girls were delightful and ran around much to the entertainment of the locals. Everyone tried to photograph them, very few succeeded.

Something More Important than Mother's Day

I get it. Last week was a Philippine Holiday. The embassy declared that we were going to be open on the holiday for good reason. They didn't declare the holiday until WEDNESDAY and then five days later we were supposed to shut down. No deal. I get it, that doesn't make sense.

But here I am with the most sacred breakfast of the year coming, Mother's Day. And guess who doesn't get a Mother's Day, me. Seth has to leave early Sunday to go and observe the Philippine Presidential Election. He won't be back until the next evening. No mother's day for me.

I am not trying to be a brat. I have already dealt with Seth having 15 hour work days (when I had a toddler and was pregnant at that). I get it and I support it and I believe in the mission of the embassy and our need to promote democracy. I know our next tour his hours will be rough as well. I am willing to give up my days and holidays, put in late nights. But do I have to give up my mother's day?

I do, and I am trying hard to get over it but this holiday means a lot to me. This past year I have invested almost all of my time and energies into raising two really small children. I have loved it but it is work, hard work. Mother's day is the one day I deserve a breakfast in bed made by my husband and a handmade card. Next year I suppose, there had better be whipped cream on my waffles then.

Admirable Feats

There are weeks and days living here where I have to consciously tell myself to not question why common sense is nonexistent. They are tough times and really add up over time to a point where dysfunctional becomes normal and you are pleasantly surprised when something works or is a efficient or clean. I don't want to ignore those pleasantries so here is my posting to give props to the little things I see.

Ninoy Aquino International Airport, while not nice by any stretch, and lacks a shuttle or any method of transportation connecting the three terminals that are twenty minutes apart (and your ticket WILL NOT specify which one you are supposed to go to) is not stinky. The airport does not smell like you just entered a latrine laced with B.O. In fact, I dare say, the people of the Philippines from all economic walks have really good hygiene. You would expect this crazy and crowded slightly dirty airport to smell and have a strong odor, not so. Perhaps it is the incessant obsession with sweat (guaranteed to make you sick and you must wipe it off of you and especially children or you will die, all kids wear rags in their neck to wipe off any sweating). Whatever it is, thank you Manila for not having smelly people like other world cities.

On the same line of hygiene, the people here are the most zealous about teeth brushing I have ever seen in my life. Seriously, I worry about gum recession they brush so much. Anywhere you go, office, malls, your home, anywhere where Filipinos congregate you will find people in the bathrooms (comfort rooms as it is called here) brushing their teeth excessively. And I don't know if this is cultural or what but everyone here gets their mouth so foamy they look like a rabid dog ready to attack. I am not sure if it is more toothpaste or they were taught to brush their teeth different but everyone brushes their teeth for five minutes after meals and creates lots and lots of foam. It is funny, fascinating, occasionally annoying in public restrooms, but culturally admirable to see people so dedicated to their oral hygiene.

Everyone is an unofficial traffic director. Parking? Not sure if you fit? Fear not Citizen A will come up and guide you into your spot. You had just better understand the hand signals (a little different from what I was use to in the U.S.).

Everyone is a Pinoy Idol waiting to happen. Seriously whether they can sing or not, Filipinos love to sing and they all do it loudly. Karaoke and mass are same level of frequented weekly activities. It is not uncommon to go to the province (countryside) and find people with no worldly possessions to their name and then a big ole Karaoke machine. Karaoke is not joking matter, it is serious.