Part II here.
Part III here.
To be an American living in one of the upper provinces of the Philippines was difficult in so many ways. Not difficult as in "impossible to handle", but more as in "I obviously have so much to learn."
By the time I went to visit my family, they had been there for almost a year, and had adjusted quite well to their new life. I was duly impressed. Little did I know what a culture shock I was in for, when they took me from the big city of Manila to the upper part of Luzon where they had set up their home.
I had no idea how much we, as Americans, would stand out. I had no idea how much their life had become akin to living in a fish bowl. The differences in culture would be magnified a hundred-fold once we left the big capital.
The most obvious difference between Americans and Filipinos is purely physical. Well duh, I know.
Here in the States, we do not gawk at foreigners. I guess we consider it nosy or just plain rude. Besides, we live in a country filled with immigrants. Yes, we all fall into that category. Our ancestors were once immigrants, and to see citizens of other countries walking our streets is an everyday occurrence. Not so in the upper provinces of the Philippines. There, Americans are idolized. "Whitening" creams are sold, so Filipinos can lighten their skin tone... while we in the US have tanning creams... ironic, no? And blue eyes=beauty queen. My sisters were the belles of the school.
;)
Anyone over 5 feet tall is an anomaly. I can't tell you how many times I was asked my height before my name, when being introduced. And the inquiries were borne of awestruck innocence. They simply could not believe that anyone could be that tall.
I think the hardest part for my mom and I especially, was the seeming apathetic nature of the Filipino people. This is a tricky subject to navigate, but it must be brought out. Americans would not stand for a bridge half-built because the local government authorities pocketed the rest of the money. Americans would riot and demonstrate against a government that stole and lied and cheated it's people out of their due. Americans would stand up to police officers who attempted to extort money or demand bribes for the release of innocent citizens. Sometimes my mom would go on a tirade against the injustices of the Philippine government as she explained the depth of corruption that existed. I think she'd have taken on the whole country if my Dad would let her.
:)
It is difficult to watch a people that you have come to know and love, be cheated out of the necessities of life at every turn.
Yet, the people of the Philippines were not bothered by these injustices. They dealt with the half built bridge by taking a make-shift ferry across the river every day. They handed over hard earned wages to the police just to have the privilege of going home. These people are so poor that they must buy their cigarettes individually... not in packs or (oh, the luxury!) cartons.
And so it must seem very ironic that these people all have one amazing thing in common.
They smile.
They smile constantly. At everything, and everyone. As a reserved NYer, this was something I had to quickly adapt to. Like, instantaneously. My parents told me that it would be very rude if I did not smile at everyone I met or passed. And, being the only American family in the province, we attracted a lot of attention wherever we went. With eyes always on us, we lived and smiled.
It puzzled me then. As a spoiled American, I was astounded at their cheerful attitude. And it puzzles me now as I look back on it. I did not know what they had to smile about.
I am convinced, however, at the wisdom in their being content. Maybe "apathy" is too negative a word for their attitude. Maybe "resignation" is too weak a word. Maybe their joy came from simply living. From being alive and surrounded by friends and family. The government they regarded as a pesky fly that sometimes got in the way, but was tolerated.
They could be cheated, lied to, and stolen from... but no institution on earth could rob them of their joy.
4 comments:
My mother's father was Filipino and her mother, an American. She spent the first 25 years of her life in the Philippines on the island of Negros, being a young child during the Japanese occupation of the country. She comes from a very large family so I think I have a very good idea about Filipino character, having many aunts and uncles and shirt-tail Filipino relatives. I would not say that they were an apathetic people; rather, I think Americans are much more truly apathetic. Filipinos know what is important and what they can realistically change. My mother saw neighbors marched away on the infamous Bataan Death March. Living to the next day is important.
Thank you, Katherine, for your input! That was exactly the line of thinking I was trying to capture in the last two paragraphs.
I appreciate you sharing your background!
:)
Thank you, Nutmeg--I've really enjoyed this whole series of posts. :-D
I'm enjoying them, too!
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