A rundown on all the people I know so far.
Anne is my immediate boss. She’s 35 and from Newfoundland originally. She’s shortish (5’3”) and very curvy. She has been a teacher for a long time and has a definite “teacher” vibe- she wears conservative clothes, carries a big Mary- Poppins purse, and wears glasses. Despite her conservative appearance, she’s fairly worldly, having spent 7 years in China previous to coming here.
She has small blue eyes, a cupid’s bow mouth, and thin arched brows, so she looks very serious unless she’s smiling, and then she looks warm and pretty.
She has a warm, motherly demeanor and will relentlessly follow up to get things done. Never married with no kids and most definitely not looking, she likes manly men (no pretty boys, skinny hipsters, or wimpy dudes need apply) but is driven absolutely mad by the 1950’s ‘tude that most men here have (Indians worse than others). She is rubbed the wrong way by “brashness”—people who are rough and tumble and “earthy”, or people who seem to be cold and haughty—she likes people to be mannerly, correct, and sensitive.
Randy: Randy is the sales trainer for a couple different accounts, and extremely beloved by anyone and everyone who encounters him. Sweet and wry, a little lost, he has a bit of a Colin Firth vibe (I wrote about what he looks like earlier, so you can reference that). He’s careful and conservative and very correct- his one quirk is that he 100% believes in astrology, astounding me by talking at length about the differences between him (Virgo) and “you two” (Daddy-O and I are both Aquarians). He knew his stuff too!
Randy’s 47 and “still looking for the one” (may be a “confirmed bachelor”, but could just be one of “nature’s bachelors”. It’s hard to tell- here being gay is totally okay, even celebrated, but Randy’s so private, we may never know. Naturally, Anne and Randy are besties.
Daddy-O. About 46ish (?) he is hale and hearty Falstaffian type- leaves work at 4am and heads straight for the bars, where everyone knows him. Fair, with a monk’s crown of fuzzy fair hair, round glasses and a pleasant face, he’s sturdy and solid with a substantial gut. He’s called Daddy-O but is named David. He calls everyone “kiddo” and is known for telling side- splitting dirty stories to everyone except Anne. (She was baffled and a little hurt that she’d never seen this side of him as everyone at the table agreed that dirty stories was basically the only kind Daddy-O knew.)
Warm, friendly, and a little odd (he will be overwhelmingly nice one day and then a little Andy- Warhol- standoffish the next), he’s a local bar fave. Married for 6 years to a local, with two small children who live in Ilo-ilo (a long way away so he has a bachelor apt here in town) he’s well known as one of the few men who doesn’t cheat. He’s the go to guy on local customs, and will gladly give me the rundown on anything I ask about.
Ryan: a baffling mixture of charm and aggressiveness, Ryan is an imperious and sharp Indian who made friends with me the way a cat “makes friends” with a sofa leg. One of life’s experts, I tolerate him due to lack of other friends, and because he’s one of those sad oddballs that no one likes but who is totally clued out to that fact and bowling along angering people left and right. Anne HATES him but won’t come out and say it, saying “well, I’ll let you find your own way, but…he’s not very well liked around here.” He is also a total “operator” and has all of Clark “clocked”- he knows his way in and out of every situation and can slink through life as sleek and self possessed as a black cat.
Verbatim for Ryan: (giving me directions) “It’s Jocson College. Jocson.College.”
[Then spells it in a super- rapid- fire phonetic alphabet (charlie bravo velvet charlie romeo, etc), with a heavy Indian accent- thanks for the help, bud].
Me: What? Slow down! What?
Him: (frosty, British- tinged English with a distinct Indian lilt) “The J is silent, my dear”.
Me: uh, thanks.
However, despite these flaws, something about him interests me strangely. It’s fun to see what he’ll do next that will captivate and anger my other friends.
Antony: Antony is the “antidote” to Ryan who I met at Sax- he’s a coworker who is one of those “space heater” people- warm, laughing, funny, outgoing, easy going, and affectionate. He’s short, like 5’4, and carries himself with grace, like some short men- an economy of motion that matches their economy of frame. Naturally I was smitten immediately and enjoyed every minute of hanging out with him.
I also noted to the “other white girl” Lindsey while he was settling the bill “He smells like a little slice of heaven!” ( He smelled like anise, lilies and a slight fruity note- very bold smell for a man, and just delightful)
Lindsey (screaming for the whole bar to hear) “I know!!! An Indian who doesn’t stink to high heaven!! Can you believe it!”
Me: just laughs
Antony (named for his grandfather who converted to Christianity back when India was still a colony) has a soft, musical voice with just a hint of an English accent, and I could listen to him talk for *hours*; which is a good thing since, like most Indians, he tells meandering stories with every detail spelled out, no real point, and lots of meaningful eye contact, during which you rack your brain for what he could be getting at.
Sadly, Anne also doesn’t like him, since he does this thing she hates: “Let me get that for you, my dear. Just sit there and be your beautiful self and let me wait on you hand and foot. And don’t even think about voting or education or any of that nonsense. Just let me do what I know is best for you. Now what can I get you, my treasure?”
Antony got my drinks (and sent it back when it was wrong, insisting I “just sit right here!”) while he handled it, flagged down a bouncer to escort me to the bathroom (that’s how they do it here in the clubs if you’re a woman), paid for taxis, and made me coffee (when you order coffee here you get hot water and a sachet of Nescafe) before I went home- he just took the coffee and made it like a waiter- “ and how much sugar, my dear?” without even asking! It was second nature to him!
He also did all the paying and translating, as he speaks basic Tagalog.
This doesn’t bother me one bit, since I like him and it is an incredible treat to have a handsome man wait on you, and I don’t have to be a feminist every minute of every day, and it’s only a few hours out of your day, what can it hurt? I know the score, and I can’t change 2000 years of culture, so what the hey? Something about this is very soothing; it’s a nice change of pace from the fumbling child- men who are currently clogging up the couches of America. I can see where this would be annoying to some, but for me, it’s just heaven.
Lindsey: Lindsey is “the other white chick”- about 5’3”, fair skinned with ash- blonde hair and small, regular features, green eyes, and a kind of perky, mousy look, she’s a “scrapper.” She’s the kind of girl that gets involved with a jerk and excuses all kinds of nonsense and then finally one days blows him away with her .22. She’s outgoing, talkative, swears a lot, and is sharp and street smart. She has a streak of romance in her, and men love her- she can be the “big daddy please take care of me” type very well, even though she can damn well look out for herself, thank you! She’s fallen in love about 6 times in her four months over here, and has a tornado of drama around her- Pinoy, North American, and Indian drama- she takes the cake on that front.
“Red”- Alfred (a very common name over here). Red is a painfully thin, very sweet and shy Quality Analyst who I interact with mostly for conference calls and the like. I don’t really know him, but he’s an excellent candidate for a game I like to call “Gay? Or just Filipino?” Filipino men will wear snugly tailored shirts with detailing like double button cuffs or cowboy pockets, layered vests, tons of jewelry, two earrings, painted on jeans, and carry purses (!!!!) and still be, somehow, totally straight. Needless to say, this provided more than a few minutes of ha-ha’s for Anne and I as we “played” at the club.
Man in a size xs Abercrombie shirt that says “tight end” and flared jeans with tipped hair? Oh, kissing a girl! Just Filipino!
Man with a pink tee shirt, pegged jeans and twelve bracelets? Somebody just called him “she”, so GAY! Men also wear common “signifiers”, like pants cropped right at the ankle, super- preppy fitted looks, two diamond earrings (one in each ear), tailored vests, and designer clothes, but they’re not gay!! Anne has tried to “introduce” me to about 12 super limp- wrist-ed Nellies, who she SWEARS are not gay, and I’m like “okaaaay. If you say so!”
FAQ
Safety:
In general, it’s very safe over here. There are security guards at every store and bank, including stores like 7/11 and mall stores. Every bank and ATM is heavily guarded, (and when I say guarded I mean with MACHINE GUNS) but I always take money from the ATM at work, which is in the cafeteria.
Naturally, there are risks in some areas, but if you follow the same precautions that you do in the US (don’t go places you don’t know alone, carry money in a concealed spot separate from your wallet, don’t flash your cash, don’t wander around drunk, etc) you’re fine. If you are a Westerner, you’re naturally conspicuous, and [my company] employees are well known in the area- it would be immediately noticed and commented on if I “disappeared” for more than a day.
Recently I was out of work for a day and went to hospital to get tested for Dengue (don’t have it, boss was being paranoid) and I got at least three texts asking me if I was ok, etc. So any kidnapping scheme would have to be pretty elaborate as I’m either at work, locked in my house, or surrounded by security guards almost every minute of the day. I also have a driver to take me places and when I go out, it’s with Westerners. So in short, I’m not worried. I also refuse to live my life in fear, so I follow my natural gut instincts, which has worked out fine so far.
Food and germs: You can’t drink the water here, but mineral water coolers are in the house and at work, and bottled water is readily available. I’ve only had minimal stomach issues, and remedies like Immodium are readily available. The hospitals do leave something to be desired in terms of up to date medical care, but they are not expensive and you can be “seen” almost immediately. We also have a doctor’s office on campus at work.
It’s just as cheap to eat out as stay in here, and since I hate grocery shopping and preparing food, that works for me. My food allowance covers the cost of meals but not groceries anyway.
Housing: I am still looking, and will most likely try for housing either in the same area I’m in now, or in a residential hotel. I haven’t had time to look-I’ve got free housing now and have other priorities for the time being. Housing is pretty reasonable, comparable to the states in terms of cost. A hotel is probably my best choice since I don’t want to hire a cleaning lady and deal with utilities, etc. A hotel will cover all that in one fell swoop. [note: I found a bachelor pad that my friend Ryan was leaving behind, he left it to me on his way out- onebedroom, aircon, water, a little bathroom with a shower, a living room with a dressing area, and an EIK].
Communication: I will most likely get a computer in the next month or so. It is extremely expensive to call overseas, so most calls can only be about 3 minutes, but for some reason, many people in my life can’t accept that facebook or email is what’s going on for now. They’re waiting for what, an aerogram? People keep talking about SKYPE, which has little to no appeal for me- maybe I’ll change my mind once I use it.
I have to say, I’ve been disappointed by the lack of communication from friends/ family. I realize people are busy and all that, but I’m busy too, and I don’t have anyone over here to talk to, whereas “busy” people in the states have the same busy life I do but friends and family to talk to. I work 12 hour days, and work overnights, and I’m just as tired and stressed as everyone else. I’m not pointing fingers, I’m just saying that people who are “waiting” for me to email them, or start a blog are making me f*ing crazy. I have to get my life sorted out here, and I don’t want to sound defensive, but what are people waiting for?
In general I like it, but it’s a good thing I cut my teeth in collections, because the environment is hard to get used to- loud and chaotic, with no clear boss, etc.
Me griping to my mom:
I had a ridiculous “cultural awareness” class where HR showed a PPT of, like a woman in a bikini with a label “things to do in the Philippines”- “you can go windsurfing! Yeah!”
Yes, but how do I get little street rats to stop begging me for money by *touching me with a death grip on my leg*and then I wind up dragging them as they cling to my arm as I shout “NO! GET OFF!” ? They missed this part, despite three slides of “basic tagalong”. Sigh.
So at the end of the presentation, the other two participants, Indian men who swore that the Philippines were just like India, except way more fun (and HOTTER they had the nerve to claim), skipped off merrily, after signing their papers that stated they “fully understood their job and role” and I, naturally, pitched a fit. I read the HR team that gave the presentation (Pinoy, by the way, and both men- just the people I want to ask about certain things like where the underwear larger than a size 0 is) the riot act about how not only was I NOT going to sign a legal document that wasn’t true, but [my company] had seriously missed the boat on support. Basically, if it weren’t for my friends over here, I’d still be sitting in staff housing, cross legged on the floor saying “hello? I’m hungry! Anyone? Anyone?”
Laundry, phone, getting around, finding a non- staff housing place, speaking Tagalog, money changing, clothing and toiletries shopping, feeding yourself, getting to work, etc--- the company did not offer ANY help in ANY of these areas. Thank god for various bossy coworkers slapping my hands off the “wrong” kind of coffee and showing me where to buy “ladies items”. Honestly, if it weren’t for Daddy- O, Randy, Ryan, Anne, Amit, Antony, and Lindsey, I would be SCREWED.
So after I tore them up one and down the other, they told me I had somehow missed my “on boarding”- basically how to get around at work (well, that would help partially, since I don’t even know how to get office supplies and I’m totally making it up as I go along). Then they never sent me an email. Now granted, this was Thursday, but STILL! As I told them “you don’t just DROP someone in a third world country with a tent and some granola and tell them to figure it out!!!” They looked like they deeply regretted inviting me but oh well!
Then, I keep having an issue where my friends will invite me out to an interminable session of sitting in a banquette smoking and drinking at the clubs (which is how it’s done over here- this is their “starter bar”), to listen to an ear- shatteringly- loud cabaret singing, with some (usually) drag queen warbling a jazz- tempo version of “Sexual Healing” for HOURS. And they’re happy as a clam at high tide, claiming the show is “awesome!”
I swear it’s like the last hour of a wedding reception, where you’re just hanging on while your date sways drunkenly with a potted plant to the strains of “Careless Whisper” and you get more and more antsy---soooo boring.
(Although at the cabaret last night the most AMAZING show I’ve ever seen. After about 6 bizarre skits in Tagalog, they drag this kid who’s about 10 years old (and a male soprano) on stage. I’m like, oh great, now we’re in for some sort of “Hello Muddder, Hello Fadder” crap, only in Tagalog. But holy cow I kid you not, this kid rips out a *note perfect* version of Beyonce’s “Halo”, which is an extraordinarily gorgeous song to begin with, and it was like this kid had EATEN Beyonce. It was eerie. The crowd was screaming with approval. I was genuinely startled but at the end was clapping along and yelling. )
The issue (well, one of several issues, but the main issue for me) with the cabarets is that the waiters, who are terrified of white women, lean down, pointing at various things on the menus and murmuring and trying to explain some oddball cover charge/ buyback thing while in the background---actually the *foreground*-- the live band is backing up “Cheyenne Glitter” who is screaming into the microphone:
“AND EEE-YYY-EEE WILLLL ALLWAYSSSS LOVVVVVEEEE UUUUUUU!!! OOOOH- OHHH WHOO WHOO YEH-HESSS YOUUU-WHOO- HOOO OH DARLING YOUUUUUU!!!!”.
Last night I lost it and as the waiter is pointing at the beer list and shining his mini flashlight on San Miguel Light special, after I ordered a Skyy and tonic *twice*, I banged the table with my fist, scaring Lindsey and making the ashtray and beer bottles rattle very satisfyingly. “JUST BRING ME MY VODKA TONIC!!!” I shouted over the crashing cymbals in the background. The drink came pretty quickly, ice conspicuously tinkling in the waiter’s shaky hand. I felt terrible, but damn! I knew from my HR seminar that I had “lost face” but I was about to “lose my shit” so I didn’t care.
Then, welcome to the world of trike drivers who ask you “do you know the place?” Uh, no honey! You are the cab driver! Last night I was going to my new apartment to get the keys from Ryan and I had (fortunately) taken notes the previous time I was there, so I was able to tell the driver where to go. They have these porters at the cab stands who clap for a cab, and I had *three* cabs give me a blank look. I told the porter “Okay, let’s keep trying!” Despite the porter’s clear “start walking, lady” look. We had to ask a BUM ON THE STREET, who by the way, was quite helpful.
The place was probably 2 minutes by cab and they were like “lundmuc?” [Landmark]? “Lund- mahk? Do you know where is? Don’t know! Do NOT KNOW!” Then they would blaze off in disgust, exhaust belching away to beat the band.
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