under the poinsetta

Overall, the weekend of Christmas parties wasn't a total failure, but just somewhat less than thrilling.
It's hard to explain what the issue is without being really "cutting" but...basically, the things that Filipinos go crazy for are, for me, irritating, boring, or both.

Party one: held at Ikabud at SM mall, there was a large spread of Filipino food, red ice tea, a videoke machine (sighhhh). All the girls wore white, the two guys wore red (and one confused lady wore red and white, hee hee). The food was vegetables cooked in peanut butter sauce, roast pork, fried chicken, stir fry veggies of some kind on angel hair pasta, rice galore, bird's nest soup, bread, and a few other things I'm no doubt forgetting. Oh, and flan for dinner. Now, as usual, even though I've politely told me a MILLION FUCKING TIMES I just don't like rice, that's just the way it is, people REFUSE to believe it.

I was asked all the usual questions "have you ever lived abroad? How do you like it here? Have you tried any native foods? Where have you visited here?"

Now, they're just trying to show interest, but the problem is that if I'm honest ("Uh, I'm bored out of my mind, asleep, or irritated about 80% of the time") that just might not go down too well...so I have to give people generic, dull, one word answers. "Not much. Not really. It's okay." That's not me, but why hurt people's feelings over something they can't change?

You know, the problem is, people are just following their own cultural edicts by trying to force me to eat rice, sing Videoke, and talk about something in a totally fake way, but I am really over it.

So, as usual for work parties, the host (in this case Nadj) ran around barking orders and trying to make people "participate". It was nice to be with work friends outside of work, but I just am having so much trouble getting over the "hump" of feeling comfortable with people. I just don't have the same ideas, dreams, and values.

I don't really like children. I don't want to get married anytime soon. My family is important to me but they live all over the US. I'm 31 and I'm a "career girl". I don't care about looking "hot" and wearing the latest designer gear. I hate videoke. Sitting around playing cards at mini stop is not my idea of a hot Friday night. And so on and so forth.

Don't get me wrong, I'm NOT criticizing this way of life, it's just not for me, and everytime I go to a party I really feel it.

The other party was at Anne's, on her rooftop, and it was slightly better, as there was at least one other North American there, who also is not totally into videoke (although she rented a machine.) Food was good, although once again, not something I would choose: white rice, fried rice, roast beef tenderloins, chicken, and tempura shrimp, and four kinds of super decadent cheese cake ( I chose wine instead). A few people brought their children, some people had a few glasses of wine or beer, people sat with their teams and mostly spoke in vernacular, people sang kareoke and talked about work, while Anne (the host) frantically bossed people around, handing out gifts and generally being a menace.

The rooftop itself was stunning, and the party was held at dusk, so the purple blue night air bathed everything with gorgeous light. The thing was, I had been in the grip of intense blues, barely holding it together while having a pre party very weak cocktail and making up my face before going. I just couldn't shake the feeling of sadness that was over me.

And it was justified, I think.

Here's what happened, as best as I can explain it:

About 2 weeks ago, when I heard about this party, Anne mentioned several times that people should bring their spouses or Sig O's and since almost everyone on the team is married, I was like "I'll be DAMNED if I'm going to be the only one with no date." So I asked Antony and he agreed to go.
The day of I just texted him a reminder at 1.30, like "hey, we still on?" and he texted back "Hey I just woke up."
Kind of not a good sign, in my book.
So I texted him "we on for 4.30 at my place?"
him: "ok."
It was at that point I started to get reaallll nervous. I didn't care so much about going by myself but I didn't want to wait until 4.45 to find out he wasn't coming. I just had this bad feeling about it.
He did indeed show up, at 5.00, and he told me about his weekend, and then we went.
It just...there was nothing wrong with how he acted, he just was quiet and didn't even sit next to me, choosing instead to sit across the table. The problem was once again, I had sort of failed to define what I wanted until I wasn't getting it, which was a date, not the services of a pinch- hitting- male- friend- who- I'm- kind- of- seeing.
so when I asked him if he wanted to go out or go back to my place or what after the party, he said "I'll drop you off at your house." Seeing as we took a trike, I was baffled. "Uh, you're going somewhere else?" He said he wanted to go home to sleep.

So after that I just wanted to leave, call a trike, and go home and lay down and go to sleep. The evening was shot. I didn't want to be there. He didn't want to be there either.

So we left shortly after that, I told him I could hail my own trike, after double checking that I really understood what he wanted (to go home alone and go back to sleep) and as I was getting in the trike, I told him "you're not going home." meaning "I don't believe for a minute that on a Sunday night at 9 PM you're headed 'home'. You'll get one text message on your way home and somehow magically find the energy to go out."
I was extremely angry and crushed, and when I got home, I kept thinking about that chair at the end of the table, between us, empty. I was thinking "he didn't even want to sit next to me at a party where he barely knew anyone else. How much clearer do you want the evidence to be, fool?"
All the reasonable explanations in the world can't convince me of what I can see with my own eyes is true: he doesn't want to be with me.
So...that's that. I'm going to try with all my willpower to stop attempting to make a silk purse out of a sow's ear and just call it a night with Kid Dynamite.
later, babies.

silver and gold

The afternath:

Mistakes were made, people got blamed, the mushroom cloud carried ashes for yards until the truth came out: I need more friends (over here).

What happened was that a) I took a long weekend because I had to work Saturday, so I took the preceding Monday off. b) Ankit indicated that he is most likely not coming back from his "vacation" (IE, he's fleeing the country while the getting is good), and c) I was supposed to hang out with Ant, and he couldn't make it.

So as I was flinging myself around my apartment boiling hot and trying not to send sarcastic text messages to the "quitters" (Ant and Ankit), because, really, what do they owe me anyway, and both of them have been, on the whole, pretty decent to me, I was overwhelmed with waves of intense emotion, in fact questioning every decision I've ever made, society- wise.

Maybe I shouldn't have taken a hard line about Buffalo, I mean, drinks *were* very cheap... Maybe I should have just stayed in Rochester and married Mike C.... Maybe I should have just have gone to grad school in another state...

It's hard to go from being Vinnie Chase to "E" overnight. (In other words, from being Queen to Infidel).

So I went to bed kind of sad, but not broken hearted or anything.

Anyway, the next day at work I was pretty much over it, or so I thought, and I was doing audits, and Ant pinged me just to basically say "sorry I had to bail, I wanted to hang out, but just couldn't". Now, the thing to keep in mind here was that he had already given me very timely updates as to his increasing inability to come over, he was just giving a sort of "follow up sorry", and at the time of the "bail-age", I distinctly remember that I was upset but not beside myself.

So....when he was explaining how busy he was I was surprised to find myself struggling not to CRY. I felt like I wanted to put my head on the keyboard. Obvs, this was WAY out of proportion to what really happened, the importance of the characters involved, the situation, etc. What really got to me was how hurt I was, and how hard it was to keep it myself. So I just got off OCS and got coffee and asked myself "what did you REALLY want?"

The answer, after the mental hurricane died down, was I wanted someone to hang with, and while it would have been nice if he made it, it wasn't totally about him, per se. This realization was almost more upsetting than thinking I was going to have to pretend I had "allergies" to my coworkers when they caught me crying over OCS. I was staring into the void, and it was full of a lack of friends.

Waiting for the coaster, I called Adam at home and was like "slap some sense into me". He did, and he gave me the same advice I had essentially given myself: Time to find some more friends so if one friend has to cancel you're not ALL ALONE FOR ALL OF ETERNITY.

So the thing is....I have a phone full of numbers, and very few real friends. I complained to my mom "I'm so tired of starting over with new friends. I want my old cool friends back!" (They're still my buds, they're just in different places right now, literally or figuratively). My mom was like "uh, maybe you shouldn't have moved to East Asia, just a thought." She also pointed out, rightly, that I moved here for "mew experiences" and new friends was one of them. Yeahhhhh..... she's right.

Operation Populate Fields (har har!!) went into effect the next day. I'm (as anyone who knows me knows) not one to lay around on my divan with crystal tears slowly leaking down my alabaster cheeks, wanly wondering where all the buddies are.

Step one: identify targets, lock on them and take them down

There are several friendlies at work, so I got to work on them. My tops are Arthur, a floor manager, and Panda, a trainer in the Learning Center. Fate smiled on me (well, my own efforts were rewarded) because the next day I ran into Panda and had a little chat, so we'll see. I also sent a message to Arthur, asking him and the Mrs. to dinner, and he was down, so that's that.

Step two: make more of an effort with the current contacts

So the deal is, I have been told over and over that I'm not "open" emotionally, and hard to approach (hmmm. maybe being a giant in a land of tinies might have something to do with it?). This is an ongoing effort, including actually telling people "I'd like to HANG OUT MORE. what say?"

step three: find something to do besides hanging out on Fields or in my apartment. Maybe some friends will be there, out in the big wide world. At any rate, they're not likely to crash through the ceiling while I watching "A Perfect Murder" for the 15th time.

Now, this is hard, since my overnight working schedule, my social and "political" status separates me from most natives, and I don't like to take chances offending people, and this tends to make me stick to my well established comfort zone. But I'll be working on it.

Also, before I make friends with anyone else, I will be inspecting their visa very thoroughly: are they liable to up and leave the COUNTRY in the next three weeks (LINDSEY, RYAN, and ANKIT, I'm looking at you!!!!), if so, keep it moving to the left, to the left. No sale.

I'll keep you all posted on how it goes.

Atlantis

Last night was a night for revelations:

So I met up with a very sleepy, husky voiced Ankit, who, in a very typical move, wanted to hang out, made plans, and then stayed up from coming off shift at 6 am until 6 PM (so more than 24 hours total) playing video games and drinking and then was like "uh...crap. I have to meet Na at 10, better go to sleep." Anyway, we went to the poker room to eat (after a spirited debate in which he argued for the Red Sea and I told him to get stuffed.) and there we ran into Matt and Michelle, who for some reason was looking different, and gave me a start as I struggled to introduce her to Ankit without saying her name in case it wasn't her (it was, she just got a retainer and hadn't straightened her hair that day).

So after one drink I let Ankit have it for the "phillies incident". Why, in the name of all that's holy, did he bother to come out to the bar to meet me if he was just going to hug a pole across the room. After a little back and forth where Ankit tried to wiggle out of it by using, variously, untranslatable shrugs and sort of pretending his English wasn't *quite* good enough to follow me, he finally coughed it up: Veron.

F-ing VERON was the issue. He didn't even really want to say it, but as soon as he started it, I knew exactly what he was talking about. He doesn't like Veron and didn't want to be "waved over" and "trapped".
I told him that not to worry, Veron was a failed experiment.
The noteworthy part of the conversation was when Ankit described Veron (who is extremely dark skinned) as "the black Indian" (Ankit's from the north and quite fair, in fact I'm almost as dark as he is when I'm tan, although I'm "red" a kind of sugar ham glow, and he's "yellow"- a pecan colored tan). I turned my head to the side that had the good ear- "what?! The WHAT?"

My eyebrows were in my hairline.
"The black." Ankit repeats, confounded as to where the confusion lies.
"Uh, Ankit, Veron's not black (I meant "African") he's mixed Indian and a little Portuguese" (although Portuguese are not considered "white" by most whites either, but that's another story...they're most assuredly not "black").
"Is he, uh....part African as well?" I mean, it's not outside the realm of possibility, but it seems *very* unlikely.
Ankit laughs.
"No, he's...dark, a black. That's what we call those from the south."

Stunned silence from my end. Now, it's a tragic reality that most of the Indians I've met are almost comically racist when it comes to skin color, which is a bitter irony since what they're missing is that as soon as you set foot on US territory, if you fail the "paper bag" test, you're "of color" and there is no such thing as "a black Indian"- (well, I'm sure there are "African Indians", but I've never heard of or seen them)- so you can be "fair" or "black" and guess what, you're still "of color". I guess, being charitable, they could be using this phrase the same way some people say "Black Irish" but given the fact that it refers to skin color, I doubt it.

This also highlights the typical attitude I find from others too, which is "my hometown is a bustling metropolis, and everyone else is a bumpkin from the wrong side of the tracks." Cyrus in fact comes to mind, as he explained how he himself was not a vegetarian, but "people from the south, or from the provinces" might "still" be ( as opposed to "Bombay" which left that ridiculous poor- person nonsense behind 50 years ago).

This is very common, and in fact a Pinoy broke it down for me the other day (more on that guy later), explaining that "people from the North" didn't "stink" (a common and very annoying perception that I've heard from more than one person. If they had any idea what most Americans think of everyone from "over there" they'd be in a dead faint on the floor, or twitching with anger.) I just gave a non-assent grunt ( I mean why anger someone you just met?) and was prevented from using my "trump card" argument by discretion: I've been seeing someone from the south, and he most assuredly does NOT stink.
Over here, skin color is a big issue too- everyone wants to be "white", in fact I struggled to find skin care that wasn't "whitening", seeing as I already have "that pinkish white glow" that Jergens promises you, and I worked hard for my slight golden color. Although next to most people I look like a Kabuki actress, or Nicole Kidman under particularly hot lights- super pale with startling light eyes--heh.

Anyway, this Pinoy is a type. He happened to be in the car taking a ride with my car service. He's a type that is, personality wise, like nails on a chalk board for me. Overstyled, metro, and unctuous, with a mouth full of huge, straightened, blindingly white teeth, he's got a way about him that just grates. I guess I could sum it up as "how do you keep them on the farm after they've seen gay Paree?" This guy had been to Chennai for work, and this is where he got his "information", including the very upsetting assertion that most Indians "hate" Westerners. I did argue that with an incredulous laugh. "That's not been my impression, kuya. In fact, much to the opposite. I've got rather a full dance card, as far as it goes." I didn't want to spell it out, but as I've pointed out, if I was "on the market", there would be a discreet stampede to try to be the "first" through the door.

It's hard to pinpoint what my issue with this dude was, kind of a combination of his high handed way ("I'm renting a van, that's why I was over at the car service house"), and his slinky, sly way of not answering questions; when asked where he was staying, he said "over here". Yeah, no shit? When asked who he worked for/ what program he said "I'm helping out Randy". Randy is the Sales Training MANAGER, a big boss who handles the sales training for like, 5 programs (and actually when I told Randy what he said, Randy rolled his eyes and corrected it: "He wants to work for me."), so people don't "help" him, they WORK FOR him. Although this is relatively common over here, people who are lower on the totem pole are introduced as "helping". I barked at Davie when he tried this with me, "Thanks for making me sound like the chambermaid!" He laughed, and I felt bad when the guy he was introducing me to introduced his VPs and "helping me with the program".

Also, in other interesting things I've heard: asking Ant how old his father was, he thought about it, thinking out loud, this is what he said "Wellllll, he was born the same year Indian was granted it's freedom, so that was 1947, so he's 63". It's hard to overestimate the bombshell this throwaway statement had on me. I literally (and I never use that word) have no idea what it must be like to having living relatives that remember living as a colony. It sort of blew my mind. And it was just another night.

one at a time, people!

Little pieces:

One:

The other day I was teaching class in a new room, Palawan boardroom, and I was having trouble with the speakers that I had attached to the computer so we could listen to call recordings and assess the good and the bad points. So the two guys at the end of the table Ramon and Annelie Hermee ("Mon" and "H") fiddled with them together, wiggling the wires, and teasing each other that the other one had "the magic touch", and as soon as we heard the voice of the agent come in, they gave each other a crisp, almost military high five, without even looking at each other, they just both had the instinct to do it. The class was giggling at the dead serious expression on their faces, as if they had just lifted a car off a puppy. So cute.

Two: as an addendum to this, I went back to that same boardroom, which is in a separate building than I usually work in, across campus, around 3 AM that same day, to get the room ready for my late class, and I pushed open the door, my mind a million miles away. There in the room, which was by now ice cold since the air was on high for me, was a guy I've literally never seen in my four months over here. He looked up as if shot with a .38 and I laughed- did you book this room too? I asked sympathetically.
No, I was about to take a call- he indicated the phone, which he was indeed leaning over, about two seconds away from dialing into to a bridge line. His most standout feature was several gold rings on each hand, giving him a kind of potentate look, so when he waved me in I suppressed a grin. Take it, I'll find another room, go ahead! He toddled off graciously, rings twinkling.

So then, about 3 hours later, I was hanging around the poker room having a Caiprini and a burrito with Davie and this group of Indians busts in and takes over the billiards table. Once again, dudes I've never seen, except for one, who has a familiar glitter about his person. Could it be...?
Davie becomes oddly animated, waving like he's on parade float and does this thing that people do in certain circumstances: when they feel they "must" greet someone but they don't want them to come over and they don't want to interrupt you: he "mouthed" out an enthusiastic "Hi [so and so]!! HIiiiiii". Seeing as I've never seen him act this way (other people, yes, but not him), I turn around to see what the fuss is about. To me they're just four slightly disheveled Indians wearing rather ill- thought -out pleated khakis and heavy striped Polos or rumpled dress shirts with visible undershirts below.
The guys take their place, laughing and ordering beers and talking in what I recognize is a typical mix of vernacular and English; English for when you're speaking business, vernacular when you want to make a point or say something scandalous.
Are those [company men]? I asked.
Davie all of sudden becomes an E entertainment gossip host and nods in a circumspect way and then whips out his *cell phone* and texts me (since the billiards table was right behind us, to the point where the back of our bench acted as a beer ledge for them) with the account name, and waggles his fingers in a gesture I took as "don't look now. Don't. Look. Now."
I've heard, let's just say, a lot about some of the people that were there. Of the four, two of them had figured highly in some less than flattering stories at "white people gripe session", and one of them was....yes, you guessed it, the guy from the boardroom. An odd coincidence but it sort of makes sense, since if you think about it, once you meet someone, you have a tendency to more easily spot them later.
Do I know them? I asked Davie.
His answer is one I'm still pondering:
No, but theyyyyyy knowwwww youuuu. He says in a stage whisper with waggling eyebrows.

Seeing as every once in awhile Davie will tell me gossip I've told him as coming from Anne, I chalked it up to typical Davie brain vacation, but it did give me a chill for a moment. How do they know me?

I racked my brain for similar circumstances to when I "met" Ryan; which was the following: on my first weekend here I went out with work friends, and we were at some wretched hole in the wall, our last stop for the night, and there across the room was a tall, good- looking man wearing a WOOL SWEATER.
He had the most imperious, infuriating look on his face I've ever seen and in my state (let's just summarize it as "not sober") I had the uncontrollable urge to take him down several pegs and show him what's what. Side note: still have that urge, but sadly the Indian Ocean is now preventing me from doing so, as it is between us.
"LOOK AT THAT HIGH- TONED F*CKER OVER THERE WEARING A SWEATER!" I shouted to Anne. "WHO DOES HE THINK HE IS?!"
Anne, to her credit, didn't turn an eyelash. "Oh, him. He's a complete wanker." she concurred.
"So,want to meet him?"

"As a matter of fact, I do." I growled.
Now, neither Ryan or I remembers this. ANNE told it to me after I told her about "meeting" him in the work lobby. "Don't you remember insisting I introduce you to him last weekend at Pony Tails( or wherever the hell it was, still don't have the foggiest)?" she asked, a sympathetically confused note in her voice. Thus history is made, little ones.

Anyway, I was pretty nervous that something similar had occurred with these dudes, but I think it's more likely that Davie was teasing me that they had "seen me around" and thought I was "cute" or whatever.

Three:
I got a series of oddly worded text messages from Ankit, who had been "on hiatus" since the Phillies "incident", meaning I wasn't texting him and he was doing his usual workaholic "and whooooo are you?" routine, until I got a text from him "what's going on, hon?"
I was a little peeved, but I was like "eh, work..." whatever. Why bother trying to change someone who clearly is so clueless you don't even know where to start?
So he texted back "I'm so upset and I don't even know why."

It took me several attempts to answer this without being sassy. Basically, I can tell him *exactly* what the problem is. Recovering from a stomach infection brought about by having too much ALCOHOL acid in his body, he had to stop drinking for 10 days, which made him dry out for the first time in probably two years, causing him to take stock of his life: working all day and night, no girlfriend, no real friends, far from home, working in a pressure cooker stoked by the fires of relentless capitalism, feeling restless, no plans....etc. He was astonished to find that "life wasn't going the way he wanted" as soon as he pried his lips OFF the perma- Red Horse/ Jack and Coke that had been there for the last however long. Sigh. So I told him we could hang out and talk about "it" (knowing full well that incompetent coworkers and money hungry gold digging girls would most likely be blamed for the brown study he found himself in), so we'll see if Baby Boy has a revelation. Heh.

Anyhoo...good night and good luck.