I Wanna Travel Around the World, Too!

I remember reading the book Eat, Pray, Love a few years ago, and liking it. I don't have a mad crush on it like I do for say, Lolita, but I like it enough, like the way I like a warm fuzzy blanket. My reading tastes tend to be so extreme. I like Edgar Allan Poe, even when he's talking about beating hearts under footboards and walling somebody up in a dungeon, so I sometimes like to cancel it out with the wooly little blankets like The Time Traveler's Wife.

Because of the hype surrounding the movie Eat, Pray, Love, I re-read the book and discovered that I still liked it. It's an adventure book for girls, not unlike the Nancy Drew detective stories of my youth. Nancy Drew was a detective, but she was also a girly-girl. If anything, some of the issues mentioned in the book resonated to me even more now than they did a few years ago, still in my twenties and childless.

So I don't understand the Eat, Pray, Love hate going around. The word >narcissist is being thrown out there a lot. Self-involved too. The author Elizabeth Gilbert has a career that I would kill to have, and she was paid a hefty advance by her publisher to travel around the world, then write about her year abroad to heal from her divorce.

This is an ugly side of the American public that I don't like. Americans take their entertainment pretty seriously, talking about yesterday's episode of Mad Men the next day in the office. Germans are exactly the opposite, and it is no wonder that German TV is the way it is: A 24-hour Discovery Channel special. Any talk about pop culture is considered shallow and embarassing. Many would rather talk about or pretend to like Schiller and Goethe. So when they like a TV show, they LOVE it. They hate it, they HATE it. I swear like a stevedore, but I don't like to throw the words bitch or cunt around, aimed especially at other people. Especially against people I don't know. But there is that word. Liz Gilbert, bitch. narcissist.

Look, there is nothing wrong about thinking about yourself first before helping other people. There are people who are naturally giving, a wellspring of generosity that can be mistaken for being a doormat. But not everybody is like that. I cannot give if I don't have anything to give. Germans sometimes comment on how selfish it is of me to eat first before breastfeeding Antonio, or to send Antonio to a Tagesmutti for seven hours before he's a year old. First of all, none of your business. Second, I need to work because my government money has run out. Third, I need to be around adults again, stat. I like to think of it as the airplane oxygen mask policy. In the event of rapid depressurization, you have to put the mask over yourself first before you assist your neighbor. Giving when you have nothing is mighty noble, but very few people work that way.

As for the book, no, Liz Gilbert is not a narcissist. In fact, she is the opposite. She is a seeker of adventure, curious. I find her highly entertaining, and people who never set foot in a third world country have no idea what it's really like, so they don't have to damn the part of the book where she buys a house for an Indonesian lady. It was a private act of generosity, and since it is a memoir, she had to write about it. Believe me, I know a narcissist when I see it, I used to live with one. It's not like she hurt anybody doing the thing she loves. I think that if she didn't leave her really nice husband, if she had a child even if her inner voice told her don't do it, she would be as unhappy as the closet queen next door, and we don't need another miserable human being in this world because s/he isn't being true to their person. And she would have hurt even more people in the process.

America, Please Explain

There are certain things in life that I take for granted, things that I grew up with, and things that make sense in context of the environment in which I live in. When I moved to Germany, things were, of course, different. So I reverted into a three year old and incessantly asked--why?

Now the things that I have seen here and the things I want to ask of you, my American readers, are specific to the West Coast/Vegas. Now I ask, why?

--are there so many freeways here? Seriously, highway built upon highway. And more highways, even to just get to the next town. Manila has them out of necessity. I have seen exactly one flyover in Germany, and that is in Berlin.

--are you so wasteful on gas and drive everywhere? Even in San Francisco, which has good public transport infrastructure? It's the reason why everybody is so obese. They all eat normally here, but exercise less, and spend so much time in their cars, driving around. I swear, the traffic in LA is not normal for the size of their freeways. In Germany, that kind of traffic only happens there in the Ruhrgebeit and the Main area, or during holidays.

--do you hate vegetables?

--are your cities so spread out? The suburbs here are so far from the center, and the government doesn't even bother building a public transportation network.

--would you drive around for thirty minutes to find a parking spot near the door/establishment? Don't you think that's a waste in gas?

--is In N Out the best burger in town? It is just a burger. Definitely better than what passes for hamburgers in Germany, though. But In N Out fries rock.

--are your cars so huge?

--do you watch TV all the time? Don't you guys have a life?

My comments section is open!

Welcome to the US, Bitch

Note: If you haven't seen the show The O.C., you wouldn't get the reference.

It was a verrry long flight to the US, an hour longer than the one to the Philippines from Germany. It was pretty uneventful for the most part. For now I am enjoying discovering Amerika. You see, the US is the most idolized and fetishized country where I come from, and separating fact from the hype is proving to be an educational experience.

Well, the trip hasn't been entirely uneventful. First of all, I will never fly domestic via U.S. Air ever again. I can't believe that the Charlotte Airport doesn't have automatic baggage forwarding. Second, my first ever encounter with US Immigration Authorities in Charlotte, North Carolina, proved to be quite interesting.

While waiting in line, the "Welcome to America" video played on loop in the airport. I feel that the content is meant to strike fear or at least insecurity into the hearts of men. Is my chocolate roll allowed to pass through? My camera? Do I have my passport? My e-ticket?

Then it was my turn. The man behind the counter was friendly, and asked me several questions, where was I from, why did I have an American accent, why didn't I sound Filipino. All very relevant. He seemed to know a good deal about the Philippines.

Then he looked intently at the computer screen and said. "Well, we have a slight hitch here. You have a name similar to someone who doesn"t like the United States. A lot."

Uh-oh. "Really? Oh wow. Drug-related?"

"Well, let"s just say that the person is a part of a terrorist group, like the Abu Sayyaf."

"That can't be, they're Muslim. I have a Hispanic-sounding name."

"I said like the Abu Sayyaf." A great furrowing of brows. "The State Department should have informed us of this."

"Well, it must be the FARC then."

More typing. "Look, I"m pretty sure you're not this person. But I still have to alert my supervisor about this. I can't make this call." He gave me a card with the number 1 written on it, and put all my documents in a plastic folder. "The problem is that you have a new passport (issued March 2009) and your visa is also new." A great stamping of documents. "We'll give you your luggage when we're done." Then he seemed to have a change of heart and said," You know what, why don't we already pick up your luggage, then we'll lead you to questioning."

A uniformed officer picked me up from the booth and led me to the carousel to pick up my luggage, then led me to a room full of other sad, nervous, or pissed-off looking people. I am pretty sure that no-one was looking, but it was still mortifying doing the "Walk of Shame" with a baby carriage, my luggage, and a uniformed officer beside me. Ohmigod, please don"t let the others think that I am a mule, I thought, thinking of the movie Maria Full of Grace.

I was called out, an this time a dour-looking man faced me and asked sternly. "From which country did you fly?" " Where was your passport issued?" " Can you give me your birthdate, please?" "Do you have a return flight?" "Show me your ticket please."

Bleary from the 9-hour flight and jet lag, I answered in short sentences, monosyllabic if possible. Seemingly satisfied with my answers, he handed back my documents and said, "The door is over there."

And onwards to freedom.

I want to make clear that I bear no ill will to the US Government and know that they are just doing their jobs, and this is all just a case of miscommunication. I saw that the first gentleman felt badly about sending me to his unsmiling supervisor, and really tried to expedite my processing and minimize my inconvenience. I also know that the US State Department did their job thoroughly. They even pulled out my old Petition to Immigrate from 1987, the reason why my parents are now in the US.

But still, nothing says welcome to the US than being escorted by a uniformed officer into a room. Welcome to the US, bitch.

Logging Off

I've been quite busy these past few days, correcting a thesis and preparing for my trip to the US. I am not so excited nor anxious about this trip. I see this more as an obligation since my parents haven't seen the little one yet.

Pardon me if things are slow around here.

Flying the Unfriendly Skies

I am JUST SO FRUSTRATED with DELTA AIRLINES that I am just about to be SICK!

Really, airlines should just stop outsourcing customer service since they really couldn't do anything. These 1-800 numbers are just out to pilfer money from their customers without really giving any service!

It all started when I tried to book a flight to Las Vegas to see my parents. According to the DELTA website, Customers traveling with infants are charged 10% of the ticket, along with any taxes. The ticket I wanted to buy cost 303€, and a whopping €200 in taxes. I wanted a final figure, I didn't want to end up paying 1000 $ for the flight. But the call center told me that I would have to book the flight first and then call them again to add Antonio's name to my entry. I booked the flight and called the call center again, and asked for a final figure.

They took my call. I gave them my credit card number, my three digit code.

Then my call was dropped.

I started panicking at this point. I just gave some stranger my credit card details and still didn't have a figure of how much the flight was actually gonna cost. It was already almost 1 a.m., and calls from Germany were forwarded to the American call center only until this time.

After a fitful night's sleep, I called Delta in Atlanta, not an 800 number (thanks, Adam!) and cancelled my flight. My confirmation number doesn't appear online anymore, but I'm still waiting for my refund to book a new flight. I maxxed out my credit card in the whole fiasco.

But wait! There's more! I called Atlanta to follow-up and "Amy" told me that I will not get a refund cos I'm in Europe! She gave me a customer care number and it took me 45 minutes to iron out this mess. Turns out my refund application isn't on queue, and it would take 3-4 WEEKS, not 5-7 business DAYS as promised, to refund my money.

Meanwhile, I still have no flight, no e-mail confimation that I've asked for a refund despite x requests, and time is running short before the costs of my flight skyrocket. THANK YOU DELTA.

Anthony Bourdain's No Reservations Philippines!!!

Goddamn, I want to go back home RIGHT NOW! I miss Philippine food!

Walang sinabi ang Spanferkel dito bai! Lechoooon!!!











I think the problem if Philippine identity is nicely described here. This is the problem: Filipinos integrate themselves pretty quickly in a new environment. With acute regionalism, worse than in the US or here in Germany, and many different languages, there is no one "Filipino identity."

But I really want me some of that pig.

Name That Statue!

Where is this statue? What is its relation to Jose Rizal? Answers until December 31. First to post the answers in the comments section wins a treat from Breslau, Poland, my next destination!

EDIT: What? No answers?

Homeland vs. Motherland: Chocolate a la Taza

Chocolate is one of my most favorite things on earth.

When I was a child, I would eat Milo or Ovaltine straight from the can, and consume ten packs of Horlicks (meron pa ba nun?) in one sitting. My Grandmother would bring home tableas of chocolate, flat and round chocolate tablets an inch thick, stacked and rolled into paper like coins, from Bicol, where she went every year to join the Peñafrancia festival. She would brew the chocolate in milk or coconut milk, to make a thick soup known in the Philippines as tsokolate-eh, or would add rice to make champurrado.

I remember the rich, nutty, chocolate-y taste of the tsokolate-eh. Sometimes, I would forego the dissolving in water and just eat the tableas raw (read: papak), munching down on the tableas. Sometimes, if I decided that I was a princess that day, I would ask my Grandma to take out the good china from the cabinet. I had a special glazed demitasse set, gilded at the rim and painted with faded purple on the outside. My grandma said that it was my special cup for special occasions.

Fast forward twenty or so years later, I am in Spain after a lifetime of dreaming. I seek out tsokolate-eh, knowing that the Spanish have their version too, called Chocolate a la Taza. It is not the Tsokolate-eh of my childhood, but it is similar. A thick chocolatey liquid, although the Spanish blend is much smoother and milkier than the Filipino blend. The nuttiness in the flavor doesn't come from Coconut milk or from the crude quality of Filipino chocolate, but from the toasted flour that they add to the brew to thicken it. And instead of biscocho, I dunked in churros in my chocolate. It is not earthy like Filipino tsokolate-eh, and I realize that comparison is futile, as they are two different genus of the same species.

VERDICT: It's a tie! I like the both. Yay to chocolate!

Be You.

"It cost me a lot to be authentic. . . Because a woman is more authentic the more she looks like what she has dreamed for herself."
--Agrado, Todo Sobre Mi Madre

I have a pretty manic personality, and I have really no control over what to fixate upon. I don't know why I like something, and when I do, I just go crazy with it. I think it. I eat it. I breathe it.

Sometimes this mania will last for years. It will die out just as suddenly it started, and no amount of force on my part can make me want to revisit my manias. Sometimes it stays with me. Some manias I have had when I was 16 or 17 are still with me to this day.

I have always had geeky interests. When I was 8 or 9, The Real Ghostbusters (the cartoon) was on air, and I would never miss an episode, ever. I would park myself in front of our TV, and I would write down which ghost appeared on what day on one of my school notebooks. When I was 14, I wrote fan mail and poems to Gillian Anderson and
David Duchovny.

I have always been interested in traveling to other places, even when I was a kid. I just didn't really have the opportunity to visit other countries, but I would say that I knew Manila well by the time I was 10. My Grandma took me with her on her trips whenever she could, and she had itchy feet. I guess I caught her bug, and I wanted to travel the Philippines, too.

But what really made me dream, and dream big, was a TV show on the Discovery Channel called Travelers. I was 16, about the time my parents decided to subscribe cable TV. I watched it whenever I could. The show revolved around six Americans who visited obscure festivals around the world. I loved it so much that I also had a notebook wherein I wrote down the country and city they went to, date of airing, hosts present. This show made me dream that someday, I would go and see the Boi Bumba festival. How do I get there? How can I be a part of it? It was one of the reasons why I went to Journ School in college, because I knew I had a gift for communication, and journalists go places, right?

My parents had other ideas for me. You want to travel? Go be a stewardess.

This short-sightedness frustrated me for so long. When I got my degree, I wanted to embark on my great Philippine adventure. I wanted to travel the width and breadth of my country, but my parents forbade me. Too dangerous, they said. I listened to them, and stayed put. This is not strange in the Philippines, as my 25 year old brother still lives at home and gets "Wer r u?" text messages from my mother at 12 midnight.

I slugged away at my job, got a boyfriend, split up, ended up depressed, and became obsessed with anime, eventually cosplay. It was the only thing that made me smile at the time. I would sit and watch anime an average of 6 hours a day. I was around 22 or 23.

Then I met Thomas.

He gave me the courage to actually use all the money I have saved all these years at the bank and with him, I discovered the Philippines. I had also seen parts of the Philippines with my Grandma, and we embarked on our great adventure together in 2004. But with Thomas, I had the courage to visit unknown places, not just places where we knew people. Basically, he gave me the courage to continue something that my Grandma started.

And now I am here in Barcelona and learning Spanish! I still can't believe it, and I am eternally grateful for having this opportunity, and the opportunity to become my real self: A citizen of the world.