Sexy, Innocent Child-Woman

Buhay America

I just surfed the Inquirer website. Today's Youngblood piece, "The Return" (written by Jason Pacheco, who I think is my batchmate from Ateneo), is an interesting read. Having lived on foreign soil for almost three years now (with yearly--or if I'm lucky, bi-annual--visits to the Philippines in between), I can definitely relate to what Jason went through upon returning to the States. The same thing happens to me each time I come back to Chicago. If someone (like my auntie, uncle, or my best friend Johnna) can pick me up at the airport and/or help me bring my luggage up to my apartment (which is on the fourth floor of my building), I'm lucky. Otherwise, I have no choice but to haul my heavy-ass bags up to my apartment by myself, and that gesture itself is a painful reminder that I am once again so far away from the place I still call home.

I had such an encounter when I came back last August after a month-long vacation in the Philippines. I arrived in Chicago at around 6AM. No one could pick me up at the airport because my uncle and my cousin had to leave for work by then, my auntie was still working her shift as a nurse, and Johnna was still jet-lagged, having arrived from the Philippines the day before I did. So I just took a cab from the O'Hare International Airport to my apartment. As I dragged each piece of luggage up the stairs, the harsh reality of my being away from home, of my being in a big city by myself (for the most part), just hit me. The weight of each trolley I carried seemed to mock me. I could only tell myself, "Welcome back. Welcome to America, where I do everything myself, for better or worse. Where the loneliness and isolation I feel can be excruciating, even as I recognize how much I've grown through the years and how my life here has somehow blossomed." And when I called home that night, I relayed my latest realizations about the buhay-America blues to my mom. That was all I could do.

Funny how each time I come back here, Chicago seems much quieter. The noise that fills the streets of my neighborhood, the hustle and bustle of North Sheridan Road (the main road across my school's Lake Shore Campus), the crazy drivers (yes, Chicago has its fair share of kaskasero drivers) who don't know the meaning of right of way--suddenly, all these seem so quiet during my first couple of weeks back here. But of course. The busy streets of Chicago will always seem so lame, compared to the chaos of Manila.

And when night falls, the silence can be deafening, at least for my first couple of weeks back here. Thank God I have a cellphone, so I can text people in the Philippines. However, not everyone replies to my text messages because of the costs involved. And whether I send text messages to the Philippines or receive text messages from the homeland, I pay for it, regardless. Yup, the cellphone industry here is different. To call home, I need to buy a phone card (unless I want a huge phone bill for the month), and if it's cold outside or if I have 3,000 other things to do, the phone call will have to wait. If the phone card turns out to be defective (i.e. you can't use it after you make a phone call and no one picks up; if it has fewer minutes than what is published in the poster/s at the convenience store; or if the connection is really bad and you lose minutes by just dialing the number you want to call repeatedly), too fucking bad. Whenever the person I'm trying to call (usually my mom) is out, I go ballistic. Why? Because I lose precious minutes just waiting for her to pick up, especially when the maid or whoever answers the phone is hard of hearing/speaks slowly/takes forever to let me know that she's not around. And sometimes, I end up having to buy/use another phone card. It's enough to drive me nuts, and I always end up texting my sisters, threatening that I will never call home again, unless they tell me my mom is around, or that I'm gonna teach the maid/s a crash course in Special Topics in Phone Etiquette: How to Answer the Telephone When Diane Calls from Overseas. Of course my threats remain just that--mere threats.

During my first couple of weeks back here, I get swamped with bills I have to pay, the chores I have to do (e.g. laundry, cooking, dishwashing, cleaning my room, the living room, and the bathroom, grocery-shopping, etc.), and other things I have to catch up on. It gets pretty overwhelming, and I long for the more carefree life I had back home. I get really bad attacks of homesickness and I wonder if graduate studies abroad and my independent life and greater financial stability in Chicago were worth it, for me to leave loved ones and precious ties in the Philippines behind, at least for the time being. I berate myself for staying in school, and therefore staying in Chicago, longer than planned. But once I get settled into the routine of school/work (and rakets, if any)/chores, my life here isn't so bad anymore. I eventually readjust to my life in America, the loneliness and isolation of my lifestyle notwithstanding. I tell myself time will pass and it will be time for me to go home for a visit before I know it.

The downside is this: once I've completely (re-)adjusted to my life here, it's time for me to go back home for a visit. When I'm in the Philippines, I initially need to get used to living there and being around certain people, places, and things and observing certain norms and rules once again. And just when I get used to living there again, it's time for me to come back here. I have always said there's nothing like going home to the Philippines that makes me soooooooo vulnerable. Such has been my life for the past two years or so. You would think I'd be used to it by now, but I'm not. And perhaps I never will get used to it.

found herself @ 5:02 PM