I have been wanting to blog since last week and finally populate this webpage for archival purposes, but after many attempts I somehow just couldn't remedy my repetitive slips into very conscious states of imperfection in writing, homesickness and even a national identity crisis. The first two weeks I was in school have not been too great. Sure I may look elated in some of the pictures I post on Facebook but really, what lay behind that smile (and perfect teeth!) are a hundred blisters on my feet and a badly broken, lonely heart.
I guess part of it is because on my first week in America, I was in the company of a very kind Filipino family in Virginia, and I never really saw how different things would be the moment I moved in to my dorm and actually interacted with fellow students. Even with five months of academic dormancy prior to participating in this program, no amount of preparation has allowed me to fathom the woe that distance, time and space could cause. I thought I was okay because when I left Manila, I did not shed one tear. I thought I was gonna be okay because the internet was so promising, Skype even more.
But it wasn't until only a week ago that I finally got my own laptop (and an MBP at that, acquired through the kindness of an aunt) and was able to talk to my parents and friends at my preferred hours. So until then, with all the pressures of 184,000 orientation sessions condensed into four freaking hot summer days, I only get lunchtime and an hour before 10:00 PM to go online, check my email, and when God permits it, chat a little with my mother.
At the Capitol Building
At a Metro Station, still with my Discover DC groupmates
Night at the Monuments
Four days isn't a long time but believe me, when you have been shoved into the orientation for international students and still no one speaks your language, it's an awfully long time. Not that I don't commend the organizing efforts of AU's international student services arm or that I went to America just to look for fellow Filipinos, it's just that even with a mini-UN convention going on, and probably as a rule of thumb too, people tend to flock with their own kind. Europeans, primarily, have isolated themselves from the rest of the crowd. The same goes with the Arabs and all other hijab/burqa-wearing women. Africans are more outgoing and penetrate into different groups, but they are also pretty tight, as is the case with one of my roommates who hails from Nigeria.
Asians are a different matter. For some reason, every room in my floor has a whiz kid from the Far East. Most of them come from the same universities in Japan, China and Korea, participating in AU-affiliated programs. The Japanese actually look a lot like they could be Filipino teens on cosplay mode: the girls are skinny and pale, while the guys use eyeliner. The girls from Hong Kong have made a habit of cooking in the floor kitchen, as if they couldn't stand McDonalds, Subway or whatever food America has to offer. In turn, most of the non-Asian roommates of these girls complain a lot about their storing of food in their respective rooms. Don't get me wrong, these girls are nice but they just happen not to have a meal plan.
Asians are a different matter. For some reason, every room in my floor has a whiz kid from the Far East. Most of them come from the same universities in Japan, China and Korea, participating in AU-affiliated programs. The Japanese actually look a lot like they could be Filipino teens on cosplay mode: the girls are skinny and pale, while the guys use eyeliner. The girls from Hong Kong have made a habit of cooking in the floor kitchen, as if they couldn't stand McDonalds, Subway or whatever food America has to offer. In turn, most of the non-Asian roommates of these girls complain a lot about their storing of food in their respective rooms. Don't get me wrong, these girls are nice but they just happen not to have a meal plan.
For the most part it's these Asian girls that made me feel how alone I really was during the past weeks. There is of course an unspoken affinity that we have toward each other--we have the same eyes, I have the original black that was once their hair, we were outsiders in a crowd of gods, after all. We would also flock on our own side of the road sometimes, during tours or waiting time (the Europeans with their long legs are such fast walkers!) and would engage in chatter that consisted of Whos/Whats/Wheres/Until Whens. But eventually when there were no more English words they could use to talk to this familiar-looking foreigner or if there was really absolutely nothing they knew about the Philippines, they would turn back to each other and continue conversation within each of their own groups. You know me. I am not one who stays up for senseless, mindless, hahaha-brouhaha conversations. In fact, by definition, that is not a conversation at all if nothing mind-stimulating is given and received. I am not a chummy person. Gossip is okay, high-schoolish, bakla-ish talk is okay, but all these I can only take too much of.
I was never a people-person either even when I was in the Philippines. I never learned how to suck up to aunts or uncles and I had none of that kind of elementary school gimmick where a supposed love team played mother and father to ugly children with dried snot on their uniforms. But I was neither the silent type or an introvert. Let's just say that I am just too aware and conscious of who I am that I am forced to really choose and sort which people I deal and form relationships with.
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For some reason I had also gone through a phase when I attributed the self-inflicted and -realized situation/problem to an obvious reality only I am calling attention to--that I was being isolated because I was brown. Or I was browner than most Asians, that is. In the past I have tried to wax Chinese or Japanese, and actually reveled in comments I get from people who mistake me for such and miss the familiar stoop and the eager smile as if waiting for blessings to rain from above. But now after much thought and deliberation, and since being in the land of milk and honey, I have realized how color should be out of the question. The US has an African-American man in the presidency, DC is 65% or so colored, and the rest is dying to get a tan. I realize how I can no longer hide my skin color, how I cannot disguise it for a lighter shade with glutathione, Ultimate Match fond de teint or whatnot like Vicki Belo patrons do in Manila. I do not want to be like that Filipina girl whom I met on campus and who has erased all signs of her heritage: blond hair and long, stiff, outrageous curls. I now realize how my brownness is really all I have to identify myself amidst the many crowds of indistinguishable, pale and freckled faces.
And I couldn't be any prouder.
PS.
I hope this helps so that my mother wouldn't be too disappointed to see an obese, sunburnt me, coming out of the airport in May 2010.
PPS.
I have friends now, and they help me get by. I love my roommates to death, and I worship my professors. I will probably need more time to be finally comfortable to be hanging out in bigger groups with people and to actually go out and party (like everyone else does), but I will get there soon. Believe me. Now back to my homework and writing.
