Finding My Place In Limbo

I hate summers. The temperature here in Las Vegas can reach a scorching 115 degrees Fahrenheit with 13% humidity. Nevada is sucking my youth away right before my very eyes as I am mummified by the arid heat of the desert. I absolutely hate it. But I don't know any other place that I can call home. In fact, while I do have a "home" in the sense that my family is my "home", in the deepest, most secret places of my heart, I don't know where my home is. I mean, I'm not an American.

I wasn't born nor raised in the USA. I don't sound "American" though I would consider myself not just fluent in the language but quite articulate. And I would consider myself well entrenched in all things American--humor, music, politics or pop culture. And officially, I am an American citizen because I believe in participating in the great democracy and freedom that this great nation gifts its citizens. And yet, I don't feel American. America doesn't feel home to me.

On the other hand, I was born and raised in the Philippines. I love my culture. I speak the language. I eat like one. I swear like one. And yet, I feel like a stranger when I am there. I long for the Philippines of my youth from the 60s to the mid-70s.

I long for those days when you could still hear the frogs croaking at dusk as I took my afternoon walks on the street and when there were few vehicles on the road to even worry about smog or dust. I long for the clear brooks and streams of the Bulacan of my youth when one can see shrimp and fishes in rainbow colors right from the banks...or when we can climb a santol or chico tree and eat their succulent flesh without worrying about the filth.

I want to hear the man yelling "puto! kutchinta!" thus heralding the sunrise...or the old lady in a tapis and a huge clay pot (palayok) on a circular base (dikin) yelling "guinataan!" How about the old Chinese man who yells "taho!" or the young boy selling "balut!" "penoy!"--all signaling the start of merienda, the afternoon snack.

I loved those many afternoons and evenings when friends would just drop by unannounced to eat and talk or make music with their guitars, harmonicas and while my father played the piano. So many wonderful moments all gone. The last time I went home in 2000, I felt lost in the unbelievable traffic, dust, soot and smog of the streets of Manila. And that's just the beginning.

My Manila, my neighorhood, my beautiful Bulacan....they're gone now. And I find myself a complete stranger in a strange land that I no longer know or recognize.

So I am now a Nevadan. Nearly 20 years. A desert suburbanite. I lock my doors at all times. I have a security system. I live in a gated community. My house is temperature controlled at 77 degrees F. My visitors have to be buzzed in. I don't remember ever having a friend just "drop by" to have a snack and to pass away the afternoon. . .or to even nap on the chair next to me just to gain enough rest to still be around for dinner. I "lunch" with friends now. Two hours tops and it's over for another week or month. I have cold cereal for breakfast. And I have no maids or chauffeurs and worst of all, no laundry lady. Egads. All those roles are mine now.

I speak English 24/7. My husband is a Caucasian who does not speak my language. One of my two sons married a beautiful Caucasian girl. My first grandchild carries only a quarter of my race. Her eyes may be blue.... No one will recognize her as a Filipino. My blood will have been diluted a fourth of its power. None of my four children speak Tagalog. But I speak American perfectly. I have to confess that there are times when I NEED to speak the mother tongue to someone who is close to me. I sometimes wish that my husband can use Tagalog endearments to show his affection. But even if he does, it will not sound genuine because he will NEVER speak it the way I speak his language. That disparity sometimes annoys me. And sometimes, it saddens me.

One day, I was jarred ever so strongly by the realization that on my deathbed, I will speak another language that is not my own....if I want the people who matter to me to understand my dying words. Such a travesty. And so I find myself in between worlds...neither fitting here nor there. And though no one will know this because on the surface, I integrate very well, deep inside there is a definite longing for a country that exists only in my memories.

An Exercise In Control

I am an artist. I cannot imagine my life devoid of the opportunity to employ various mechanisms and vehicles to express myself. I am also temperamental. At times, I can be insufferable. For sure, I am opinionated. To make matters worse, I am seemingly confident. And that's my double-edged sword. At times, I'm not sure if my seeming confidence is actually Fear trying to protect myself from perceived dangers---a residual reaction of a honed instinct perfected from years of trying to protect the helpless child in me that suffered from predators and abusers. At times, I think that that confidence really IS confidence; the result of my quest to find enlightenment and wisdom in the darkness and desperation of a childhood full of strife and challenges. Nevertheless, its that perceived confidence that has confused, misunderstood and misguided many into forming an accurate idea and impression of who I really am. When others finally figure me out, it's always a revelation---an unexpected discovery that I am, after all, simple and easy to figure out. Not only that. People actually are surprised that I am a nice person. 


Sometimes, I am an easy fodder for those who perceive me as a confident, resourceful person. For them, it is easier to hate me than to accept me. For years, I wanted acceptance and love from people. I thought I found that when I got married and began a new life in a new place and setting. But that was not to be. Instead, for years, I have been one of two favorite targets for gossip and back-stabbing. One of the members of the "let's-put-her-in-her-place" club once told me, after nearly 10 years of "leadership" in the quest to make me look bad and therefore "unlovable", that all she wanted to do was "put one over me" because she was jealous of how everybody in the family loved me. That was her perception when she first met me. And she was determined to change that. 


After nearly two decades, I can definitely state that her quest to subvert and taint my standing in my new family has been very successful. Her efforts made for interesting holiday get-togethers---the kind where you walk in and you know you've been the topic of conversation while you were gone---and usually ended where, on the drive home, you suddenly realize that you've been put-down several times but didn't quite make the connection until miles later. Her methodology is insidious because of her subtlety...and because it took years of chipping and erosion through "gossip" and innuendos. Her loud and attention-demanding personality seemed to charm everybody and in due time, she was won everybody over. Before long, members of the family began to see and interpret the way I behave in ways that are so diametrically opposed to my motivations...yet strangely believable, thanks to her consistency. Consequently, for many of those years, I began to unravel to the point where I felt depressed, unappreciated and misunderstood. I used to have panic attacks whenever the prospect of having to be with them came up. I was a mess. My saving grace was being married to the most wonderful man in the world. In the end, it became apparent that the best move for us was distance. I no longer felt the need to try to belong. 


But then, about five years ago, I made a connection. The reason for my challenges was simple: I was desperate because I wanted people I loved to love me back... and I felt powerless because I could not control the forces (or people) whose habit and pastime was to make me look bad by gossip, intrigue and one-sided competition. Control is such an under-appreciated force. We want to make sure others comport themselves in ways that we expect. We want our husbands to be more loving. We want our children to be more ambitious.. . or we want them to love each other. We want our teachers to make us their teacher's pet. We want our boss to appreciate and complement us---perhaps pay us more. We want the world to move and turn in the direction that will give us the best advantage. Sometimes, we want to save others. And often, we just want others to like us...and like us VERY much. So we live our lives often with the intent to improve our husbands so they can become the men they're supposed to be. Or we live our lives solely to make sure no one will hate us or that others will like us. We just want to change the world around us to suit our needs and wants. Therein lies the hook. 


The reality is, we have absolutely NO control over the things around us. Sure, we can manipulate people, gossip about others so that we can control how others feel about the people who threaten us. Or we can threaten or cajole others to do what we want them to do. But in doing so, we pay a hefty price and set ourselves up to fail or to a life of disappointment and/or unhappiness. The truth is, the only person we can control is ourselves. And if we want the world around us to change, we need only change ourselves. Having realized this, I began to connect the dots. Everyday has been an experiment in control. Last week, I decided to control the way I see others. My goal: to be a cheerful, happy person. My methodology: to smile at three strangers, to strike a friendly conversation with three strangers and to compliment three people. What a revelation! I won't go into the wonderful details of my experiment but I will say that the results were astounding! Now, a week later, I am more sensitive to the world around me and what I can contribute to the 'force' of the day with my attitude, my decisions and my goals. The trick is, make your goals specific and simple enough to invite success. My experiment is still in the infant stage and the changes I aim to make are mere baby-steps but I am beginning to feel a difference.