summer aftershocks

If anybody from UP is reading this (and no, Tichang, in case binabasa mo 'to, you're not counted) I'd like to apologize for my kasabawan this week. Granted, yeah, I've always been a bit off my rocker, but these past few days I've been... something short of crazy. I have a theory regarding this weird phenomenon:

During the summer, I was stuck in a house in a foreign country, barely going out, having nothing to do. I literally was unproductive, an even bigger shame than being unemployed. I could argue with myself and say I'm unproductive at home (in CDO) too, but the thing is, I'm not. Er... complicated, yeah? Thing is, if I were at home, even without my laptop to write with, I could have bought several books and DVD's and drowned in them all. I could have gone out with friends, bullied Mac til he attended the k-oke session at my house, maybe even bonded with the cousins over lunch shifts at Saimato. But noooo, I was in Israel, turning what promised to be an exciting new adventure into a boring period of isolation.

Over the summer, I realized I wanted company. I needed friends. As much as I love my Auntie Fely, my mum, and my father, I really needed, wanted people my own age. All I had to vent my feelings on were the Nat Geo Adventure channel - which later disappeared from our cable TV because we didn't pay for it - and my mother's numerous romance novels. Given these circumstances, I guess it's understandable how I returned to UP obnoxious, excitable, bossy and perpetually hyper, when in the past, I sought silent refuge in Lavinia the Laptop.

I will fix this. I will shut up next week, promise.

swimming lessons

My mother is fond of recalling that I once wanted to become a fish. As a kid, I was a beach bum, and once, I even developed a fever because I stayed too long under the oppressive Philippine sun. A decade and a few years later, however, here I am, afraid of even stepping into large bodies of water because my legs are scarred and chapped owing to all my depilatory cream experiments, and I'm still suffering a horrible case of bacne. Puberty was rougher on me than on most kids, and I can't remember the last time I went to the beach - blame it on my constantly rebonded "delicate" hair. So I guess today's swimming trip was the long-awaited break from my hiatus, eh?

After a trip to Masada earlier this morning, my family and I - along with some rowdy friends of my mum's - trooped to the Dead Sea to fulfill my father's wish of floating there just for the heck of it. To be honest, I've seen better; nothing beats Camiguin's White Island. I still had fun though, mainly because the adults I was with were whacko. Here's proof of how much I enjoyed myself:

As much as I enjoyed floating around though (I can't swim, so it was nice to pretend like I could) I found myself wishing the people around me had a great time, too. I'm not talking about my cohorts - 'cause they were busy sowing disaster in the beach for fun just as I was. Twas the locals and the other tourists I was worried about. It seemed to me that swimming in the Dead Sea was, for them, nothing spectacular. And maybe it's not as breathtaking as say, foiling a terrorist attack just in the nick of time, but really! They were just floating around with emotionless masks for faces! Not one genuinely happy smile!

My assessment is that the Israelis think of the beach as a place for sunbathing, socializing, and introducing one's beloved dog to seawater. They don't think of it as a place to relax, a place to have fun, a place to laugh, to make noise, to let go of all inhibitions and to just be. I never really liked noisy people, and there were even times I detested OFW's for talking loudly everywhere. But seeing these foreigners walking around looking as if there's nothing more to life than getting some passable tan lines, I'm happy I'm a citizen of beach nation. I'm happy to be Filipino.

the bored and the ornery

That's the name of a certain Maiko (MaixZuko) community on fanfiction.net. Right now, I really want to read through the fics they've archived, but I can't. Because the nearest, decent internet cafe from our flat charges 20 shekels per 1.5 hours. That's 200+ pesos devoted solely to Facebook and keeping FnQ together - a vain attempt.

Life in Israel is actually pretty swell. Gorgeous people - seriously. Tel Aviv is like a scene out of Europe, not the Middle East. Walking to the net cafe I'm at right now, one passes through more clothes-boutiques than all other shops combined. At least that's what it seems like. Also, every woman who flits past is decked in what would seem in the Philippines like fitting nightlife wear. I don't mean promiscuous, or Gossip Girl-worthy, just... so fashionable it's slightly surreal.

I am in constant danger of being run over by bikes, of getting sniffed by dogs - both of which are abundant in the streets of Tel Aviv. The people from the building next door have a balcony overlooking our bathroom - and I didn't notice that until two weeks after I got here, spending more than 30 minutes on my daily showers-cum-meditation sessions. I am desperate for Nissin Cup Noodles, Fuji apples and seafood. There is an excess of what Auntie Fely calls pita bread, but really, I never liked bread.

Israel is beautiful. It really is. But I've yet to see more of it. So far, my favorite out of all the places I've been to with my family that one day we actually went out for sightseeing is Mount Tabor, where the disciples sought refuge after the death of Jesus Christ. I truly wish I could properly describe the feeling of driving up that mountain in a narrow, two-lane street. The whole time I was thinking the car would fly off the mountain and crash hundreds of meters in the city below.

I am not thinking straight. Seriously. Maybe, just maybe, I am bored and ornery due to my own lack of initiative to find something interesting to do with my summer. I am looking forward to more of Israel, and although I always argue with my family, I sincerely love them to bits and do not mind living under the same roof as them. But I know that our living situation (wake up at 10, sleep at 12, eat, bathe, watch TV in between) is not helping my sanity. I am going insane here. Almost.

PS. I used to think Tel Aviv was the capital of Israel. Actually, it's not. It's Jerusalem.

Wanderlust

When Mac found out that I had been to Hong Kong (a fact which I’m sure he knew before but forgot over time), his initial statement was: “I envy your travelful life.” To which I really wanted to reply, “I haven’t even been anywhere! There are so many places I still have to, want to, definitely will visit! Venice, Prague and Nepal – they’re all waiting for me!” But, of course, I didn’t tell him that. He’s never been out of the country so he’ll probably just text a cynical, slightly acidic, “Hahaha, funny” back to me.

And yes, I know there are other more important things than giving Filipinos the opportunity to travel for leisure – things like job opportunities and better public health care and a competent educational system – but is it so wrong to wish that my countrymen experience the one privilege I hold most dear? (Right next to having my education subsidized by the government, of course.) I want Filipinos to travel. I want Filipinos to realize there is more to the world than this country we live in. I mean, the Philippines is undeniably beautiful, but I think all of us (not just Filipinos) need to explore the rest of the planet – to see how people of a different culture live, to observe their ways, and to learn from one’s observations.

I have to disqualify some things though: 1) I do not consider trips to the US as part of “travel”; and, 2) One really has to inhabit that place for a while, none of this one-night in the airport “connecting flight” crap.

Why Number 1? In the case of the average Filipino (and yeah, I guess I’m a bit biased because I’m basing this on myself) the American culture probably isn’t very culture shock-worthy. Just think. We speak English as well as we speak our native language, we watch American sitcoms, read American novels, listen to American music. If there’s one thing that might shock Filipinos who go to America, it might be the efficiency of things, the fluidity of daily operations like shopping for groceries or whatever.

And Number 2? It’s counted because I don’t think any person can develop a clear idea of what a different country is like unless s/he lives in it, among its people, bound by its rules and customs for a certain period of time. Staying in Hong Kong for a total of almost one year, I’ve learned a lot of things about the Cantonese. Like the fact that they don’t let kids in their Horse-Race Betting Office and the fact that they also sell pirated CD’s and the fact that they’re addicted to shark’s fin soup and the fact that their wedding photos are shot in mall rooftop gardens, sometimes with brides wearing sneakers under their wedding gowns, etc. I’ve learned so much, even during the time when I wasn’t allowed to go out of the apartment because of the SARS alert. All I had to do was turn on the TV and watch anime and the home shopping network in Cantonese, and at noon, I’d stick my head out the kitchen window and watch the kids from a nearby school walk by in neat lines, just like characters out of the anime shows I love watching so much. Also, when I wasn’t out exploring the city with my dad (often ending up wondering where the public toilets were, given that my father, at that time, already had a very temperamental bladder) I was inspecting a book-map of Hong Kong, tracing the churches and the schools, and coming up with little stories as I strolled along the roads with my imagination.

I wish Mac had experienced all that. I think it’s pretty useless studying International Studies if you don’t go out there to see all the things you’re learning about in class. If I had money, I would send him to South Korea. Then, maybe, he can get Kim Bum’s autograph, and have a life-long high or something.