365 days

Hard to believe that a year ago I arrived, partly because of some crazy idealistic notion that I could make a difference, partly out of a relentless case of attention deficit disorder, partly out of fear that the days of my life were becoming redundant and felt culturally marginalized. So here I am. One year. 365 days. Damn.
I was struck initially by how westernized this country was, or at least appeared to be. People that pass briefly through the Philippines might also notice this and assume this place is movin on up. But scratching beneath the surface, I have found that the initial impression of western strides are just that: impressions. They have the western clothes(jeans, t-shirts with logos), the big malls, the music (they are a couple decades behind on the music, but who doesn't love Air Supply?), the TV shows, etc. But it ends there. The poor education system, the corrupt government (on nearly every level), the antiquated superstitions and beliefs (I've seen my share of channeling and exorcisms), the joke of a judicial system...I could go on. Just as Filipinos who watch Baywatch and Mtv think they know what life is like in the States, I thought I had this place figured out pretty early on. It's like the old adage goes: the more you learn, the more you realize you don't know. I grow continually perplexed by what my role is/should be here.
PC prides itself on their volunteers being fully integrated into their local community. I live like they do...shop at the palengke with them, walk with them, eat with them, gossip with them, sing videoke with them. But make no mistake, I am not one of them. They know it and I know it. I live here, but I am a foreigner - middle class, white, and protected by my heredity, whether I like it or not. The guilt I feel knowing my Nikes could feed a family for a few months or that my North Face backpack could clothe an entire Aida village eats away at me, makes me feel like a schmuck, and oftentimes transcends the feelings of pride I have that I am here doing the most worthwhile work I have ever done. A couple days ago I told my coworkers that I would be going back to the States in July for a vacation. They (of course) asked how much my plane ticket would be. "About $1200", replied the schmuck. My supervisor told me that could pay off her mortgage. My coworker told me it could pay off all of her father's hospital bills.
It's taken all year for me to learn how to navigate through this guilt. The only way I can figure to use it constructively is to channel it into my work. Get that grant, teach those Life Skills, help with those livelihood projects... But it never feels like enough. We go home in 2 years time and there will always be that one person you couldn't reach, or that one project you couldn't complete.
So it's been a year but I'm not yet half way though my service. This scares the shit out of me. It's also comforting because it makes me feel like I've got plenty of time left to figure out how to leave here without all these feelings of guilt that I could have done more for the people who have irrevocably changed my life.

bike & hike

In an effort to train for the triathlon i am planning to do when i go home for 3 weeks in July, I recruited my friends Kate and Pat for what i thought was a great idea: bike from Nueva Ecija, a neighboring province where they live about 80 km away, to my house, hike Mt Arayat, then bike back to Nueva Ecija. Sounds like the perfect weekend adventure, di ba? Kate pretty much laughed in my face, (smart girl) and said no way to the biking but she was in for the hike. Pat agreed. So, they arrived on Friday, Pat sweaty and cursing Filipino drivers, Kate also sweaty since she wasnt able to get an air conditioned bus. Summer is upon us. In the Philippines, March through May are the summer months. In June, typhoon season begins. So the sweating begins early in the morning, and until sundown, you are looking for shade, fanning yourself, or taking a bath to cool off. Our friend Josh, who also lives in Magalang with me, joined us early Saturday morning to hike Mt. Arayat. Arayat is the mountain in my backyard. It was a very vertical hike (no switchbacks), but beautiful. Did i mention how hot it was? Right. So we finish the hike in about 5 hours, stop at Josh's host family's house for a quick lunch, and Pat and I jump on our bikes, legs already shaking. Whose idea was this, anyway? Kate and Pat live on the other side of Mt. Arayat, and then north of it. So the beginning of the ride, next to Arayat, was scenic and relaxing. Very few buses, jeepneys, trikes, cars, and obnoxious Filipinos screaming "hey joe!". But then we hit Cabiao, and it all went downhill. Getting run off the road. Buses belching their black exhaust in our faces as they tear past us, narrowly missing us and sending us flying. Highways are only 2 lanes here (i use the term "lanes" VERY loosely) and there is no divider, which means everyone is an equal-opportunity passer. Pat was ahead of me so I saw firsthand several too-close-for-comfort- moments where he was almost hit head on by idiots passing. There is nothing scarier than a Filipino driver. I dont know why i thought it would be an good idea to be on the road with them for an entire afternoon. But we pushed on, making it to their house just as it was getting dark (headlights on cars? what?) in a little over 4 hours. Kate, dutiful wife and friend that she is, had a big pasta dinner and mango margaritas ready and waiting. We spent Sunday relaxing and trying to move as little as possible. I'm pretty sure this hike and bike adventure is not going to become a regular thing... ( and now i have to ride my bike home alone tomorrow. ugh.)