Parting with my good old work bag

My mom calls it "dusdusin" (unkempt and scraggy-looking). She refers to my good, old, reliable work bag I bought for $9. I love it because I never have to worry about it. I can sling it around my body like a messenger bag, keeping both my hands free to write and take pictures.

The problem is, my bag is really beige as a base. Even if it's kinda photogenic, look, it has turned gray. Since all my things are in this bag, I sometimes use it as an excuse to wear it elsewhere, sometimes at night, (see fancy dinner in manila when my son took us out to dinner) because it has become too tedious to transfer all my stuff, junk included (receipts, pay envelopes, flyers, the other half of reply slips, etc). My mom and aunt have given me several name brand bags (there's a roomy brown suede orig Coach that i kinda like) but I can't imagine bringing that to work in the field.

Even my aunt and cousin in Manila noticed that I take this bag everywhere. And I say, why not? It's sturdy, the seams are sewn well, only the zipper latch comes off once in a while. It hold all my things nicely and I may have grown attached to it.

They are afraid that it makes me look kawawa (pitiful) and unprofessional. I noticed that it is dirty around the edges. Maybe a good wash will upgrade it.

I found a suitable replacement in Divisoria's 168. I found the cutest Le Sportsac knock-off. I can sling it around my body and shove all my things in there.

So what do you think? Should I get rid of my floral bag or keep it until it is unusable? And why, oh why am i so attached to it?

Mukhang Taga-Manila

I came home to Manila looking older than usual, in my perennial ponytail, keeping my wavy and thick hair under control. I looked at these pictures, taken a couple of days after I came in, taken on my son's birthday, as he took us out to a fancy buffet:

Even my clothes looked old--not what I would usually wear if I were still in Manila. What was I thinking?!

I realized that I looked so different in this latter photo, taken after a rebonding and lots of massages and foot scrubs later:


Can you spot the difference/s? (Same two gorgeous boys, different mom in the middle).

The new hair style and cut made me look and feel several pounds lighter and a couple of years younger. Could it really be?

My cousin saw me after my salon rebonded hair and said my aura was different. Wow, talk about what a good haircut can do. It may take a while before I ponytail my hair ever again!

Well, let's take the good in every situation: It's nice to know that I can look old and chubby and no one really cares in the States. It's also nice that in Manila, there is promise of looking better for very cheap prices.

Here's another amazing make-over: My sis-in-law, S, took advantage of her vacation to run and get color and a good cut at her salon. My cousin, L, threw in the fashionista outfits, complete with beads and bangles. Her friend, M, did the make-up.

"Mukhang taga-Manila na ako!" said S, delighted at the results.






S before the make-over.






S after the make-over. Photo by me. Styling by L and M. Yipee!

Back from Manila

Got back from Manila yesterday and I am still disoriented, waking at 4:17 a.m. today, with nagging hunger pangs that I decide to feed.

I was amazed to find the quiet dawn at our kitchen quite comforting. It is quiet and dark and very cool—a sharp contrast from the blazing 90’s at mid-day.

Jet lag may very well be my inspiration to assess my first trip back to Manila as an immigrant. I found that that whirlwind of a trip was actually defining, validating, and clarifying to me.

At first, I was hesitant to go home to Manila. Me, the reluctant immigrant, who didn’t want to leave the comforts and frills of home to uproot my 5 children. I did not want to leave the household help (one of my aunts now has 10—I can actually enumerate them but suffice it to say that the houseboy has an assistant, there was a yaya who couldn't be a yaya, so now she's a tutor, and 2 of them are “pensionadas,” too old to really work but get their loyalty awards for being with the family for many years), the support of many relatives and solid friendships, the long-drawn out lunches with my girlfriends, threshing out our life’s purpose and some gossip, the thriving men’s wear business I built from scratch, the cozy community we lived in had a pool and a salon downstairs. Oh, the salons in Manila—complete with the masahistas for home service, Lani, our ever-loyal one, still charges roughly $7 for one hour to sawa (when the cheapest massage you can get in the States is $60 an hour). Aside from healing massage, she now does bleaching, waxing, and my current favorite, eyebrow threading. I cannot explain to you the lift that eyebrow threading gives to my psyche, as my eyes look lifted and the signs of USA fatigue are threaded away.

What goes around comes around. From converting pesos to US dollars when we got to America, we couldn’t even splurge at the local McDonald’s. Now, I join the many overseas workers and expats in the pleasure of multiplying US dollars times 46 to get unbelievable extended value for my hard-earned money. Shopping in Tutuban and 168 has been given new heights, and strolling in the Mall of Asia has been quite exhilarating, specially because we were able to watch Bourne Ultimatum in the big screen for about $3!









Only in the Philippines can we find ourselves having lunch at their Dampa (fresh sea food picked and cooked while-you-wait) version, then pondered on what movie to watch, considering Razon’s halo-halo or coffee after the movie. Never nagyayari sa US of A ang mga ganito, because, though there may be lots of money to be made, there is never enough time to hang around.








So when my fellow balikbayan brother and sister-in-law got home from our Mall of Asia field trip, we dropped in the neighborhood salon for waxing and threading. My brother got a home massage because he was sore from badminton the day before. What can beat that?


Coming home as an immigrant means keeping your eyes wide open. Every experience is amplified. I noticed that all my friends have proper haircuts and nary a gray strand showing. Heck, even Lani, the masseuse, goes to her own neighborhood salon for her highlights when she is stressed. (I was probably the only one with gray strands showing in the whole Metro Manila!) At the same time, I wanted to hug everyone who greeted me “hello, ma’m-sir!” even if that was all they seemed to do all day. Walang ganyan sa States, ika nga. What I used to take for granted has become precious—the Sunday lunch reunions, small talk, catching up, buying sampaguita from the streets. I know that we are hospitable and warm as a people but to actually see everyone smiling just because and in spite of, was actually profoundly touching.

Every now and then, there was an urge for me to multi-task on
something and I had to restrain myself, willing myself to relax and just take it slow, while making kukot something to eat and making kuwento.


Traffic in Manila forces us to take it slow because there is no choice. What with the rains and floods, my brother spent 3 hours getting from Sucat to Pasay. He almost got culture-shocked out of his wits. For a few inches and a half, fellow drivers will ram their hood into small spaces with nowhere to go. We also forgot that pedestrian lanes don’t count and couldn’t slow down for crossing citizens.

I had to turn down a couple of lunch engagements that begged to become merienda sessions because I wanted to get a massage. My friends have been very understanding. They know that I did not have the stamina for socials as I did not have my own car to drive anymore and my emotional and physical batteries needed recharging with alone time and only quality bonding, with my tita and Lani, working on the dead skin on my feet:



At any given time, there is a beautician--manicurist, hairstylist, waxer and bleacher, and masseuse--in my tita's house:



It was time to go, time to pack. The first trip back to Manila has been interesting. My brother was itching to get back to New Jersey, two days after he got in. He said he expected more from this first trip back. I was surprised that I was quite ready to get back to California, too. I missed my kids and my husband.

I realized that in spite of all the frills of Manila, home is where my kids laugh, where my husband awaits, where I worry by the porch for my boys to come in from school or work, where my girls fill the fridge with the prettiest drawings of princesses that look like me. Home is where your real bed and sheets and towels are, where your garden grows, where you know the grocery aisles by heart, and where you know what the prevailing price of gasoline is.



And here I am, back in the kitchen table, waiting for them to awake. I think that though life in the States is difficult, we have made the right decision. We do things as a family and our precious free time, we spend together. My hair may have no highlights, but the highlight of my day is spent with my family. We rarely watch movies in the theater and we hardly eat out, so we rent movies from Blockbuster and buy tons of microwave popcorn and watch together.

My older boys are poised for University and Film Academy soon. That in itself makes all the sacrifices worth it. What with tuition fees in Manila running to one hundred thousand apiece, my younger kids get to go for free in our efficient California public schools.

As my brother said, sanayan lang. Give us two years in any place in the world and the challenge is to adjust with what we have at hand. I think migrating has given us character and resiliency—very precious gifts, just as hard-earned as the US dollar.

I have to run now, because the sprinkler system has turned on and my newspaper will be soaked if I don’t fetch it.