Lost in World Market

Running out to do my errands and pay the bills, I was sidetracked and entered World Market in Brentwood yesterday. I have always passed World Market but I have not ventured in and Saturday after Thanksgiving seemed like a good time.

I was filled with excitement and wonder as I passed the first aisle, floor to ceiling-filled with art, prints, and framed work--from oil prints, to cloth cut-outs, to Asian inspired prints, to mirrors, to calligraphy-painting. I had to remind myself to keep my jaws closed as I browsed what I wished could adorn our white walls at home:




Soon, I was lost in the throw pillow section--where an array of all colors, textures and sizes and print were stacked in the tall shelves. There were floral ones, sequined ones, patchwork, and fine cotton--everything you need to make your couches and beds prettier and cozier:




I saw this colored capiz curtain for $34 and I wished it for my small patio corner for the summer.




The exotic Indian, African, and Asian bags and accessories reminded me of Virra Mall but in a most expensive way.



Leave it to the USA for a full spectrum of Christmas decors--from folk art, to ornate enough to wear as jewelry. These cost between $2 to 4 dollars, and at that time, buy one, get one free.




I found furniture that I quickly put on my wish list. If I had all the money in the world, I would buy this, this and this:







I spent an hour lost at World Market and came out unscathed. I bought a Pandan organizer for $14 to add to my Asian-themed desk collection and because I knew I couldn't buy the headboard for our bed. I knew I had to walk away soon. But I know I will be back even sooner.

Visit World Market and find out the many possibilities. . .

Immigrants Change

I used to wonder why balikbayans are louder, more outspoken, don't care if they look fat in their black spandex halters, and wear funny caps, big hair, and big jewelry while visiting Manila. I wondered how they could voice out their complains when they don't like the service or the food in the bistros of even Podium, or why they kept speaking with an American worsh-worsh accent even if it was just us.

Confident of how I spoke English, I made a conscious effort not to speak with a slang when we migrated. With Koreans serving the counter of Popeyes Fried Chicken in San Francisco, and Latinos manning the drive-thrus of all McDonalds outlets here, their broken English with who-knows-what kind of accent was confusing: ("Wu you like fren frai?") We had to have the whole conversation again: "Would you like french fries with that?" or "Was that small frai or small Sprite?" GRR. . .

Then you come across the African-American English--the one that represents American English to the world, with "Yo, man dude," "Fitty-cent, (no second f, mom)", "I ain't no ho', nigga" (for whore, of course!), "Wuz d' matter with yo mama?" way of talking. It may be English, but it doesn't sound quite right. . .(There is a movement to eradicate woman-bashing and bad words in black music). Now I know why many are anxious around most black teens, they talk so loud, as in always. People look at them to shush in BART, in the bus, in the streets (where they walk in the middle, not in the sidewalk--but staring never bothers them and honking your horn at them while they walk the middle of the streets will get you into a fist fight).

It's been 2 and a half years of adjusting to in-your-face American culture. They say what they think, as they think it. Sometimes, that is why they seem to talk to much--they don't leave things unsaid. They just speak the words as they think it even if it is redundant, I just did it, did you see? Think of a conversation here as an uncensored first draft.

Even if I know my grammar and diction is acceptable, I have conceded to speaking with a twang, just for the sake of simplicity and to save time. This way, I don't have to repeat myself. Finance is fai-nance and withdrawal is withdrawl (only 2 syllables, and attention is attn-syun (the a is almost silent) here and that's that.

Everyone asks "Hello, how are you today?" As in everyone. And the common response is "I'm good, how are you?" which gives the other his 3 minute-litany to actually tell you stuff that Filipino culture may not divulge to strangers, like "I am having surgery next week for my back that has been given me pain for the last 2 years. . ." while stuffing your groceries in your reusable bags. And I don't know what to say to that because it's too heavy to get into sincere empathy mode.

So as the sensitive and secretive and seemingly shy Filipino that I am, I now kinda talk more than I want do, with a twang, only to Americans. I still don't complain much, but my husband does. (We even got a free meal once, because he said the soup was cold--not intentionally!).

I found myself standing up to a man in road rage and then crying in the street corner. I engaged in a check-out line fight, with a woman who told me to talk to her hand. I called her a pig, among other things. These things, I would not ever have to do in Manila. But now, who knows?

So many women beyond 250 pounds wear tank tops and shorts every time. I am petite and feel that all my fat is in my arms and hesitate to wear even a sleeveless top. Teka, kung sila, kaya nila, kaya ko rin. So when you see me in Podium, wearing a black spandex halter, with some back fat and bilbil sticking out, you'll know where the confidence is coming from.

These are things I wasn't in Manila. But then I saw on Pinoy TV a movement that stressed Maria Clara is dead and they are evaluating her virtues of mahinhin and secretive. She also committed suicide, they said. Not a good thing to idolize. (Sabagay, what would you do if the friar was coming to rape you? Well, hit him in the head with a lamp, is one. Kick him in the balls, another).

At the end of the day, we are still finding our way through the many changes in our lives. Culturally or not, it's really about who you are, as a people, and ultimately, as a person.

I know that Filipinos can withstand pagtitiis but will fight back to the death when truly insulted. And I know that though they are always smiling, they are easily offended by loud and unsensitive remarks. Immigrants have morphed into not taking things so personally. They also learn to talk a decibel higher, so as not to be drowned in the sea of bigger voices.

Let's see what other changes will happen. . .

Nail Salon and Foot Spa

I interviewed Natural Nails owner Ming Nguyen for an article. Her salon is state-of-the-art, with no-pipe foot spas and massage chairs. Salts, scrubs, masks, and butters pamper your feet in aromatherapy fragrances like mango, peppermint, vanilla, milk and honey.

I was salivating already during the interview as my feet were longing for a foot spa and pedicure, when she took out cases of nail design. My cuticles kinda stood up like goosebumps and looked at the florals, crystals and stickers, set on perfect French manicured peds. I had to close my wide-opened mouth and snap myself out of my hallucinations of the times when my fingernails were just as buffed, shaped, and polished with frosted pastels complete with topcoat.





My friend, J, told me that she cried with her first manicure in New York. I can so understand exactly why.

On my third year here in the States, $14 for a spa manicure seems not be so daunting anymore. In fact, it seems small for massaging my feet and legs with salts and butters as that kind of papmering goes straight to the soul.

I can feel my fingers leading the way to that massage chair and foot spa too--very soon. $36-dollar, 45 minute foot spa? Perhaps on my birthday? Maybe tomorrow. Rest, assured, within this lifetime.

And if tears roll down my eyes, too, you can be sure, they will be tears of joy. I would then have joined the ranks of those who treat themselves to pleasures like these, because we now know we deserve it.

Simple Abundance

No trumpet sounds are made when the important decisions of our life are made

-Agnes de Mille

Let me quote from
Simple Abundance by Sarah Ban Breathnach--a hit of a book that has changed the way we think about our blessings has found its way into my hands and heart. I picked it up in a library sale for a dollar. The Universe knows that I would not have bought it for $12., when it was hot a few years ago. But books have a way of finding you at the right place and time. Books can be divine messengers, specially for me, who looks for signs everywhere, including billboard signs and magazines.

This book and her sister sequel
Something More , have been my mentors for the past weeks when I had to adjust to a new life away from my husband who is seeking work elsewhere.

Immediately I made an inventory of my life's assets: my health, a wonderful husband, a beautiful and happy daughter, our home. . .There's always plenty of good food and wine in the pantry. We are also blessed with many wonderful friends who care deeply about us and share our lives.

When I looked at my life's ledger, I realized I was a very rich woman. What I was experiencing was merely a temporary cash flow problem. Finally, I came to an inner awareness that my personal net worth could not possible be determined by the size of my checking account. Neither can be yours.