Caliber and Illusion

My husband and I woke up earlier than usual and had one of our rare talks--the ones we used to have in Manila, where we just talk and talk and not judge.

I have been burning out lately, mostly from trying to balance being a school bus driver, tutor, and referee to my elementary kids and then running off to interview someone/s for the newspaper, beating a deadline, and then running to Walmart, to get materials for the collage of my 6th grade son, due on Monday. I have been burning out the other end by waiting on and coaching my (once rich-man) husband on the ethics of hard-work, focus, and perseverance.

In the meantime, we are tight with the budget and therefore, tight with time, because I keep accepting assignments for the money, not really knowing where to find time to write them.

I told my husband I miss our old lifestyle in Manila. When we were stressed, we could go to Rockwell and watch a movie and then have coffee--never feeling guilty about leaving the kids. In Manila, we could eat out often, in new restaurants, in fancy restaurants, hang out at hotel lobbies, hotel dinner buffets for $20.

I could go to the salon, have a manicure and pedicure spa, have a hip haircut with highlights and feel better about myself. I called on our ever-faithful masseuse and when I got lucky, she would bleach my underarms and wax my eyebrows as well.

What I miss most is hanging out with my friends and my big supportive family. They gave me a predictable routine of just validating that life has its ups and downs and everyone went through it. Very important pala yung Sunday lunches that we spent with either families. Here in America, the land of opportunity, you are lucky to have 1.2 friends on the average (not counting spouse or family). And my one and only friend,N, is busy with management seminars and climbing up his career ladder because he still has to save for his retirement lot in Tagaytay.

I miss my friends who like to go out, even with 50 pesos amongst us. I miss my cousins who like to drink in joy and in sorrow. (Although many of us don't drink nor smoke anymore). I miss my high school friends who just come and pick me up to eat out for no reason at all. I miss my friends who can afford to go to Hong Kong for the week-end. I miss the "Hello, mam/sir" greeting that you get from everyone who is always smiling. I miss that no matter how poor I was, there is something to affordable in Divisoria and Tutuban.

My friends and I used to plan a monthly lunch, where we take off for the whole afternoon, leaving our business-we-put-up-from scratch in the hands of our trusted assistants and sewers. We shared our woes and joys (in sales figures) in business, in family, in our marriages--some turbulent, some failing, the other one, quite good after all these years. We'd release our gripes over a long lunch (with dessert!) and then we would go on to watch the newest movie in the nicest movie house. We would always thank God for how lucky we were to have our own time and money.

I keep saying movies because watching a movie seems to be a lifeline to me . It's different in the movie house, where you can't hit the pause button and where you can laugh and cry anytime you want. I can watch movies alone and come out refreshed--and I don't even have the time nor the money to see Atonement, 6 weeks in the running. If I do, I have to watch it before 6 p.m., without popcorn or drinks that easily cost $15. Buti nalang I don't like popcorn.

"Why don't you make other friends?" asked my husband.

Unlike him, I am very particular about making friends. Coming from a big clan of about 30 cousins who are all like siblings, we know why we only trust each other, and very few other people. I am a loyal friend, and I give my all to my friends. So I can't just make new friends. Besides, friendship takes time and things in common--and we don't have much of that for hanging out as immigrants.

I realized that immigrants come from very different backgrounds. And though we are essentially the same as Filipinos, it is hard to find someone you have things in common with. Maybe I am looking for the same-caliber friends as in Manila. The ones who went to the same league of schools, the ones who grew up in Manila (versus the province). Not that I have anything against people from the province. People from the province who went to so-called public schools in the Philippines are way wealthier than us today. (Heck, they own 3 houses at a time). Our own kids go to public schools now. And we live in the equivalent of Pampanga right now.

So it's not about who has more money now. It's just that these commonalities should run through a friendship for it to work.

My mom said, "You may be poor, but you have the elan."
I said, "Mom, I will gladly sell my pedigree and style for all that cash!"

I miss the caliber of our Manila life. But my husband cautions me that this Manila caliber is an illusion. And I realize that though that may be true, I still miss it. I miss that when we are sick, we can go to one of our colleague doctors and confine ourselves in Makati Med. Here, we go to a mobile clinic because we have no insurance. In Manila, I play badminton with good cosmetic dentist to TV stars. She will try to save even my ugliest tooth and make my smile beautiful. Here, we go to Western Dental, where they are always eager to fit you for dentures.

Here all the rich Pinoys drive their newest S-class or C-class Mercedez Benzes. I never liked a Benz for a car, much less to show off. I realize that I didn't like it because we did not need it to show stature. Well, that was when we had stature. Here we have none. And when my badminton-mate picked me up from the train station in her Benz, all of a sudden I felt poor.

Although I kept taking it for granted, I realized that we have come from a privileged life in Manila. We may not have been super rich but we had stature, pedigree, and a good name, address, and a place in society. No matter how denied that, it is apparent to me now--and I should embrace it and work towards it, never to take it for granted again.

Dad R and daughter M all bundled up inside the house.

I have never judged a person by his wallet. But then that was because I was privileged. Let me say, it matters when we are poor and can't turn the heater on during winter. It was frustrating not be able to change our cracked car windshield for 8 months. And it matters when you are a nobody here and treated like one.