Bitch

I'm a bitch, yes i am.

Taxi Conversations : A refugee of the genocide

* This is not a political piece. I just wanted to write about a cab driver's story, someone i met 3 years back, who has earned my respect and admiration.*

It was a rainy morning in Arlington in April 2010, and we decided to take a cab, instead of the Metro. It was a good 15 minutes walk from where we were to the nearest train station. We were just glad to have found a cab who was willing to take us to downtown DC for a very important meeting.

I was with an Indonesian colleague, and decided to strike up a conversation with the cab driver, who was more than willing to exchange a few stories. He said that traffic is manageable, but can get bad sometimes, and that it's a bit difficult to find a cab from where we were staying. Then he suddenly asked, "You are Asians?". It was actually more of a statement, than a question.

My Indonesian colleague said yes, and i tried to look into his eyes through the rearview mirror. He did not sound Asian, but he definitely had an accent, but i just cannot guess what country he was from. More conversations about our work (as development workers), and after around 15 minutes, we were in front of our office building. He gave us his business card, just in case we wanted a ride going to the airport. We said our goodbyes, and promised to call him the following day, as my Indonesian colleague was about to leave.

Unfortunately, we did not call him, as previous arrangements have been made for my colleague. But i made sure that the following day, the day of my flight back to Manila, that i call this cab driver so he can take me to the airport. I was curious as to where he was from, and wanted to know if his ethnicity is Asian.

On the day of my flight, he picked me up, and as soon as i got into his cab, he told me that Asians have a very different character -- that we honor our word, and we give respect to people. We promised to call him for his services, and we did. If it were other nationalities, he said, they would have just thrown out his business card, and ignored their agreement. This got me more curious. I said that it was nothing, and that for a Filipino like me, word of honor (i told him we call it "palabra de honor", which is actually spanish), is something that we value. His eyes suddenly lit up, and he looked at me, turning his head to actually look into my eyes. He said, "ah yes, i know that Filipinos use a lot of Spanish words, because you were colonized by the Spaniards".

I couldn't help myself anymore. I asked him if he was Asian, and if he has been to the Philippines. He said, "Yes, I am from Cambodia. I have been to Palawan when i became a refugee after the war. I love the Philippines and the Filipinos, because you treated us like human beings." I found out that he lost a lot of relatives and family members during the genocide in Cambodia, after the civil war. He said that only him and his sister survived. But he lost her, as she was transferred to a different refugee camp, while he was initially sent to Thailand. He became quiet for a moment, then said, "I had fun in Palawan, unlike in Thailand. The Filipinos treated me like a brother, like a family." He said that he would like to go back to Palawan. And i told him that he should.

We talked some more, and i found out that he met a US-born Cambodian woman when he arrived in America. They got married, and now they have 2 teen-age kids, a girl, and a boy. I asked him if he plans to go back to Cambodia soon, and his response was a firm, "No! I have no more family there, my family is here in America." He certainly doesn't have a Cambodian accent now, his was more of a Latino accent.

After about 45 minutes, we reached the Dulles International Airport. I got out of his cab, and he helped me with my luggage. As i was paying him, i asked if i could take his photo for souvenir. He smiled, and declined. But he reached out his hand and told me, "My name is George. Thank you for asking me things. My kids never dared to ask me about my past, and i am not sure if they are even interested to know." I was surprised with his words, and i saw deep sadness in his eyes. All i could manage was to say, "They will when they're ready." Then i said goodbye.

I felt sad for George (i wonder what his Cambodian name is), and hoped that he could somehow share his dark past with his children. And i promised to write a blog entry about him. But i couldn't find the perfect timing, and the perfect motivation, not until today.

I visited Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum and the Killing Fields in Phnom Penh a few months after. My heart felt so heavy, especially because i was thinking of George and the family that he lost. I kept on thinking whether his children would someday share his pain by knowing at least about what happened during the genocide.

The genocide museum and the killing fields are now tourist destinations in Cambodia, but i hope the tourists don't forget that there are still a lot of people like George.

Today, I had a sudden urge to write about my conversation with George. I guess it was because a few days back, i had a casual conversation with some high school friends about a play that we produced in high school. It was called "Takas" (to break free), about a Cambodian refugee in Palawan, who developed a deep friendship with a Filipino boy. I don't remember the character names, but i do remember George. And i just hope that he finds genuine peace of mind and stillness of the heart.

Photos of the Killing Fields: https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.391085642806.170604.537402806&type=3

Photos of the Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum: https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150093813267807.272349.537402806&type=3

May 04, 2013, Saturday, My Shoebox

Kiss The Rain

We are under the same sky. #6wordPoetry

My song: Kiss the Rain

04 May 2013, 6:35pm

Saturday, My shoebox

My Valentine

"Pinabayaan mo ako, iniwanan at kinalimutan. Natapakan, nasaktan, at nagasgasan. Pero nandito pa rin ako, at di ka iniwan." -- my phone. (So glad I found it!!!)

10:50pm, 12 Feb 2013, Tues

My Shoebox

Good night, Midge!

Yes, we have to let go sometimes. Good night, Midge!

(Inspired by NCIS)

8:35pm, Tuesday, January 29, my shoebox

Groove

I really need to get my groove back. I need a motivation. But the motivation won't come unless i get my groove back. It's like a vicious circle. Sigh.

My Shoebox

09:35pm, Sunday, Jan 13 2013

Bagong taon

Crossing my fingers. Waiting to exhale.

When Love Arrives

“I knew exactly what love looked like. ..In seventh grade. Even though I hadn’t met love yet, if love had wandered into my home room, I would’ve recognized him at first glance. Love wore a hemp necklace. I would’ve recognized her at first glance. Love wore a tight french braid. Love played acoustic guitar, and knew all my favorite Beatle songs. Love wasn’t afraid to ride the bus with me. And I knew I just must be searching the wrong classrooms, just must be checking the wrong hallways. She was there. I was sure of it. If only I could find him.

But when love finally showed up, she had a bull cut. He wore the same clothes every day for a week. Love hated the bus. Love didn’t know anything about the Beatles. Instead, every time I tried to kiss love, our teeth got in the way. Love became the reason I lied to my parents. “I’m going to.. Ben’s house.” Love had terrible rhythmn on the dance floor, but made sure we never missed a slow song. Love waited by the phone because she knew if her father picked up, it would be ..”Hello? Hello? I guess they hung up.”

And love grew. Stretched like a trampoline. Love changed. Love disappeared. Slowly. Like baby teeth. Losing parts of me I thought I needed. Love vanished like an amateur magician. Everyone could see the trap door but me. Like a flat tire. There were other places I had planned on going, but my plans didn’t matter. Love stayed away for years. And when love finally reappeared, I barely recognized him.

Love smelled different now, had darker eyes, a broader back. Love came with freckles I didn’t recognize. New birth marks, a softer voice. Now there were new sleeping patterns. New favorite books. Love had songs that reminded him of someone else. Songs love didn’t like to listen to. So did I. But we found a park bench that fit us perfectly. We found jokes that make us laugh. And now, love makes me fresh home-made chocolate chip cookies. But love will probably finish most of them for a midnight snack. Love looks great in loungerie, but still likes to wear her retainer. Love is a terrible driver, but a great navigator. Love knows where she’s going, it just might take her two hours longer than she planned. Love is messier now. Not as simple. Love uses the word ‚boobs‘ in front of my parents. Love chews too loud. Love leaves the cap of the toothpaste. Love uses smiley-faces in her text messages. And it turns out, love shits. But love also cries.

And love will tell you you are beautiful. And mean it. Over and over again. You are beautiful when you first wake up. You are beautiful when you’ve just been crying. You are beautiful when you don’t wanna hear it. You are beautiful when you don’t believe it. You are beautiful when nobody else will tell you you are beautiful. Love still thinks.. you are beautiful.

But love is not perfect and will sometimes forget when you need to hear it most. You are beautiful. Do not forget this. Love is not who you were expecting. Love is not what you can predict. Maybe love is in New York City, already asleep. You are in California, Australia, wide awake. Maybe love is always in the wrong time zone. Maybe love is not ready for you. Maybe you are not ready for love. Maybe love just isn’t the marrying type. Maybe the next time you see love is twenty years after the divorce. Love looks older now, but just as beautiful as you remember. Maybe love is only there for a month. Maybe love is there for every firework, every birthday party, every hospital visit.

Maybe love stays. Maybe love can’t. Maybe love shouldn’t. Love arrives exactly when love is supposed to. And love leaves exactly when love must. When love arrives, say “Welcome! Make yourself comfortable!” If love leaves, ask her to leave the door open behind her. Turn off the music. Listen to the quiet. Whisper “Thank you for stopping by.”

(“When Love Arrives” - A poem by Sarah Kay and Phil Kaye)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mdJ6aUB2K4g

signus

Is that the sign that i have been waiting for? #notTheUsual6words

9:40pm

Sunday

November 25

Shoebox

You?

Is it really you? Yes, you!

07 November 2012

9:20pm

Wednesday

Shoebox

Ready

I'm ready! Yes sir, I am!

07:50pm, 27 October 2012, Saturday

Cablelandia

Ready

Olly olly oxen free! Am ready! :)

(6-word blog)

10:07pm, October 08 2012, Monday, My Shoebox

Memories

"The only thing worse than forgetting is remembering the wrong things." - Conrad de Quiros 2:40pm, 01 October, Monday, Changi airport

Moss

And I'm going to say this again... "I want to gather some moss." #6wordBlog 7:20pm, September 23, Sunday, NAIA

Road Trip

I have always travelled since I was small. My earliest childhood memories were those of me and my Lola travelling on a bus from our small rural town to a more progressive town. I don't even remember what we do there, I just know that it will be a long, hot, bumpy and dusty ride -- with people and animals. Yes, we travelled with chicken, pigs and sometimes even goats.

So travelling is not really a problem for me. I like being on the road, in the sea or on air. It gives me a sense of peace, being on transit, being in that state of momentary suspension, a moment of 'in between' and 'in the meantime'.

And I say all of these tonight, when I am about to make yet again another 8 hour bus ride from Cablelandia to Gotham... another one of my genuine me-time.

8:10pm, August 21, Tuesday

Bakit UP?

I was asked this question today... "Bakit UP?" (Why choose the University of the Philippines?).

I can think of so many small things -- the sunflowers during summer, the Ikot jeep, the isaw and fishballs, the sunken garden and lagoon, the gigantic trees at the university avenue, the sablay, the carillon, that patch of greenery beside the UP College of Fine Arts, the shopping center, Chocolate Kiss, CASAA, the stone benches between the AS Pavs, si Oble, the student # which you will never forget for the rest of your life.

I couldn't give one specific response, one singe answer. It's just because... I feel safe there, like it's my refuge.

6:55pm

05 August 2012

Sunday

My Shoebox

Headache

Headache, enough! please let me be!

Night Bus

I am the kind of person who seldom gets bored. In fact, my problem is that there's just so many things that I want to do, like read more books, watch more movies, have longer conversations with friends, sleep longer, visit my nieces more, paint/sketch more, exercise regularly -- but there aren't enough hours in a day. I often find myself trying to squeeze in all these things in the little gaps in my busy daily routine. What I don't usually have time for, is the worry-less, free-spirited, spontaneous time for doing nothing, or pondering about life and the universe. And the only time that I am able to do this is when I'm in a long night bus ride to or from the province. The anonimity and aloneness, coupled with the darkness and the lull from the moving bus somehow gives me comfort and a sense of calm -- an almost tranquil state that I am able to think about things and ponder about the future, or the past... Almost completely forgetting about the present. Such night is tonight. July 9

Never

Never too old to improve habits

June 30

Shoebox

Hot

Ang init init init init talaga!