Reflective Weekend

…the profound moral perversity of a world that rests essentially on the non-existence of return, for in this world everything is pardoned in advanced and therefore everything cynically permitted.

It was a quiet weekend which allowed me to start a new book entitled ‘The Unbearable Lightness of Being,’ by Milan Kundera. It is quite a page-turner and it is turning out to have a “Celestine Prophesy” kind of impact on me. For example, the novel displays through its character studies how we are all suffering from the ‘weight’ of our lives. But in the end “we can never know what we want, because, living only one life, we can neither compare it with our previous lives nor perfect it in our lives to come.” So in my quest for zen-calm ‘be’ I am not alone.

Particularly striking for me was this: "but man, because he has only one life to live, cannot conduct experiments to test whether to follow his passion (compassion) or not." It is an interesting thesis for me as I embark on my new life’s paradigm against questioning looks.

I also liked the message about how there is a marked difference in what is said and what is heard in relational communications - and that some of that miss-communication is blameless as there are occasions whereby we cannot articulate the true essence of the message we intend to send. It is because we are products of our history and events and we are too close to ourselves to truly understand exactly why we react to particular situations. The moral here is that maybe, when dealing in a relational sense, protocol should include some quarter granted to allow for the vagaries of life.

So then, as I was taking a rest from reading I flipped on the TV. The only channel we have began to squawk the latest and greatest hits from Jill Scott. In the opening stanza from “Golden” Jill belts out: I'm taking my freedom/pulling it off the shelf/puttin' it on my chain/wearing it 'round my neck/I'm taking my freedom/puttin' it in my car/wherever I choose to go/It will take me far.

One coincidence after another.

==============================================================

This is what I have learned about the Philippines so far. Foreign men are highly attractive to local women. It seems that they strive to capitalize on opportunities to net a ‘sugar daddy’ (if they only knew!) or find a man useful as a conduit to take them away from here (if only they knew!). Relationships seemingly are based on female subservience and servitude to the male position. And over-the-top sentimentality is the nature of the fora. If you need a free ride, here you can have one. Tho free is a qualifier to be determined later…

How do I know, you ask? I have been subject to (unapproved in advance mind you) a couple of group dates so far. Folks in the RP do things in groups. Every outing is a group outing, if not in person, then in spirit through cell text messaging. Gangs of people mill about where ever you cast your eye. Being subject to a ‘group date’ has caught me unawares two times as ‘the group’ was heading out to the next event.

Since the EU has initiated a series of free film showings of selected movies from various European countries in the mall next door I have decided to participate. Free, mind you, is hard to beat. This past Thursday as I was heading out from work I asked our clerk is she would like to go to the movie. She is a movie hound, as are many folks here, and she accepted. As we were sitting there waiting for the movie to start she turned to me and said “I have a confession: My friend who is coming with us…well I want you to meet her. Is that ok?” Not really, but such is the power of the text message. Stung again.

In the west we find this kind of behaviour not so acceptable. Here it is the nature of the culture to have friends ‘arrange’ meetings, while we, in the west take pride in independent action and would rather do our own arranging – thank you very much. In the dozen or so text messages I have received from my new friend so far has somehow elevated our (2 day old) ‘relationship’ to “Baby, I love you soooo much”. Yikes it gives me shivers.

Ah well if they only knew: I have neither the money nor the ability to take them further than my next gig (I threatened Mongolia but not an eye was batted), and more importantly I have little interest in the Filipino physique. There is a sense of falseness in the overwhelming ardor (and the unconstrained pursuit) projected by our Filipina friends which, to our western sentiments are not only displeasing but sufficient to cause one to run in fear. So how can I get out of this one without causing loss of face – to me, to her and to my officemate/date manager? Moreover, how does one reconcile the strong conservative Christian values imposed overtly, with the quick to the sack underground morality? Or does the servitude and quick bedding only offered to foreigners in order to ‘please’ and secure attachment? That is a probability. It is a relationship that rings hollow and unrewarding to me. Nonetheless, there are plenty of ‘em (greasy, wrinkly expats) out there who seem to accept this type of connection.

Not that I was in the sack. Not at all. It was the transition from doer to server that I found compelling. This independent 31 y/o woman, holding a high status career with the Philippines largest company (who coincidently brews the local quaff and has free access to all the beer and Coke products you could desire!!) is a mover and a shaker in the organization. She is holding down a high-stress job requiring much travel and the fanciest palm pilot/phone combination you have ever seen. She drives her Nissan Sentra around like Mario Andretti lapping the slowboats at an Indy oval. That independent and mature modern-woman façade came crashing down at the first opportunity and it became like hanging with a child helpless to make decisions. The transition was staggering in its abruptness and its hasty nature. An interesting cultural insight, to be sure, which also serves as a role-reversal experience for me. I have been assured that while this role of servitude is enacted, power and control gets exerted in other ways. Yikes.

I prefer my women independent in mind and spirit. I choose to have companionship with people who choose to share mine. Executing that choice is crucial to me. I like it when my partner gives clear instructions what suits her at each particular time and each particular place. I search for clarity and I rather prefer to avoid trying to decipher ‘riddle-speak’. I acknowledge that I am no good at it. For those who care, never fear.

Sara has been helping me mount a defense. And through a few Filipino contacts we are able to execute flanking maneuvers . There have been casualties, but less than the average 'war on terror'. Mostly it has become office gossip.

Kundera describes the difficulty of living a cross-cultural existence by utilizing the metaphor “[b]eing in a foreign country means walking a tightrope high above the ground without the net afforded a person by the country where he has his family, colleagues, and friends, and where he can easily say what he has to say in a language he has known from childhood.”

I am reminded of a comment bespoken by a participant in our ‘pre-departure training’ course. The moral in this story is: While the Philippines looks and sounds like America in its struggle for development, that element is no more than skin deep. Underneath it is a completely Asian culture. So it is critical that one does not become complacent in trying to float in the familiar. It’ll bite ya in the ass.