I enjoy living in the Philippines – actually, I kind of like it here.

Now there’s a statement I never dreamed I’d make. Sure, it’s one that rings true on some days more than others, waxing and waning as the phases of the moon, or, more accurately, in proportion to the degrees of harassment I encounter. Like when I’m stuck in Manila’s monster mayhem of mechanized mobile machines (aka traffic) the fondness drops significantly. Or, when I’m weaving through the seemingly unending thick of humanity on the city’s rush-hour streets, while also skillfully dodging random pockets of garbage and such along the way, the “like-level” takes a nosedive.

But then there are the smiles that beam warmer than the blazing tropical sun. There’s also the person at the corner, who will readily offer you a portion of their already meager lunch as you walk by. The delectable yet highly underrated cuisine, glorious island getaways, vibrant night life, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. These are some of the things that cause a spike in my “Manila fondness” meter.

Sure, this spot of the globe is not without its share of hassles and hustles – a couple of which I have listed, above. But then again, which part of the world is frazzle-free? And while I will agree, resoundingly so, that life in some countries is way more seamless and serene, this is the one I am in. And I may as well make the most of it.

Fish out of water

I wasn’t always comfortable living here, however. In fact, for a big chunk of my nearly-half-a-century life, I downright loathed it. Being a “fake white chick” (shall we say the fake white fish, then?) in this city – one descended of almost purely Spanish-Portuguese heritage, but conceived, birthed, and raised in the Philippines – meant that I neither belonged here nor there. I was ill at ease with fellow mestizos and mestizas, as most of them were born into privilege, and my family was from the working-class lot. Comfortable enough, but working class, nonetheless. Neither did I fit in, though, with my Filipino peers, as many judged me through “but you’re a snooty foreigner”-colored lenses, simply because of the sharpness of my facial features.

I was the idiomatic fish out of water.

Adapt or die
So, I did what any fish out of water determined to survive would do: I adapted. Being neither here nor there meant that I bounced around a lot – between social groups and among different races. I mingled with people from all walks of life, and I learned from them. I found myself slowly making larger and larger circles of friends, from an equally larger and larger mix of socio-economic-cultural backgrounds. I also threw myself into learning the Filipino language, and not just the ability to speak it, but to speak it like a local. Looking back, I now see just how instrumental this has been in my enjoyment of life in this nation. I amuse people, the second I open my mouth to speak; the visual disjunct between my face and the street-style vernacular that comes out of my mouth at once jars and humors most folk. Oddly enough, this lowers the guard that they put up, upon initially seeing me. As such, I have had a gamut of men and women open up to me and share snippets of their lives with me. This makes things interesting, it keeps things real, and – perhaps more importantly – it gives me a sense of belonging. I feel connected, and that’s something that has taken me decades to feel in genuine fashion.

A bowl of noodles and a hearty laugh

Allow me to recount a recent incident which sort of brings this all home. I was at the SM Makati food court, and had ordered a bowl of noodles to take out. The counter lady gave me a little slip to give to the cashier lady, which I handed to the latter along with my loyalty rewards card. The cashier lady, all flustered, looked up at me and said, in faltering English: “Ma’am I’m so very sorry, the SM card, it is not, how to say… Oh, Ma’am, it is not gumagana. Hindi gumagana ngayon, sira yung wire sa unit (It is not functional, right now. The wire on the unit is broken.) Sorry, I don’t know, basta, that’s all, Ma’am. I’m so sorry.”

She had not given me a chance to speak, as she was all nervous about having to communicate with “the intimidating-looking foreign lady,” I presumed. So, I smiled warmly, looked up at her and said: “Ok lang, Ate. Buti nalang gumagana ang Tagalog ko! (It’s ok, Ate, it’s a good thing my Tagalog is functional!).”

I swear, the lady looked like she was going to cry from relief. Instead, she laughed out loud and kept saying how sorry she was, then declared: “Ma’am, buti nalang po, marunong kayong makibagay! Thank you, po! (Ma’am it’s a good thing you know how to adapt).”

If you feel like a fish out of water, grow yourself some gills. And legs, while you’re at it. Then, you’ll have the capacity to enjoy life, wherever you are, a lot more fully.

By ANGIE DUARTE