DAY 445: Another day of inertia; I did more work on The Blog, more work on the DAY 503 trailer, all while I was "stuck" in the Greenhills house. My apologies for the lack of travel-related activity, but as I once stated in a previous comment, the Philippines has become a great challenge; with the Relatives Factor, where my schedule is at the whim of family members unaccustomed to spontaneous adventure travel, I wasn't calling all the shots as I had in other countries, nor was I in a tourist-friendly neighborhood where it was easy to get around and do stuff independently.

This leads me to write about the sociological aspects of being a Filipino-American in the Philippines, which will not only up my word count on a day with nothing special to report, but will provide some insight on the "First World traveler of Third World descent" that one Blogreader had asked me about. Plus, the explanation of it all becomes pertinent in future entries, so I might as well set the groundwork.

LET'S GO PUTS IT PERFECTLY in their introduction to the Philippines that I quoted in a previous entry: "At the heart of the Filipino tradition is a strong sense of community; Filipinos can't bear doing things by themselves and, above all, value family, friendliness, and personal loyalty." As an American born of Filipino immigrants that met in New York, my upbringing has included those values of family, friendliness and personal loyalty (which I am happy for) -- and all without the ability to really speak Tagalog. Not that I'm complaining; it left my brain to be filled up with other useful things, like knowing how to instantly skip from the first level to the second level in the ColecoVision version of Donkey Kong.

Biologically speaking, it amazes me how the brain is molded in the developmental years; I might have turned out like my cousins in the Philippines -- speaking Tagalog and not totally and utterly dependent on the internet -- but I turned out who I am, simply because I grew up in America. I speak American English with non-regional diction, I write with a sort of American style, and my sense of humor is distinctly American -- although the Trinidads of Parañaque proved to me that you don't have to grow up in America to appreciate stupid-but-funny American comedy films of SNL alumni.

There is much truth in the statement that "Filipinos can't bear doing things by themselves," and it is with that said that I say I have really adopted the un-Filipino, American ideal of independence.

"Kuya Erik, are you a loner?" Chie asked me on Christmas Day on the matter of me being single and thirty, something very un-Filipino.

"Yes, I'm a loner," I said with a smirk.

As more and more of my friends have gone the paths of marriage and kids -- a path I am not attracted to at this point in my life -- more and more I have had to do our activities solo: mountain biking, trekking, snowboarding, etc. Traveling solo for close to fifteen months has furthered that feeling of independence to the point where, for me, it has become a necessity. People have wondered, "How can you do it, travel alone for so long?" but I wonder, "How can people do it, travel with someone for so long?" I really don't know how people can travel without calling all the shots; but alas, here I am in the Philippines in that situation. I did manage to get away for an afternoon walk though, where I simply walked around the nearby post-Christmas market in the Greenhills Shopping Center (picture above), and did the American thing of getting a Frappucino at the local Starbucks.

Lara (Peru, Bolivia, Brazil) put it succinctly when talking about homestays with relatives and friends; as nice as it is to have a free place to crash, you can't come and go as you please like you can in a hostel; you're always tied into someone's schedule. I am not complaining about my relatives' homestays in the Philippines by any means -- I'm grateful -- it's just detrimental to a guy determined to do at least one unique thing per day to keep the variety of his daily on-line travel column going.

On another note, so as to keep my word count rising, we'll go to the subject of eating in the Philippines, at least for a guy staying with relatives. Like I said before, Filipinos will find just about any excuse to get together for a meal. While I do appreciate the concept of getting the family together for dinner, I can't really get used to doing that every single day, and on schedule too. Here in the Philippines, I am scheduled to eat three square meals a day, something I have unlearned to do on the road -- I usually only eat when I'm hungry so as to keep my weight balanced. Here in the Philippines, my metabolism is all out of wack and I am definitely gaining weight, much to my chagrin; on my 1999 trip, I gained twenty pounds in two weeks from all the family overfeeding.

So what identity do I relate to? I am what I am, a Filipino-American, an American-Filipino, taking the best of both worlds I guess. I appreciate the instant feeling of community you get with Filipinos, while at the same time I feel the un-American Filipino tradition of living at home until you're married is just archaic. I love eating McDonald's french fries, just as much as I like the freshly ripped off crispy skin of a fresh roasted pig with the head still intact. To go into all the conflicting philosophies I have in my head would take pages, but you probably get the gist of it, and the word count of this entry is decent enough already.

ABROAD, WHERE I AM A FOREIGNER IN ANOTHER COUNTRY, there is no mistaking me for an American with my mannerisms. In America, where ethnic people are defined by their roots, I am Filipino, or as the people who make standardized tests label me, "Asian/Pacific Islander." However, some would disagree; Rudy, the driver on the Pinatubo trek, put it like this in a conversation:

Rudy: How old are you?
Me: Thirty.
Rudy: Married?
Me: No.
Rudy: Oh, you're not Filipino then. If you were Filipino, you'd be married at twenty-five.

This isn't necessarily the case, and we'll see in the next entry, a more exciting one that finally involves travel again...