It's not the money, honey.

Photo by Ryan Franco on Unsplash

Why was my last relationship with B waned before it even took off?

Because Filipino culture is one of the most toxic there is. I don’t know why it’s been like that; was it because we were under the Spaniards for hundreds of years that they have rubbed off some of their captious characteristics on us? Or are Filipinos just backwards when it comes to views?

When some people see a Filipina with a foreigner boyfriend or husband, many automatically assume that the relationship was never for love, but more for convenience. We always hear people joke: “Isang kababayan na naman natin ang naka-ahon sa kahirapan” which for me, while may ring true to some, is not always the case.

There is no denying that many Filipinas marry foreigners for money. That some of them see foreigners as their ticket to get out of poverty. Then again, to automatically think that it’s the ONLY reason why Filipinas go out with foreigners is just unfair. Like, it can never be about mutual attraction, compatibility or intellectual stimulation?

Many think that such interracial relationships benefit the Filipinas more than the foreigner. But what if the Filipina was doing fine even before the foreigner came along? What if she already has a decent-paying job and her own money long before he met the guy? Isn’t it that there is even that possibility that the Pinay earns more than the guy? That there is no need for her to latch onto some AFAM to survive?

Especially in my case, it’s no secret to some people that I came from really humble beginnings. That I grew up struggling and had to work my way to be able to support myself and my family. So, sure, there were some people who gave slighting comments as soon as they learned that I was seeing a foreigner, with a relative even joking: “Ayos `yan, dollars!”. 

Making it worse is the fact that I’m a middle-aged woman past my prime, so some would even add that I must jump at the chance before “the bus leaves” and I find myself in lonely spinsterhood—like I wasn’t there yet (minus the “lonely”).

Some might say that I should ignore the comments and just enjoy it. Anyway, relationships, interracial or not, are tough as they are. But I wish it was that easy. The paranoia is real; I am constantly worried that he will think of it that way too, especially when he sometimes offer financial help when needed, or gift me material things whenever he can. I usually decline, which frustrates him at times, but I just don’t want to be seen (by him or by other people) as taking advantage especially that he earns more than I do.

In all fairness to B, there’s definitely a mutual attraction and I especially enjoy intellectually-stimulating conversations where he learns from me and I learn from him.  I don’t think there was ever a time he thought of himself as a “White savior”. We didn’t meet online (so one can’t say I’m on the lookout for AFAMs) and I never once asked him for money. I even steer clear of sharing problems with him because I don’t want him to think that it was a disguised cry for help. Heck, never did I feign helplessness. 

He’s well aware that this bothers me. But he understands this because he knows first-hand how some Filipinas are viewed by other nationality, especially Westerners like him. B even mentioned one time a colleague joked that he might end up a “passport bro”. He didn’t know what it meant that he had to look it up. 

It’s harder for interracial relationships to work because there will always be cultural stressors that can lead to conflict. It’s generally difficult that even if one tries to not mind people’s opinions about the relationship, it does ruin what could have been a genuinely good thing. The thought will always hover in the heads of other people and that it’s going to be a challenge to simply ignore them. What’s sadder is you can’t help having that fear that your partner, or people close to him, will think that you’re also after something else.

While I’ve said that I stop caring about what people think of me, I feel that I’m getting old having to constantly prove other people wrong. 

About the Goodnight Girl...

 This post was taken from my old blog originally posted on March 18, 2009.

I was secretly smiling to myself inside our company shuttle on my way home last night.

If I have to make a soundtrack of my life (which, by the way, would take several volumes if you know me), the song Goodnight Girl by Wet, Wet, Wet would have to be included, most definitely.

Last night, while it was being played on the radio, I was instantaneously zapped back in time. R, a fellow World Youth Day `95 delegate from our parish, gave me the lyrics of this song. Until now, I haven’t had the slightest idea why that of all the songs during the time (Do I make him doze off? Do I look like a manananggal who only comes out at night? Or just by merely thinking of me would make him sleep soundly at night? Hehehe. Feeling.)

Now this guy could drive me bonkers sometimes. While he’s really nice and had expressed his good intentions, his crazy antics to woo me could go down the books. I remember one time he was having a haircut and he saw me passed by. He stood up from the barber’s chair (his hair uneven because it’s unfinished) and asked me if he could walk me home. Even if I told him I’m okay and he could just go back to finish his haircut, he insisted. He didn’t care about the weird stares he’d been getting from people (after all, he really looked stupid with his incomplete trim) as long as he could just be with me for a few minutes. While I find that sweet, I also find that pretty disturbing.

About the same time, I have this guy classmate at Lyceum named Brian who I heard humming this song this one time we sat next to each other in class. From there, we engaged in a small talk and I told him about how Goodnight Girl reminded me of this other guy. 

Since then he would tease me by singing the chorus of the song every time he sees me. As in – every time. When he sees me walking at the quadrangle, or in the corridor, inside the classroom…I mean everywhere – I’d suddenly hear him burst into song.

“Caught up in your wishing well, your hopes inside it. Take your love and promises and make them last…”

Since Brian’s a volleyball varsity player, people who hear him singing at the quadrangle every time I pass by (sometimes even kneeling as if he’s serenading me) thought it was just the cutest gesture. Everyone thought that Brian had a thing for me (I really don’t know, he’s probably just teasing), but he didn’t care. He’d always sing me the song. I enjoyed “some popularity” when I was in College for the oddest reasons and this was one of it. After all, Brian was a “crush-ng-bayan” too, like all regular jocks.

After graduation, I haven’t heard from Brian anymore, which wasn’t surprising because we don’t belong in the same major and we only became classmates on our minor subjects. However, many years after, while I was at the University Mall (near La Salle - Taft) buying something after a quick snack at nearby McDonald’s, I heard a familiar voice – a guy singing the chorus of the song Goodnight Girl! I frantically looked everywhere to find where the voice was coming from and my eyes beamed upon seeing Brian after so many years since College! What’s so nice about it is that he still remembers “our” song. Yes. It became our “unofficial” song. What started out as some joke because of some guy, became a lasting memory for another. 

While I really don’t rave about the song, it was still memorable for me. Actually, my Mom always loved the story behind it. She liked hearing me tell it over and over again. Maybe because she thought it was sweet that someone would forever be reminded of me because of one song. I’m sure that whenever Brian hears that, he would think of no one else but me.

 

One after the other

Photo by Tom Podmore on Unsplash

I am not what you’d consider superstitious. As a matter of fact, I find some Filipino superstitions (some even made into movies such as Feng Shui, Pagpag, Sukob, etc.) rather foolish and backwards.

These days, there is so much talk about the “evil eye” wherein a mere glare can cause bad luck, poor health or injury to someone. Usually, an evil eye is malevolent and envious in nature.

Now that we are in the age of social media where a lot of people can see what’s happening based on what one posts on the internet, the evil eye now has a different interpretation: It doesn’t have to be malicious, it doesn’t have to be fueled by covetousness, sometimes people can just jinx another inadvertently. I also read somewhere that someone who loves and cares for you can have the strongest evil eye towards you as the attachment is stronger than that of a random stranger. 

Do I believe it? Not so much. I feel it’s more of a collective frenzy being perpetuated by evil eye fanatics.  

A lot of people would advise against sharing good news, flaunting of one’s wealth or happy events and occasions. They also say if you don’t want your plans jinxed, then it’s better not to announce it. To this, I agree.

See, I notice that when I post good news, or things that I acquired, such as a recognition or award, or anything that I’m just happy to share not for the purpose of flaunting it—something unfortunate happens almost immediately. 

People may think it’s hypocritical of me to believe in this but not of the evil eye. The reason why I don’t believe in the concept of a glare causing bad luck is because I find it narcissistic to think that someone is out to “get” me so they wish me bad things. Frankly, there’s nothing in my life to be envious about or for other people to covet what I have. 

Let me just say I’m more of a believer in the balance of good and bad luck. Sometimes when you bask on the good things that’s happening to you way too much to the point of announcing it to the world, you are also somewhat summoning the bad things.

So yeah, maybe in that way, I’m superstitious.

***

Just last week, after a buffet with my mom’s side of the family, I was paralyzed by what I can only describe as the worst food poisoning ever.

For someone with a hefty appetite and love for street food, it wasn’t my first time to get a foodborne illness. I remember this one very humiliating time many years ago that I was schlepped out in a stretcher from our office building in Pasig to nearby Medical Center after overeating skewered pig intestines for dinner and then felt sick at work (I was on the graveyard shift then). I was throwing up non-stop and had a really bad stomachache that our company doctor decided to bring me to ER.

But what happened to me last week was something else. We had the lunch buffet on Sunday but I start feeling sick Monday evening. It was hellish. It was an epic combination of nausea and diarrhea which went on until early morning of Tuesday that I had to call-in sick the last minute at work.

Back then when I had mild food poisoning, throwing it up a couple of times would already make me feel better. Such things, I usually just wait out. Last Monday was different. I had to run to the toilet several times and then throw up violently after. Repeat that about six or seven more times. I feel I got no more liquid left in my body to spew or poop out. I was so tired that my kuya and mom were already asking me if I wanted to be brought to the ER as they fear I’d get dehydrated, but I refused as I don’t want to have an embarrassing episode in public.

Finally, after several trips to the bathroom, I fell asleep exhausted. Early the next morning and still feeling so weak, I messaged my boss and explained to her what’s happening. I gave myself two days to completely rest. 

Until now, I can’t say that everything’s okay because I still feel my gut hasn’t recovered yet. I may be getting older and therefore my body can’t adjust as well as it did, but as with most common illnesses these days, most of it are exponentially worse for some reason.

Two days of being bed-ridden made me think a lot about what happened. First was how it’s hard to confirm that the buffet was the culprit because there’s too many of us, including my senior mom and her older sister, my aunt, but only me and my brothers were hit (following my incident, kuya and my younger brother also had gut issues after).

Second was how it made me think that posting about some of my happy events may have triggered unfortunate ones. When I look back, it’s almost getting to be a pattern. 

I can’t explain it, but it’s like a cycle of one after the other.