As my mother's father used to say about his wastrel sons, who squandered everything pursuing chimerical 'iskeems', from seeling packaged six-inch datuns that would supplant toothbrushes, to trousers with a back fly so you could crap without needing to pull them off, to force-feeding hens with steroids so they would lay eggs every eight hours (until they bloated like balloons and began to burst), as he would say examining the wreckage of another iskeem, making his big wood-and-brass hookah bubble in anger, In the dark even a bum can look like a face. (52)
The Alchemy of Desire, by Tarjun J. Tejpal
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The show is called Diz Iz It, and it's blaring in the coffee shop where I'm sitting, trying to write graduate school personal statements. Two baklas (effeminte, gay men of a uniquely Filipino genre) are the hosts, and the elaborately coiffed brunnette introduces herself as Michelle O'Bombshell. "Kamustika?" one asks. "Syempre (of course), still beautiful!" The Filipinos around me watch, unblinking and unaffected.
Earlier in the day I had been at school. During our lunchtime teacher's meeting, I suddenly realized that the frailest, oldest teacher at my school was wearing a very interesting shirt. It said, in emblazoned, purple letters: BITCH - it's not just a word, it's an attitude. Oy vey.
Rosh Hashana was this week, and I missed my family. The end of Ramadan was also this week, and we had the day off - there are Muslims around and I hear the call to prayer from the local mosque every morning just before the church bells go off in a tizzy, though I've only seen one woman wearing traditional garb in my entire stint here. She was attending the priest's blessing ceremony of the new Department of Education building.
Often I find myself wishing conversation, activities, television, life focused more on larger world issues. Or else I just wish they spelled the TV show "This is it" so my kids would at least learn to spell a little better. But then life might be inane and boring. Though a lot of the humor might take place only in my head, the absurdities of the day-to-day here are of ceasless interest.
Today I took a gasoline bath in to remove paint from my body.
I am also continuously surprised by the gentle helpfulness of Filipinos. My neighbors and community insert themselves into my life quietly. They laugh at my attempts to carry the water jug home from the store, but drop everything to take it from me and set it up in my house. The couple down the street turn on water for me at school, my students show up on weekends to help paint, the school janitor immediately puts away his garden tools to build me a ladder out of bamboo, and the fan I had given up for dead was fixed within half an hour of my mentioning it...
I am just ridiculously happy. Granted, part of that happiness has to do with the fact that - tugging at the ends of my mind - I know I have one month to go. My beautiful library is going to be built and, it turns out, I'm a little bit handy. I've had a lot of fun building and painting and organizing with students. I've started talking to myself. I realize it mid-sentence and then think, "Who cares? Enjoy! Finish what you want to say!" so I do, and I like it. I've never done that before... I've never been inclined.
I think sometimes it just takes a while to figure out how to keep yourself happy, especially when removing the distractions of which we've become accustomed.
When I arrived at school over the weekend carrying a box of new paints, a boy immediately took them from me and brought them into my library. By his comfort with me I gathered that he was a student, but since I didn't recognize him and he was both shirtless and shoeless, I figured him to be one of the occasional attendees. I tried to engage him in conversation, but all I could get out him was the "Filipino yes" - raised eyebrows. I started painting and he grabbed a brush, doing the same. For hours we worked side by side and in total silence. I teacher walked by a laughed at us, mentioning that she was pleased to see my "guard" hard at work. He didn't react.
Every day he showed up, covered in leftover splotches of paint from the day before, only minutes after me. I would just start painting when he'd appear in the doorway, slouching against the frame and waiting to be moitioned inside. After three days without so much as a goodbye, I forced him to speak. "What color do you want to paint this shelf," I asked. He concentrated on it for a while and then looked at me. "Blue."
My pharmacy lady thinks it's funny that I buy medicine, like tylenol, in advance. When I come to her shop, she always asks, "For the future?" and then giggles hysterically.
I cook, and I smile. I read something funny in a book, and I smile. Family Guy comes on TV, and I smile. A teacher tells me that I'm getting fat, and I smile. Another calls me sexy... smile. It's like nothing can get me down anymore. I am perfectly happy in my own head.
It's weird, but when volunteers get together we often talk about how socially awkward we've become here. Too much time alone. We all have trouble in groups and with new people. It's been a difficult transition to adjust to, and it will just as difficult to transition out of. Every single graduate program (except Maryland) that I'm applying to is in a new, strange place - but I am unconcerned. Friends are nice, and they'll be much closer than they are now, but I would be fine without them too. At least at first.
Peace Corps: The hardest job you'll ever love.
Peace Corps: Learn to exist entirely in your own head.
Peace Corps: Go ahead and go a little nuts - nobody will notice!
Peace Corps: You think you were asocial before...
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