Siem Reap: Just Below the Surface

 It's Saturday!  And we are at the end of our second week of field research in Siem Reap.   It's been good to be back in the city and already have a little bit of orientation to where we are going and what we are doing.   Our work here, as I have mentioned before, is an exploratory study of boys and young men working in the "massage" industry.   For those of you who are unfamiliar, Siem Reap is a major tourist destination in Cambodia.  This is mainly due to its proximity to the  ancient Angkor Wat temples which spread out for miles just northeast of here.  The small city draws backpackers, adventurers and general-issue tourists from all over Europe, the US, Asia and the Pacific--something which has made this otherwise small, scenic city a kind of thriving commercial center in the middle of the Cambodian outback.  

The downtown area, which runs alongside of a small river, is jam-packed with bars, restaurants, night markets, and just about anything else that will make a buck.   One of the first things that you are likely to notice upon arrival in Siem Reap is the constant, diverse, and sometimes nagging presence of massage options.   They are literally everywhere.   Foot massage, back massage, hand massage, four-hand massage (whatever that means), and yes, even fish massage--for those of us who enjoy having our dead foot-skin harvested by a swarm of ravenous fish. 

The city is built upon foreign tourism and the money that comes from catering thrill-seekers from around the globe.  Needless to say, the sex industry is booming, and massage is oftentimes just another front for these kinds of services.   Although, "male for males" (M4M) services can be found everywhere, they are not always apparent at first glance.  This is partly due to the stigma and shame that is attached to men in the sensual/sexual services trade.   Still, there are a number of options that are openly advertised for LGBT tourists in the line of guesthouses, saunas, spas, and of course massage services.   

Our first week of fieldwork involved a great deal of walking, listening, and observation.  We conducted interviews in a few of the places that overtly advertised male massage services, listened to stories, asked questions and took notes.   Through this, we were able to talk to people involved in the industry and get a few clues of where else to find respondents.  Each contact and conversation was like another piece of a big puzzle that would eventually help us to better understand the situation and needs of the young men involved in this industry.  It was an informative week, and we were able to meet a number of insiders who helped orient us to the industry and social networks.

As I said, this first week involved a number of the solely male, overtly LGBT establishments.   For the most part, the data collection was easy.  We made phone calls, and appointments.  The interviews were conducted.  Data gathered.  Job done.  

However, as we are starting our fieldwork anew on this second visit, our task has been a bit more challenging.  We have been turning our focus to the less overt, mixed massage establishments which feature both male and female masseurs.  The social atmosphere in these places has been quite different.  There have been a number of places in which the air of unease has been almost palatable.  We are quickly realizing that we are having to spend more time building rapport and nurturing trust.  This takes time and requires a more immersive approach.   Its more difficult, but the process is entirely worth it. 

Immersion in the community here has been both insightful and humbling.  We've been able to spend a few evenings at a number of the local bars and restaurants.  We've caught a couple of shows at LGBT bars, usually running into a number of the guys that we have previously interviewed.  It's been a privilege to get to know them on a personal level, engage in conversation, and learn more about their lives and contexts in greater detail.  I have enjoyed their often vivid, exuberant, and yes, sometimes flamboyant personalities.  There is a beautiful resilience among these guys.  Many are vulnerable, many have been hurt, but they seem to have this strong camaraderie that is clearly visible in their identification with one another.  I suppose this is something that is very basically human:  We naturally mesh with the people with whom we can find acceptance, affirmation, and validation as being fully human--not a masseur, not gay, not straight or anything in between.  But simply and fully being recognized as an individual--a person of great value.  

There's so much beauty here.  So much goodness.  So much truth.  It just might not be clearly visible at first glance.   But as it usually goes: the best and most valuable things are not found on the surface level, but just below.   

Of course, there's much more to be said about this--good things, even holy things--particularly about beauty in brokenness, and finding God in places that you would least expect to find him.  

But those are thoughts for another post. 

Diving In -- Exploring Phnom Penh

As part of a deal with myself to not work on anything this weekend, I decided to explore Phnom Penh and, to the best of my ability, to do it on foot.   I spent hours upon hours walking and exploring the nooks and crannies of various markets and districts of Cambodia's capital city.  It was a chance for the nerdy ethnographer in me to come out and take some field-notes. 

Its refreshing to see that this part of world has been far less influenced by the rip-tide of western and international media and--apart from the odd prevalence of Angry Birds paraphernalia--the culture is  distinctive and brilliantly Southeast Asian.


I have genuinely loved walking past the grand and ornate Buddhist temples, seeing groups of monks pass at the market and to have the spicy fragrance of burning incense ever-present on the streets.  There is something that I love about Buddhist art and tradition.  It possesses this particular sense of ornate transcendence that is rich with philosophical meaning, and I absolutely love it.  Now, don't get me wrong--I'm not a Buddhist.  But, I see something beautiful in what sincere Buddhism tries to attain and how it harnesses this sense of unity, balance, and harmony that so epitomizes (in a very broad sense) Asian values and ideals.   

Yesterday, I was walking along the Mekong riverfront near the Royal Palace.   I sat for a while just behind a large shine and watched people, young and old, come and gather their incense, light it, and proceed into this small ornate structure to offer prayers and offerings to the spirits of their ancestors.  This particular ritual is something beautiful to watch.  It is done with such care an delicacy and seems to involve both parents, children, and even young couples equally.    Outside of the shrine were vendors carrying cages filled with small birds.  A number of people, upon leaving the shrine, would pay a small amount for a couple of birds.  Then, walking away from the shrine, they would release the birds into the air and watch them fly out over the river.  I'm not entirely sure if this is directly connected to what was happening inside of the shrine, but the process was nevertheless beautiful.  

Something else that I have greatly enjoyed is the thriving nightlife here in Phnom Penh.  Saturday evening, during one of my treks, I stumbled upon a night market, near the Royal Palace.   It was a great opportunity to grab some Southeast Asian "soul food"--if that's what you can call it.  At the center of the market were a number of woven mats ("banig", if you are filipino) laid end-to-end in a matrix of what seemed to be a two-dimensional restaurant of sorts.  Each mat had condiments, salt, chili pepper, and a variety of spicy, sweet, and sour pastes to choose from.  

"Pho Bo" - the Vietnamese version

For me, this was my opportunity to grab a bowl of something that I had been craving for quite some time--a Vietnamese soup called, "Pho Bo" (this was the Cambodian version, of course, but good enough for me).   I have developed somewhat of an addiction to this particular soup over the past couple years, and I was excited to discover that it is quite common in Cambodian cuisine.   The dish is essentially made up of rice noodles, bean sprouts, beef, basil, and a deliciously-rich beef broth topped with shameless amounts of cilantro (my favorite herb).


Something else that should be mentioned about evenings in Phnom Penh is how animated the riverbank and its nearby parks become as the sun starts to set.   Last night was particularly lively, as it was the night before the birthday of the Queen Mother of Cambodia (a large picture of her can be seen in the first image of this post, hanging on the front of the Royal Palace).    Standing near the Liberation Monument, I was surrounded by literally 360º of some sort of local game involving a small, hollow, woven ball that is kicked around in what seems to be a cross between soccer and hackie-sack.  Beyond that were groups of local Khmer men and women dancing--some to traditional music and others to hiphop.  In all honesty, I wanted to join--but let's face it--I had no idea of what was going on.  As I walked through the animated scene, I came across a hilarious lip-synced dancing-drama which involved what appeared to be a man declaring his un-dying love for a what seemed to be a woman(?) wearing a mustache (played by a man in drag).  


Words really don't do it justice--so I video'ed it: 

Exhausted, I started the long hour-and-a-half walk back to the Russian Market district where I am staying (I grabbed another bowl of Pho Bo on the way). 


Walking through Phnom Penh is surprisingly easy.  Compared to Manila, I would say that Phnom Penh is rather calm--and for those here in Cambodia who haven't lived in Manila, they are usually shocked to hear me use the word "calm" to describe the bustling chaos of Cambodia's capital city.   Although the traffic here is wild and usually unpredictable, transportation is simple, easily available, and usually involves hopping on the back of a public-use motorcycle or climbing in a tuk-tuk, which is a kind of motorcycle-driven pedicab that is common in this part of Southeast Asia.   For the Filipinos reading this post, I am sad to report that there are no jeepneys in Cambodia, no screaming or cackling horns and no barkers calling out for passengers--just group after group of hopeful pedicab drivers on every corner asking, "Tuk-tuk, sir?  Tuk-tuk?"  

And now a note about language.  Throughout this weekend's wanderings, I have been doing my best to pick up what I can of the language.   I am learning a little bit.  I can greet people, say thank you, and ask a (very) few basic questions.   Other than that, I don't understand a blessed thing--and without a keen and constant observation of non-verbals and vocal tones, I am usually completely and utterly lost.    I had somewhat hoped that Khmer (the national language) would have had some rough relation to Tagalog (the Philippine national language) so that I could at least have some kind of bridge for learning.  

No such luck. 

As it turns out, Khmer is a Sanskrit-derived language (the ancient, liturgical language of Buddhism, interestingly enough) as opposed to Tagalog, which is Malay-derived.  There is NO connection that I can see between the two languages, except for the fact that they both use sounds to make words which carry meaning.  --Blah.

Looking past my language issues, and the fact that VERY, VERY few people actually speak English (or Tagalog) here, I feel that my adjustments to Cambodia have been fairly effortless.  Looking back on my years in the Philippines, and the time that it took me to adjust there, its comforting to know that culture-shock is no longer a big challenge for me.   I remember that my initial culture-shock upon first moving to Southeast Asia five years ago took a number of months to work through.  And as it turned out, culture-shock was much less of a "shock" as it was a slow, creeping anxiety--like a kind of subconscious stress and frustration that I couldn't really put my finger on, but nevertheless was very real and, at times, very debilitating.   Those days are over, it seems, which puts me at ease and allows me to focus more readily on the tasks at hand.   

And with those thoughts, I think I'll save the rest for another post.  Tomorrow will be a big day.  In the morning, we leave for our first few days of fieldwork in Siem Reap.  Today has been a productive time of literature review and a very useful discussion with a long-time researcher and social worker here in Phnom Penh.  I'm looking forward to jumping in.  

More on this to come. 

Research in Cambodia? : a brief explanation

I am at the end of a very long, very full week of meetings and information-gathering for next week's initial fieldwork in Siem Reap.  For those of you who do not know, I am in Cambodia this summer working as a research intern with an organization called "Love146" which specializes in the prevention of human trafficking/sexual exploitation and providing aftercare for its victims.  The commercial sex industry is a thriving business in this corner of the world and much of it revolves around tourist hotspots and (naturally) the red light districts of Cambodia's urban centers.  My work this summer will be an exploratory study of the sexual exploitation of males working as masseurs in a number of these tourist destinations outside of Phnom Penh--namely Siem Reap.   

As I mentioned in my previous post, there is little-to-no research focusing specifically on men and boys in the commercial sex industry.  Most research has focused primarily on women and girls--often framing men as the predators and women and girls as the quintessential victims of exploitation.  However, men and boys are also victims.  One earlier study found that nearly 20% of Cambodian boys are sexually abused between the ages of 9 and 15--that's about 1 in 5.  However, in this climate of research, where men are solely predators and women are solely victims, it becomes very difficult for NGOs and other social service providers to take male issues seriously--thus, very few services exist to meet their needs.   This research is part of a big "first step" in uncovering a great blind-spot in our understanding of sexual exploitation.  

Next week we will begin with our preliminary fieldwork in Siem Reap.  The primary data for our research will come from one-on-one interviews with masseurs.  Some of these young men may work for legitimate spas and massage parlors, some will be prostitutes, and others may be somewhere in-between.  This first week of fieldwork will consist of four days of observation and information gathering from NGO workers in the area and impromptu conversations in a number of area restaurants and bars.   

Hopefully, this gives a bit of context to what I will be doing this summer.  I thought that it was important to dedicate a full post to a an explanation of my work, because I will--no doubt--be drawing reference to this subject in a number of posts to come, and I don't want anyone to be lost.  Hopefully, not everything that I write will be as heavy and academic as this post--I'll be posting some lighter things as well--but I thought it was important to give this brief explanation as a backdrop for my posts to come over the next few months.

A few pre-flight notes from the Philippines:

It was an absolutely amazing week-and-a-half in the Philippines.  And the strangest and most comforting thing was that it felt like I had never really left.  I have felt completely at home.  I was able to pick up the culture, language and--more importantly--relationships, right where I had left off.   More and more I am becoming grateful for the solidarity that I have in my Barkada both at home and abroad.   

In some ways, this has been a reassuring visit for me.  Last August, after leaving the Philippines and taking on my old job as a waiter and a substitute teacher, I had these irrational fears that--this would be it. I feared that I wouldn't find something else and I would eventually just settle into doing something for which I had no passion or calling.   Although, I still don't have a career--this summer is just an "internship"--my short visit back to the Philippines has been a much-needed reminder that everything is stil here.  There still more left to be done, and the story is not over.  

That... gave me a great deal of rest.  

I've stayed with a very close friend and colleague of mine, Glen Loyola (he's the one giving the "peace" sign to the left there).    Glen is one of a number of super-ultra-high-quality individuals at APNTS, with whom I am very close, who share with me this incredible, passionate belief in the dramatic potential of human beings--regardless of who they are, what they've done, or where they are from.  Socially active and insatiable thinkers, we never seem to tire of sharing thoughts and ideas, no matter how late into the night the conversation goes.  So many quality conversations have marked my progress through the last two weeks, this had been precisely the prelude that I have needed as I enter into my research over the next few months.   For this, I can be nothing but thankful.   

There are a number of thoughts and themes that have been circling through my head, over the past few weeks--subjects that Becca and I have discussed and debated, and a few things that have simply been hanging on my heart.   Many of these thoughts and themes have to do with personal transparency and community.   I feel that many of these thoughts have some very real connection to the issues that I will be researching this summer (Human Trafficking and Sexual Exploitation of Boys),  however, I still have to figure out how to best articulate what I have been thinking.  

As I write this very sentence, my flight for Malaysia is boarding in front of me.  There is much, much more to be said, but nowhere near enough time to write it all down before my flight leaves. 

This evening I will have a 12 hour layover in Kuala Lampur, Malaysia.  I am going to try to use the time to make it out ti the city and see a few sights.   I'll do my best to finish a few of these thoughts when I'm back on the ground.  

Mabuhay!

Prelude to a Next Chapter: Cambodia

Dr. Miles and a few of his PhD students at APNTS

About a year ago, while still in the Philippines, I met Dr. Glenn Miles.  Dr. Miles serves in Cambodia as the Director of Prevention and Research with an organization called Love146, which specializes in the prevention of human trafficking in Southeast Asia and provides aftercare for its victims. 


    I asked to meet with Dr. Miles for a couple of reasons.  On the surface, he was visiting campus to teach a course for our school's PhD program in Holistic Child Development and I was working on an article about the course and his work in Cambodia.  However, truth be told, I was really just personally intrigued by his field of research and passionate about the work of Love146.   


At the time, I had been working part-time with an anti-trafficking initiative at our school in a program called, "StepUP".   In this program, we worked with youth from at-risk communities providing them with employable computer skills, values education, and human trafficking advocacy.  While I was passionate about the work of StepUP, and felt that it was greatly rewarding, I wanted to understand more about the system of trafficking and exploitation in Southeast Asia and what essentially allowed for this multi-billion-dollar, anti-human, deplorable industry to operate so freely and seemingly unchecked in this part of the world.  

Dr. Miles was my connection to the front-lines of this battle.   We met for dinner and talked for a long while about the work of his organization and its single-minded focus of ending the plight of trafficked and sexually exploited children.  He detailed the role of research in this process and the great need of understanding the "whos", "hows" and "whys" of this dark context so that these issues can be addressed appropriately.  

In recent years, Dr. Miles' research has been focused on the sexual exploitation of boys in Cambodia.  It was a subject matter that had gone nearly untouched by most organizations around the world.  When we think of Sexual exploitation, our minds (and research, as it turns out) go solely to women and children.  The plight of boys, more often than not, is overlooked entirely.   We would like to think that the absence of research on this matter is due  to the fact that sexual exploitation/trafficking of boys is not as prevalent as with girls.  However, the more this subject is researched, the more this is found to be incredibly untrue. 

At the time, I had just finished a year of my own research focusing on identity development in a marginalized community just outside of Manila.  My research hadn't been specifically about trafficking issues, but it had raised a number of related and pressing questions that had fueled my interest in human development issues all the more. 

I look back on my dinner-meeting with Dr. Miles as a kind of defining moment for me.  This was the kind of research that I wanted to do.  It was like a great "ah-ha" moment in which all of the steps that had led me to THAT moment had seemed to have been guided or orchestrated by God to lead me right there to THAT part of the world, with THAT particular person at a time when I had just concluded THAT particular thesis research and had been processing THOSE particular thoughts.   In a moment, I had felt that I knew what I wanted to do with my career.  

Moments like these are truly gifts from God.  They provide clarity and insight and seem to re-enforce this beautiful thought that there are no random accidents, but that things happen for a reason.  It's a feeling of comfort and connection and nearness.   

Needless to say, it was a very meaningful dinner. 

Parting ways, I told Dr. Miles that I was greatly interested in his field of work and that I wanted to write and conduct research on human trafficking and development issues.   We decided to stay in touch, emailing now and then. 

As I've come back from the Philippines and begun the long, grueling process of applying for PhD Programs, Dr. Miles has offered a lot of encouragement as I've applied for schools and even helped me refine some of my application materials.   When I received my final letter of non-admission (aka: "rejection") from the final school,  I wrote him a quick note to update him on where I stood.   I told him that I had not been accepted but that I still would pursue this research in time.  The letter was positive--although, I felt utterly defeated. 

And then I received his response.

As it turned out, Dr Miles' research intern had backed out and he was in need of someone to help him conduct followup research for a paper to be submitted at a conference this fall in Nebraska.  It would involve flying to Cambodia and spending a few months collecting data and interviewing respondents in Seam Reap.   The position would be unpaid, but provide substantial experience and hopefully open some exciting doors in the future. 

After collecting myself from the floor and briefly dancing about like a little boy, I calmly wrote a response indicating my interest.  Within minutes of exchanging emails, I was quoting prices for airfare.  Days later, the tickets were reserved and my summer booked.   And as an added bonus--I found that flying to Manila is much cheaper than flying to Cambodia from the States.   So, in an effort to save the organization a good deal of money, I will be stopping in Manila for an extended layover to visit my Philippine "family" for a few days before continuing to Cambodia.  


For this, I am unreasonably excited.  :)   

The past month has felt like nothing short of a marathon.  I have been working non-stop, trying to "pad" my bank account so that I can cover my state-side bills while I am away.  I have been reading up on previous exploitation research in Southeast Asia and completing the endless laundry list of tasks to be done before leaving for the airport in just a few short days. 

The way I see it, this isn't yet the "next chapter", but maybe it is, at least, a kind of prelude to it.  I think of it as a kind of reminder that there is still more out there, there is more story to be told, and more plot to unfold.  


In the end, that's really what moves us forward, right?   The hint that there is something more, a next chapter, another adventure, some greater narrative that is bigger than the sum of its characters.   That is what the unfolding of this internship has been for me, to some extent.

There were a number of months after returning to the states that I struggled to see that greater narrative.   It was a frustrating and disorienting experience.   If anything I hope that I have learned that the "Place In-Between"---the seemingly empty space between the end of one chapter and the beginning of the next---is there for a reason.   It gives a much needed pause and allows the reader to gather his bearings, reflect on the past, and take a deep breath before diving back into the greater plot-line in progress.

This may not be the next chapter just yet but the knowledge that there is more to come--a prelude, of sorts--is just what was needed. 

That Place In-Between...

Today, I made a big change--a change that stands as a testament of my personal growth and emotional fortitude.  

Yes.  As of today--on Facebook--Jarrett Davis lives in Circleville, Ohio.  To most of you reading this, you will probably think I'm trying to be sarcastic or ironic making a statement like this; but I am quite serious.  This seemingly insignificant, digital change in my virtual life symbolizes a grand period (or at least a semi-colon) in the long and monotonous narrative between the turning of chapters in my life.  

Over the past few months,  I have transitioned from the busy life of a graduate student and communications officer in the Philippines to a substitute teacher hushing high school students in rural Ohio and working weekends as a waiter in Columbus.  Throughout this tumultuous transitional period of my Life,  I have learned a great deal about who I am as a person.   

I am one of those personality types that has the tendency to helplessly define himself on the basis of what he can-or-cannot do or accomplish.  Under this delusion, a person is only worth what they can produce and their value is directly proportional to the ground that they can cover towards a particular goal.   This mode of operation can have its advantages.  It can make you into the kind of person who gladly pulls an all-nighter to finish a project, or who works extra hours--without pay--just to ensure that something is done well and on time.  

However, it also has its downfalls:  

During my years of living, working, and studying in Asia I was constantly inundated with classes and projects and research--all of which aided to shape who I understood myself to be.   I was fulfilled because of all of the "hats" that I got to wear and the projects that I undertook.   There was great potential and much work to be done.  Step-UP, the anti-trafficking initiative of which I was a part, had the potential of taking great steps forward with our partners in India; there were numerous possibilities and projects outstanding in communications and marketing at APNTS.    However, in the midst of all of this, my student loans were coming due and personal finances growing scarce.   I had to return to the States in August of 2011.  It was difficult to leave the Philippines knowing that there was still work to be done and much of my identity rested in those efforts. 

Thus began, "the time in-between"-- my own personal purgatory of sorts -- to which I was banished to learn life's tedious lessons that I would have otherwise been oblivious to.

As soon as one chapter of my life ended and the next one failed to immediately begin, my impatience took over and drove me to frantically improvise new material.  Nearly before the suitcases were unpacked, I had begun studying for the GRE (Graduate Records Examination), writing statements of purpose and applying for PhD programs.   I began applying for careers, as well. I drafted and redrafted reams of cover letters, and polished and perfected my Resume  enough to make its readers weep.  

February came and I was still without a "real job".  I hadn't received any positive responses from any of the jobs that I had applied for--except for one research position in Nigeria.  I had made it through the final set of interviews, but in a toss-up between myself and the one remaining candidate for the position--I was the one just slightly less qualified.   "It's alright," I thought to myself.   I felt certain that something would work out with a PhD program.   I had a load of experience overseas, I was cum laude in my MA and BA programs, and didn't do to shabby on the GRE either.  Something was bound to work out. 

And then the letters came.  

One.  
Then another.  
Then the final one.   


Each letter carried the same disappointing message, stated in the same awkwardly optimistic tone.  My applications had not been accepted.  I had been back in the states for just slightly over 6 months and I felt that I had accomplished nothing.  


I dreaded that horrible and unrelenting question from others, "So, what are you doing now?"   Up until this point I had a story.  I had a vision in my mind--an exciting picture to paint.  I usually responded with something like: 

"Blah, blah, blah... applying for PhD programs... blah, blah... looking for graduate assistantships at OSU... blah, blah, blah"

And now... I didn't really have anything impressive or exciting to say at all.  In all honesty, I was spent.  Discouraged.  Frustrated.  I was left with nothing more than what was really there.   I really had nothing to say, except that: 

"I'm living with my parents, substitute teaching in Pickaway County and waiting tables on the weekends."  

That was perhaps the hardest pill to swallow.  


And so, after an entire gestation period of being in the states--nine long months--I have finally changed my Facebook status.   Jarrett Davis no longer lives in Taytay, Rizal.   Jarrett Davis is a waiter and a substitute teacher, living with his parents in rural Ohio.  


Don't get me wrong, I still cringed as I wrote those words.   I didn't enjoy typing them.  But I can type them, because I have accepted them to be true.   And I feel that--to some extent--I can never be ready to begin the next chapter until I can be present, here, in the place in between.   That annoying--but entirely necessary--place in-between. 


And with that, I begin the next chapter. 

"I'll Be Back"

Much has transpired in the seven months since my last post; I've changed continents, changed cultures, and starkly changed my day to day way of living.  There is so much to write about, but I can't write about what I am currently thinking until I bring this blog up to the present day.  So here is the first entry of a multi-part rundown of the past few months of my life.

Just before my flight at Ninoy Aquino 
International Airport in Manila

August 16th of last year, I boarded a plane in Manila bound for the United States.   I bid a tearful good-bye to a group of friends--and way of life--that had become as much a part of me as my left hand.  Throughout the weeks preceding this event, the words: "I'll be back" had become a kind of mantra for me.  It was not so much a statement of fact as it was a reassurance for myself, helping me to hold myself together while I undertook the tying-up loose ends both socially and with my work at APNTS.  There was far too much to be done; falling apart emotionally would certainly not aide the tasks at hand.   And so, I came to that final night when I left the Philippines.   Myself  and about 10 of my closest friends piled into a van and made our way to the airport.   The conversation in the van was exactly what is to be expected in Pinoy culture during times of heavy emotion:

Jokes.  Sarcasm. And side-splitting laughter. 

This is something that I have come to both love and be annoyed by--and something that I greatly miss.  In Filipino culture, more often than not, when the mood is too sullen for too long---people instinctively start cutting up.  As much as I wanted to wallow in the sadness of leaving, my friends would not allow it.   I made it through the car ride, the hugs, and the final goodbyes.  It wasn't until we parted and I stepped through the doors of the airport that the waterworks cut loose.   I tried to hide it, but the tears were no-doubt obvious--far too strong to pass off as a random flair-up of allergies; as much as I hated it, I was crying.  I dealt with my emotions by striking up conversations in the terminal with anyone who would have it, and savoring what few minutes I had left to use Tagalog--a language that would be all but useless once I arrived in the states.  

Mindlessly, I stood in lines and went through the motions of passing though security, checking my luggage and exchanging my colorful Philippine Pesos for the familiar monochromatic American greenbacks.  I boarded my flight and started the first of five flights eastward, each one carrying me a bit farther from the people and places that I couldn't seem to shake from my mind.  I was ever-mindful of my "I'll be back" mantra of the past few weeks. I knew I would be back.  But when?  And under what auspices?     

After some 15 hours of prayer and melancholic reflection over the Pacific, I landed in Texas with a fresh mind, excited about the few days to come.  I had done something on this trip that I had always wanted to do:

I had kept my return home a secret from my mom and brother.  

At the time, my family had been on vacation in Garden City Beach, South Carolina.   I had made arrangements with my sister, Leah, and planned to meet her at the airport in Myrtle Beach.  Leah had slipped away from our condo stating that she had needed some "alone time".   The entire ordeal of sneaking around and orchestrating an international transition across social networks and the globe without leaving clues on Facebook left me feeling a bit like James Bond or Jason Borne (at least, I liked to pretend that it was so).  And---apart from a small "farewell" left on my Facebook wall (thankfully, in Tagalog) the plot of secrecy had worked!   

We had it all worked out.  Leah picked me up and we drove to a small Ocean Front restaurant just a few doors down from where my family was staying.   We grabbed a table and my sister left to meet my family to come to dinner where I was patiently waiting.   A half an hour later, as my family walked down the beach to the Cafe, I headed down to the sand in front of the restaurant, acting as if I had been there all along and didn't know them.  Leah had tried to get Mom's attention by getting her to look at this guy on the beach that looked just like her son.  After a few awkward and confused glances, her face was priceless. 

Thankfully, Leah caught it on video:

My first three days in the states were spent at the beach with my family re-living old, archived memories of vacations past.   They were a great few days; and, as I remember them, almost surreal as my mind lagged to adjust to the dramatic the change in culture, timezone and the faces that surrounded me.  

I was back. 

It was great to be with my family and spend some much needed time catching up with them.  However, I was still unsure of what being back meant.   What now?