Tokyo Post No. 1: Lost in Translation

With apologies to my dear friend Rika who strongly felt the movie was unfair to them, Japanese… I remember though that she was very adamant to hear my honest opinion on both the film and my experience being in Tokyo. This blog is how I would recall my reply was to her—that whatever reference to the movie only hovers on a literal interpretation.

I traveled to Japan upon the invitation of the Global Environmental Forum (GEF), an NGO that had a research on the corporate social responsibility (CSR) practices of Japanese companies all over the Southeast Asian region and I represented the Philippine Business for Social Progress—a well-recognized NGO that advocates CSR. It was my first opportunity to be in that lovely country and also my first to be speaking in a crowd using a simultaneous translation process.

Two hours before the symposium, my host from GEF gave a serious briefing on how the system works and what to expect. I thought it was simple but still endeavored to remember all his tips.

1. Speak in simple straightforward sentences.
2. Absolutely no idiomatic expressions.
3. Adjust the volume of earpiece.
4. Remember the voice of your translator and how her voice flows as she ends her translations.
5. Wait five beats to make sure a translation has ended.
6. Always look at the moderator (who would not be speaking in English!) for visual cues.

And it was not easy!

I had an uncomfortable “lost in translation” moment and went through rough patches the first 20 or so minutes. Thankfully, I sort of winged it thereafter… As I am the type who would prefer looking at the eyes of whoever I am communicating with, maintaining this eye contact, listening to the translator and checking on the cues from the moderator proved to be VERY daunting! The following pictures are odd reminders of how unnatural I was in that situation.

Hmm... adjust the volume and keep the hand off the earpiece, please.

May I look at the audience... but the hand...

May I now look at the moderator... still the hand.

But heck! I think I did well. An article on the symposium came out of a local newspaper and the writer kindly sent me a copy through courier. I do not know much about Nihonggo or katakana (their script) but I think this piece is a good story.

Look ma, no hand!

Have a bag, will travel

Like most women, I also live by this aphorism: a woman can never have too many shoes or too many bags. Carrie Bradshaw is alive in me, just like in you. It does not matter if they are spanking new or segunda manos found in the ukay-ukay. I always believed bags and shoes are tools for expressing both our creative and practical sensibilities. They manifest our personalities more than our consumerist or faddish urges.

Most of my bags have their own stories to tell, from the reason of their purchase to the many (mis)adventures shared thereafter. In this respect, my leather teal bag stands out among the rest. A trusty companion in many of my travels, it has been an object of envy and an easy subject for many a pick-up line.

An object of envy

Incident No. 1: Buckinghamshire, London
I was having tea and some serious conversation with colleagues from Europe and Africa. As we were winding down, the Italian lady gestured towards my feet where the bag was peacefully parked. She said, "Can’t help but notice your beautiful bag. Where did you buy that?" At the end of that girly chat, she shared what seemed an elaborate plan to pass by the Philippines in her future travel to Asia.

The bag, ready to go to bed. At my hotel room in Buckinghamshire.

Incident No. 2: NUS, Heng Mui Keng Terrace, Singapore
On the other side of the table, one of the school administrators was seriously checking the documents I submitted. After what felt like an eternity of silence, she declared everything was in order. When I gathered the rest of my files and stuffed them in the bag, she suddenly had that very big, childlike smile and said, "I love your bag." Then in a split second, her face went back to its former mask. Weird, but a breakthrough in an environment where a staid personality means more credibility.

A subject of pick-up lines

Incident No. 1: On board the Emirates airplane above the Middle East skies
After all the hassle at the Dubai airport, I was so tired I wished to spend the rest of that long flight to London in stillness and silence. After more than an hour of self-imposed catatonia, I decided to pick up my bag and retrieved something. Out of thin air, my seatmate said, "You have such an elegant bag." Then went on and introduced himself as an Indian-American architect. I gathered my manners, said my name and added, "My husband is also an architect. This bag is a gift from him." That it was a pick-up line never crossed my mind until, on a separate occasion, an American program partner told me how gullible I was. Tsk.

The bag taking a seat. At my hotel room in Tokyo.

Incident No. 2: Akasaka, Tokyo, Japan
Before the sake’s spirits have descended, the post-symposium party room was a virtual parting of the Red Sea—the Japanese male executives on one side and women on the other. Two hours later, a flushed gentleman approached me with a courteous bow and said, "I would like to tell you that we were impressed by your presentation. You are a beautiful speaker… Er, that’s a beautiful bag you’re holding…" (Eject button, pls...)

At a museum in Tokyo.
‘Love my bag!

Samar Post No. 2: A fascination was born

Samar is a hardship post. Many typhoons pass through this island each year. Most areas are upland, difficult for farming staple crops like rice and corn. Some would say people there are either fisherfolk or they tend huge coconut plantations owned by only a handful of landowners. Scores have also migrated to urban areas or become OFWs to find that elusive pot of gold. Yet the other end of the rainbow has set foot in Samar and not many people knew this.

In recent years, the hardy Samarenos have seen the potential of our lowly “banig” or traditional mat, enhanced its design and has built a cult of avid user and collectors. I’ve seen these mats when I went there and the infatuation was instant. But I was terribly dismayed… As in many fascinating Philippine-made products, they are not to be found in your local shops. Yes, there they are in those swanky home decorating ateliers—a few locals but mostly, abroad—tagged with prohibitive values.

It took three years for a chance to get hold of one or two... And when it came, thinking was out of the question. Let me show you some of the loot—

It takes a month or more to finish one piece.
This is one of their gaudiest designs.

Understated elegance...
This large piece with matching floor pillows took much longer to make because the design and color are more arduous to the eyes. According to my supplier only her mother can weave this pattern and has yet to teach one of her siblings the technique.

The same mat with small colored pillows of the same material.

What I have seen in Samar created this ardent fascination for Philippine crafts. I love them for their beauty but more than that the rich heritage imbued in each piece is truly invaluable. Fanatic as I am, you can only imagine the pains I have to go through in getting hold of them as well as in ensuring they come with us when we moved here in Singapore.

Samar Post No. 1: That which started all the crying

After only about three months in my previous office, I had to travel to Samar with a well-respected Filipino journalist who used to write for Reader’s Digest. It was a good break on three counts: the person I’m with; my first time to see Samar; and my first visit to one of the organization’s most respected programs.

But all the excitement were quickly forgotten as my husband and I were on our way to the airport. I was crying my eyes out because it was also the first time I would be away from our son. He was only ten months old then. After taking care of him 24/7 for seven months, going back to work had been a guilt-ridden, painful experience. The husband kept on assuring me five days would be over fast and burned the lines to cheer me up. Still, I cried each night.

I could never thank my good fortune for having the opportunity to travel far and wide. Yet, I never got used to the loneliness of being away. I only got better in hiding my tears as I enter the airport. And in making sure I put cold compress on my puffy eyes in the mornings and do my work as though nothing bothered me the night before. I would describe myself as mildly sentimental but the anguish has been really due to the fact that I have become fully aware of the consequences of each moment of absence on the child and on the bond everybody has been building for the family.

Samar opened my eyes to all these. Admittedly, there is serious fun involved in traveling but serious work is also needed to get back on the groove of family life once again. The people we left are not on suspended animation waiting for us to press “play” when we return. All our lives evolve. While we are apart we could miss a chance of a lifetime. Or just a pixel which completes the family picture. Or which leaves it undone.

It did not help that Samar is mired in poverty. I have never been to a place where concrete structures can only be found in town centers. The long road trip from Tacloban, Leyte to Maqueda Bay in Western Samar was only punctuated by these and by little huts displaying a few bunches of bananas, hoping to attract the palate, or the pity, of travelers. Yes, we crossed the San Juanico Bridge which to my consternation was the only thing I knew about this area at that time, aside from the infamous family who could have made a lot more difference. Unbelievable. It used to be a source of pride for the nation, notwithstanding the many issues shadowing its stature, but there it was—as lonely as the whole landscape.

Or maybe it was the gloom I had in me. Even now, I could not be too sure which one fed the other. Lest I would be accused of painting such a sorry image, I believe Samar is one of the amazing places I had been to. In no small measure due to its rustic nature—however pillaged it has been—but mostly, this admiration springs from the resilience and creativity of its people. This is a subject deserving of a full entry so watch out.

After that fateful trip, I came home much more thankful of what I have. Cliché. This was one of those places where these words can truly mean what they mean.

Someday, I should be able to include photos of that trip in this blog.

London Post No. 3: A constellation in Buckinghamshire

If there is one photo I would cherish the most in my entire professional life, this would be it. Or until something else bigger comes along. (I'm still young, a lot can still happen in the future :>) Gathered here is a veritable constellation of the social development world. It just so happened that my star has aligned I am somehow thrown into its nexus. This was a fascinating experience. A life-changing one. I always say 2005 was my luckiest year. Despite the challenges of a career change and the husband working overseas, all these events pointed to a positive direction.

Coming from the distorted world of PR and advertising in my previous incarnation, I always had a jaded view. Then when I was in a room with all these people, I realized there is a lot that the world could still hope for. We may never be able to erase poverty and deprivation from the face of the earth but hoping for a better future will not remain a dream. I am happy I could confidently say that to my little boy.

London Post No. 2: My first OFW encounter

As we were heading out of Central London from Victoria station, the bus stopped along Hyde Park. A woman hopped in and smiled as soon as she saw us. It was an instantaneous, eager yet wistful smile. Then she spoke in the dialect with much excitement: "Kagagaling nyo lang po ng Pilipinas?" My huge luggage was a giveaway. I was caught by her cheerfulness. It was as if she was there to meet me, too. Then she said it's been almost ten years since she went home. There was a brief silence after that. This was one of those awkward moments when I am not sure how to emphatize.

She asked many things about the country. I didn't know if I should just say the nice things. There were a few, come to think of it. She said she has not seen her children since but she's so happy mobile phones and the internet have made their absence more and more bearable. I looked at her hands. She still had her ring on. I said she should make plans to go home soon. A lot has changed in the country and that it would surprise her, in a positive way. She was very excited to talk about her family at the same time yearning to know about any news from back home. There was some sadness and a tinge of "inggit" on her part when I responded that I am not actually in London for the long haul. "Mabuti ka pa," she said.


Then came her stop near a hospital. It was as if we've known each other for a long time. Suddenly I felt so tired and so wanting to go back home. My friend said the number of Filipino nurses in UK is quite significant. Perhaps sensing my loneliness, she said it's quite an experience when you become a recipient of such instant affinity and when they begin to openly talk about their dreams and aspirations.

I was actually surprised that I felt surprised. After all, having OFW relatives is commonplace in the Philippines. I read somewhere there's an average of one or two in each household. My family being a very recent addition to that statistic. But it was different seeing them in another country.

What I saw was a different face of an OFW--not the happy, exhilarated "balikbayan"--and made me start looking at our OFW phenomenon with a different set of eyes. Questions ran on my mind. They still do. How come the government never seriously looked at how this phenomenon would shape the foundation of our nation--the family? Many studies have shown increasing incidence of breakups, legal or otherwise. But no study is ever needed to tell every Filipino about the kind of alienation it has created in families all these years.

For all that OFW money, why can't the government develop programs that will mitigate all these adverse impacts? It is hard to even think about this if you're an OFW trying to relieve your family from hand-to-mouth existence. Or if you're a housewife or a house-band left waiting for the next remittance not knowing you've been sharing your spouse's salary with his or her new family somewhere. Or that the spouse has become a totally different person--a stranger who can no longer fit in your family. You'll hear too many of these on AM radio. Most of us just choose to keep a blind eye. Money seem to find all the justifications for what has been clearly a tragic erosion of our society's fiber. Some would argue these are personal matters but I would argue that the welfare of an OFW and his family is a clear public good. The least a government can do is to do something.

I can only hide my disbelief when a top government official recently spoke at the school proudly showing off his charts announcing that on the strength of its diverse remittances alone, the Philippines can actually withstand any major crisis happening in any of the major economies. Tsk. The foreigners in the room were equally incredulous. For a major government officer on a major PR campaign for the country, saying that certainly left a bad taste on the mouth. If our country's future is largely hedged on this, perhaps, I might never see the reverse of Filipino diaspora in my lifetime?

London Post No. 1: Eyes wide open

Yes, this is the spectacular London Eye. So massive it takes 30 minutes to complete the turn. I rode on it once on my 30th birthday. And I'd consider it a most wonderful debut to my succeeding journeys... London is a world city, no less. And nothing ever beats a 360 degree view. I knew from then on that on my succeeding trips I should get on another wheel or the tallest building so I can see the whole scene.

London was my first time to leave the Philippine soil. I knew nothing about how things work there. I was only armed with the assurance that there is quite an extensive network of Filipinos and social development workers who would be taking care of me. My colleagues would say: while it's unfortunate to figure in an accident, that's about the fastest way to find a Pinoy in London. Of course, every Pinoy knows the city is teeming with top notch nurses the Philippines used to have. Brimming with excitement and wads of very useful maps such as this...


...I felt completely confident. Thankfully, I reached Victoria Station from Gatwick Airport still in one piece. Hours ago, I had a physically daunting sprint from Dubai immigration to that far-and-away boarding gate while I hear in the PA that my connecting flight was about to take off. I have never ran that fast in my entire life, I swear I had a mild nose bleed. Back at the train station, I was met by one of the most wonderful Filipinos on earth. Then we took the iconic double decker bus to the beautiful suburb of North Finchley.

This trip was among those very few special gifts that came my way partly for being at the right place at the right time-- sheer luck. Some well-meaning friends would say "we just reap the fruits of our labor." I'd say it's all of those reasons put together plus some hear-headed sense of adventure and a never-say-no attitude to a professional challenge. Of course, a chance like this was a no-brainer because it came with the privilege of getting to that side of the earth without having to go through the endless queue at the embassy. Although that is something I can never be very proud of knowing a friend of mine had to endure condescending Q&As to get that elusive seal on her passport. She's still trying. All because of love. And I'm going off the course here :>

But there is one thing I realized -- despite all that, we all eventually get off on the same plane. It doesn't matter who we are or where we come from as long as we don't quite tick off some alarm bells on terrorism. Huh? Unfortunately, the only other Filipino who joined that workshop in London did not have the same peaceful landing as I did. My program partner (he landed at Heathrow on another day) was accosted and was questioned for some time for the sole reason that he was taking some pictures while inside the airport. Were there warnings against it? None. One thing led to the other as the police found he is from the Philippines and from Mindanao, no less.

I also grew up in Mindanao and directly correlating this with some remote connection to terroristic activities would be unfair. Of course, in the world we live in nowadays, these "alarm bells" evidently becomes par for the course. We cannot blame the authorities. It is their role to ensure public safety. Well, my partner survived relatively unscathed. These were really uncertain times as more than a month after this trip, the horrible bombings happened. Not that there is any relation..What was ironic in that "little airport incident" was that we were both invited to London because of our peace-building initiatives in Mindanao.

The picture above was my take of Gatwick.