the twist at the end

The unthinkable has happened. I got a job offer. Here, in the Philippines. A real one, not just the abstract & intangible "sure I'll pass on your resume" B.S., but a real "here's what your salary will be, this is who you'll work with, this is where your office will be, this is what you're doing" nitty-gritty details. A monkey wrench in my perfectly crafted masterplan for the next chapter of my fabulous life. Eh, actually no, nothing is perfectly crafted anymore, & I've come to realize from years of experience that nothing is ever certain until I am there actually doing it. Now what?

It's perfect in nearly all ways except pay. I'll be living like a queen by Philippine standards but when translated into US$ it's really quite low- like less than 1/4 of what I was making in New York. Although for here it's really decent, & I feel like a troll harping on the "low" salary when my could-be coworkers are getting by on so much less, only because they haven't had the level of educational training that I have, & a foreign education no less, & definitely not because they are less dedicated. Because they work their asses off. & I don't like feeling guilty that I can so easily slide into this opportunity to be their superior simply by virtue of my ethnic background & good fortune that my parents had supported my schooling until I turned 22.

But then let's be honest here. I'm no martyr-saint, & I need my material comforts-- ok, excesses sometimes-- as much as the next princess. I have student loans & a massive credit card debt to pay. I never intended to sign a vow of poverty when I chose this vocation. It's just what I am passionate about, & why should I not be compensated adequately? Maybe I just need to marry up to be able to afford my rockstar lifestyle. Anyone? Guys with E.U. passports are especially encouraged to apply.

So here I'm practically a VIP & people want to hire me. They want to promote me & listen to me & I get job offers from a single phone conversation. Then when I go back to New York I have to get down on my hands & knees to grovel to fetch coffee. Where is the justice?

I opted to start the job on a trial, casual basis yesterday to do field outreach. We went out to the ghetto (as in ghe-TTO!) a 2-hour drive away. I sat in as an observer this time, & later I'm going to help improve the program somehow. About 80 women showed up at a community center so my team could do a little "edu-tainment" show about how to practice family planning & STI/STD prevention. They sang & danced & did skits with props-- as in, a guy dressed up as an IUD stood in front of another guy dressed as a uterus blocking a guy dressed as sperm saying "bawal dumaan dito!" ("you can't pass here!") And yes, you read that right, they were all male actors. Oh & then another dude dressed up as menstruation later & did a "flowing" dance. No pictures unfortunately, but I have it all on video. Priceless.

I know, always have, that I'll be returning here to the Philippines to "settle"-- whatever the hell that means anymore. This is where my heart is. I just don't know when that time is, be it sooner rather than later.

Maybe the real problem is that I'm spoiled for choice. But it's always better to have more options rather than none, no?

"I would like to spend the whole of my life traveling, if I could anywhere borrow another life to spend at home."

- William Hazlitt