erinworldwide

the kindness of strangers

2009-11-25T16:25:00.003-05:00

New York Mag was soliciting entries from this city's beautiful people about how their New York existence has once been touched by the unexpected kindness of strangers. My story:

Before I had a permanent address in NY I was crashing at a friend's whilst doing an internship. One crazy day I left my purse in a cab, containing all my valuables including passport, mobile, keys, wallet and diary. I was completely lost without them! I managed to track down my friend that night, who said a stranger left a message for him that he had my purse and I could pick it up the next day. Turns out the cab passenger after me had picked up my purse, rifled through my IDs, and seeing no NY address, rifled through my diary and happened upon my friend's phone number scribbled in a margin. I was able to get my purse back the very next day with everything in it, but how do you thank someone properly who just saved your ass in so many ways?! I gratefully babbled my thanks and quickly ran out. I couldn't look him in the eye, after all, he read my diary! For that stranger, thank you from the bottom of my heart, and I wish you all the good karma in the world. Now whenever someone talks shit about how nasty New Yorkers are, I tell them this story.

I think I've missed blogging.

M.I.A.

2009-05-29T18:45:00.003-04:00

Been a minute. I think I've forgotten how to write. Blogging isn't conducive to proper sentence construction, FYI. Which is a problem, as I'm trying to throw something together for my dear friend Auds, or rather more specifically, the magazine that she edits. It's a piece about volunteer vacations, which got me thinking back to this poor neglected blog.

Anyhu, things are good. Hope they are with you as well. ;)

I'll be back. For now, I leave you with joke:

breathe

2009-03-18T23:03:00.001-04:00

Today's fortune:

It'll be in your interest to provide yourself with moments of composure so as to recover your peace of mind. Nothing is ever granted beforehand; continue to fight.

erin go bragh!

2009-03-17T18:01:00.006-04:00

Happy St. Patrick's Day internets!

While I myself am not Irish by blood, nor have I ever visited the country, I do have a special affinity for this day and generally all things Irish because the country happens to be my namesake. Hey, any excuse to drink beer and engage in hooliganism during daylight hours.

From Wikipedia:

Erin is a Hiberno-English derivative of the Irish word "Éirinn". ("Éirinn" is the dative case of the Irish word for Ireland - "Éire", genitive "Éireann"). According to Irish mythology and folklore, the name was originally given to the island by the Milesians after the goddess Ériu. Poets and nineteenth-century Irish nationalists used Erin in English as a romantic name for Ireland. In this context, along with Hibernia, Erin is the name sometimes given to the female of Ireland. Erin go bragh ("Éirinn go brách" in standard orthography), a slogan dating from the 1798 revolution, is often translated as "Ireland forever". The etymological history of the word as it drifted throughout the Gaelic region gave rise to its use by the early Scots to both mean Ireland and "west" - as Ireland lies to the west of Scotland.

Here's wishing that you find your lucky charms today and have a not-so-painful hangover tomorrow! Now pass them carbombs this way.

floating on a life-saver

2009-03-05T18:01:00.005-05:00

Captain's log:

Day 390(-ish) with no steady employment. Still drifting aimlessly out at sea, no land in sight. A few mirages have appeared, but after toying with my weary mind they've now faded, along with most of my resolve to stay hopeful. Buoyancy is compromised. Yarrrrr! Where's the plank so I can jump off?

OK it's been a hot minute since I posted anything of substance here. Or anything, period. It's just very hard to write about nothing day in and day out. Le sigh. But here's hoping the tides are turning very soon. Things are starting to happen. Cross fingers.

To combat my dreadful boredom, add a little oomph to my resume and meet some new peeps, I've started volunteering again-- doing what I do well, which is working for no money (siiiigh). I signed up with New York Cares, a nifty little group that organizes well-meaning do-gooders throughout the city by hooking them up with appropriate volunteer opportunities. I chose the Lower East Side Harm Reduction Center, a community-based non-profit organization whose mission is "to reduce the spread of HIV/AIDS and drug-related harm among injection drug users and the community." The philosophy of harm reduction is recognizing that drug users and the larger community are deserving of the same basic human right to health and well-being that we all are, and aims to promote this through practical and non-judgmental provision of information and services. So I spent my Valentines Day promoting L-O-V-E by packaging condoms and educational materials for dissemination around the city-- a much more productive use of my time than a candlelit dinner and pink roses and teddy bears and all that Hallmark nonsense (and also because I did not have a date). My guide/supervisor for the day was the uber-exuberant Tino, who took a whole extra hour post-assignment to talk with me about additional ways I could be involved with the group in a non-volunteer capacity (i.e. I get PAID beeyatch!). So sweet of him, and am definitely looking further into this now.

At the end of it all, he asked me why do I do these things, choose to work with these people, in these situations. I'm not sure what the correct answer is to that..? I said I've tried other things (I used to be in advertising, can you believe?), but nothing else was as fulfilling for me as this line of work. He said "ok I'll accept that." Then I added, "it's for the penance of my tainted soul." I think that was the million dollar answer. He just laughed.

what tomorrow may bring

2009-01-30T13:22:00.008-05:00

Nassim Nicholas Taleb, author of The Black Swan (which I started to read but got distracted- will give another shot), gives his 10 rules for living with dignity amidst an uncertain world. Needless to say, it is resonating soundly with me these days.
(originally found from one of my favorite blogs, the incomparable Jessica Zafra)

1 Scepticism is effortful and costly. It is better to be sceptical about matters of large consequences, and be imperfect, foolish and human in the small and the aesthetic.

2 Go to parties. You can’t even start to know what you may find on the envelope of serendipity. If you suffer from agoraphobia, send colleagues.

3 It’s not a good idea to take a forecast from someone wearing a tie. If possible, tease people who take themselves and their knowledge too seriously.

4 Wear your best for your execution and stand dignified. Your last recourse against randomness is how you act — if you can’t control outcomes, you can control the elegance of your behaviour. You will always have the last word.

5 Don’t disturb complicated systems that have been around for a very long time. We don’t understand their logic. Don’t pollute the planet. Leave it the way we found it, regardless of scientific ‘evidence’.

6 Learn to fail with pride — and do so fast and cleanly. Maximise trial and error — by mastering the error part.

7 Avoid losers. If you hear someone use the words ‘impossible’, ‘never’, ‘too difficult’ too often, drop him or her from your social network. Never take ‘no’ for an answer (conversely, take most ‘yeses’ as ‘most probably’).

8 Don’t read newspapers for the news (just for the gossip and, of course, profiles of authors). The best filter to know if the news matters is if you hear it in cafes, restaurants... or (again) parties.

9 Hard work will get you a professorship or a BMW. You need both work and luck for a Booker, a Nobel or a private jet.

10 Answer e-mails from junior people before more senior ones. Junior people have further to go and tend to remember who slighted them.

I especially like #6. Mastering the error part. Yes.

fortune-ately

2009-01-28T18:06:00.001-05:00

Happy Lunar New Year! 2009 is the Year of the Ox. (at first I accidentally typed "Year of the Ex"- dear God, I hope not!) Anyway.

Happy to have another chance at starting the year right. Honestly the last 3 weeks have just been kinda ehhhh, after the great climatic ending I had to 2008. Unlike last year, I entered this one without any clear plans, so the next 12 months are just one big question mark. My one and only resolution is "find job." I think that's pressure enough. No need to add to that!

And so I look to the cosmos once again for some direction or some hint at what lies in store for me this year's rotation around the solar system. This time though with a healthy dose of skepticism, as last year's rat threatened many terrible things that thankfully didn't materialize. Quite the opposite, actually.

HORSES IN THE YEAR OF THE OX
(taken from chinesefortunecalendar.com)

"Some of those obstacles or troubles in 2008 will carry over to 2009. The first half of the year, Horse people still need to handle things slowly and surely and to avoid face-to-face conflict with your opponent. In the second half of the year, your money luck and career luck will be much stable. But it's still not the optimistic time yet. You need to stay alert on your job, investment and health."
Ok, so it's a bittersweet year ahead. Difficulties for the first half of the year, some of which I'm definitely feeling right now. But who is my opponent?? Could it be- dum dum dum!- myself? I hold myself back? Am I seriously over-analyzing these predictions conjured up in a fortune cookie company by Chinese immigrants who can't really speak English?

"Career: There are many Unlucky Stars showing in career area in 2009. The signs indicate that you cannot concentrate on your daily work quite often. The schedule of business or project will be slow down. Fortunately, there also is a strong Lucky Moon Star appearing in 2009. That means someone will show up to support and help you to solve the problems of entanglement. So you cam escape from those troubles and will work back into the normal track."
What! I can't have any more unlucky stars in my career area! Hello I've been unemployed all year! If I slow down anymore I will stop breathing. Ughhhh. Who is this mysterious "someone"? I need to identify the cast of characters in this fortune.

"Money: A big Unlucky Star from 2008 is gone, but a tiny Unlucky Star appears in 2009. This means that the money luck of Horse people is still struggling. The career is a big factor to determine your money luck. Since you don't have a good sign in career, you shouldn't expect your income will increase from there."
Ugh, no kidding. Tell me something I don't already know. And some good news please, for the love of God!

"Love: There is a Love Star coming in 2009."
Ok! There's a great start!
"However, this Love Star is not a Marriage Star."
Uh.
"That means you have a chance to meet someone you like. Both of you will produce the passion in love. But this relationship won't last too long."
Another year of broken hearts. My mother's, that is.

"Health: Unlucky Hurting and Disease Stars still gather in 2009. The signs indicate illness, exhaustion, panic, fright or weakness coming to people."
Well I'd guess that no job, money, or love might cause even the strongest of horses illness, exhaustion, panic, fright and weakness, don't you agree?

"Horse people must make sure have enough sleep during the night. Otherwise, they will have weak energy and weak resistance against the disease."
Well I got this one covered at least! Unemployment = plenty of sleepy time.

"Plus, you might have more social hours in your nightlife and not pay attention on your eating and drinking. Then, the headache and digestive system will often bother you in 2009."
At least my social life is looking up. Heh.

"Fortune: In general, Horse people don't have a good luck in 2009, but their luck have significant improvement when comparing with 2008. However, you still need to focus on your moves all the time to prevent any mistakes caused by neglect. Luckily, whenever you encounter the big difficulty, someone will appear to solve the problem for you. Therefore, you shouldn't give up anything when troubles come to challenge you. As long as you follow the rule and insist the principle, you will be fine in the year."
Ok! If I just follow the rule and insist the principle everything will be fine! I feel so much better already.

Here's wishing you all a wonderful year.

moratorium

2009-01-15T22:05:00.004-05:00

I just realized that today, dear readers, is my ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY of unemployment. ONE YEAR. I have been without stable paid work for 365 days. Wow.

Lucky for me I really enjoy sleeping in. (see? bright side! always!)

I'm not stressing. I'm not stressing. I'm not stressing.

30 rock

2009-01-04T12:44:00.008-05:00

30 years and 72 hours later, and I'm happy to report that I did not sprout wrinkles or gray hair and my boobs did not sag overnight. The sky didn't fall. God didn't smite me down. I'm 30 and still alive to tell the tale.

I hadn't been stressing much about it. Age ain't nothin' but a number right? And anyway, as I said before, I feel like I haven't wasted much of my youth or opportunity to f-up during my reckless 20s. So it was a decade well-spent! But as the days ticked down, I started to hyperventilate. I became a cliche- wailing about what have I done with my life so far?! I didn't want to plan any birthday celebrations, instead I was leaning towards reading sad poetry in a darkened room and wallowing in self-pity. But time is merciless, and it was my time to age. Dammit.

All the old-timers (hehe) have been quick to offer up some words of (ancient) wisdom to me. It is comforting to hear that all are unanimous in saying that their 30s have been the best decade so far. Perhaps the most helpful advice came from my dear friend Connie:

"I feel much wiser now and am much better at making decisions. The important thing is that you don't LOOK like you're in your 30s!"

So here's to the 3rd decade. Here's to better decisions and more self-love. To learning from my mistakes, once and for all. To quality over quantity. To anti-wrinkle creams. To longer, but less hangovers. To lying about my age from now on. To always remaining young at heart.

And come on, I know I don't look a day over 24! Bwahahhaa.

2008

2009-01-01T18:35:00.029-05:00

Last year on the day before my birthday, I was out in SoHo by myself and a random woman stared at me for a minute at a crosswalk. She said "you should get a psychic reading. I see something big in your aura," and then she crossed the street. No attempt to sell me anything. Being the day before my birthday, I could feel it. So the next day I went and found someone to read my palm. The woman I went to was nothing special, perhaps not even remotely psychic. But she did say 2008 was my year, to contain a lot of traveling. She also said to Florida, California and the Caribbean... she got 1 out of 3 right I guess. So she was probably a quack, but still, I really wanted to believe that it was going to be my year. After an unbelievably crappy end to 2007, I was tired of feeling that way and was absolutely ready to shake it all up. Maybe I created some self-fulfilling prophecy right there, because 2008 is now recognized as The Best Year of My Life So Far! (So take that Year of the Rat!). I'm sad to see it go. It's been a helluva ride and it's so overwhelming now to attempt to sum up.

But here it is.

To start, I've celebrated a new year 3 times in the past 365 days- Gregorian, Lunar and Buddhist. A nice reminder that it's never too late to start anew.

I went to wondrous, exotic places that I'd never been to before, spanning 4 continents this year alone and completing my lifelong goal of seeing them all (minus Antartica) before age 30.

(23 countries and counting)

I got to go home again.

I got out of my comfort zone/rut and threw myself into the opposite. On the opposite side of the world. I traded in the concrete jungle for the simple life. I became a foreigner in an un-diverse setting. I had to learn how to pack light and re-learn how to ride a bicycle. (Now I only fear motorbikes).

I learned how to dive after a lifetime of dreaming about it. I surfed, took up samba, rode elephants, and kayaked with turtles. I slept in a bunk bed with flesh-eating ants. I got mistaken for a ladyboy. I learned some Thai.

I learned not to stress. Mai bpen rai!

Perhaps because I also experienced the joys of prolonged unemployment? Work is so overrated, ha ha. The truth is, I got caught in the great American recession, so it wasn't necessarily my choice to be in this situation, but my real accomplishment was turning that into an opportunity to grow in other areas of my life. I didn't expect it to last this long, but I definitely milked the hell outta it while I had (/have) it! Enjoying in the now, knowing that this won't last forever. So, poor in the bank, but so much richer at heart.

And yet, strangely during this super-duper-extended vacation, I think I've done equally valuable progress in building my career. I know what I want, and I know that it can happen.

I saw change come to America and experienced a renewed faith in the goodness/mental soundness of people in general. I was a part of the revolution that ushered in the first black president of the country.

I moved out of and back into New York.

I got to spend some serious quality time with virtually all the most important people in my life, and there are so many. I've been blessed with the best friends and the best family. And then I was enriched by the introduction of so many new people into my life-- people so different from me, people so the same (same same but different!), people that I never expected to meet, people that I never expected to like, big people, small people, red people, blue people. I met the gayest gays that ever gayed. I formed bonds with people without even sharing a common language.

I sorted out my priorities, I am comfortable in my own skin, and I feel truly truly TRULY blessed. I think, so far, I've lived a pretty full life-- full of discovery, re-discovery, adventure, joy and so so much love. All this, and still the potential for more.

Then, at the end of a year-long celebration, I turned 30, going out with a bang heard round the world. There was no better way to prepare, and now I feel ready for the next stage. Bring it on!

Happy 2009.

tick tock

2008-12-30T21:28:00.004-05:00

So it's the last few hours of my 20s. And then... the big 3-uh-oh-OH-NO. Shouldn't I be out relishing these last precious moments by partying like an animal, making bad decisions, finding a husband, making babies, buying property, and excelling in my career?

Need a drink now.

judgement day

2008-12-19T20:50:00.009-05:00

I was really starting to despair and really starting to remember what stress feels like. Since July I have been muddling along, diligently firing off resume after resume after resume, with absolutely no response. I was really beginning to wonder if anyone ever reads these things or are they just ending up in a big black hole of nothingness? All this time I've been trying to keep hope alive and stick it out, not settling for anything less than what I really want, because this time I am aiming higher! But CNN finally confirmed that the U.S. is "officially" in a recession (duh! you think?) and Obama reiterates constantly that the economy is only going to get worse before it gets better. Meanwhile I am sinking lower, lower, lower into my pit of hopelessness. I started to toy with the idea of leaving, yet again. It would be out of necessity, as New York City is not the most practical place to live in on an income of nothing and in a job market offering nothing. I'm thinking to myself, maybe it's time to really re-learn Spanish. I wonder what the weather is like in Buenos Aires this time of year?

And then... Finally! A ray of hope! Santa seemed to have heard my wish. One singular interview offer appears in my in-box. And it's a gooood one. I want it! Oh the pressure. Ouch my brain! I haven't used it in so long, and I only had 2 days to cram.

The interview was today over the phone. I had that familiar feeling again- stress! It was a panel of 4 people interrogating, and from the beginning they asked me to be concise and to the point. So much for all the cutesy anecdotes I had prepared. Then they only asked 5 totally unconventional questions that blew me away. I think I babbled quite a bit, floundering for the right answer... or wait actually, ANY answer. I babbled and babbled, listening acutely for any signs of interest, approval, awe, disgust, but I got nothing at all. Nary a follow-up question nor a "that's nice." Hello? Is this thing on? I tried to inject some charm and humor into my answers, trying to break their icy demeanor, and babbled on about the language difficulties I sometimes had to deal with whilst in Chiang Mai. I laughed about having to design research instruments and pantomime risky sexual practices to do so. I laugh and laugh. Hmm I slowly realize I'm on my own here. Crickets chirping. Egads I just made a sex joke to these formidable, humorless people. Die!

I was so so drained when it was all over a mere 10 minutes later. I felt like war-torn Baghdad. 10 minutes is all I got, after 48 hours of cramming and 6 months of praying for it to happen. I lived to tell the tale. And now I have to wait until after the new year to find out the results.

You know how you see those finalists in say, American Idol, during the last few episodes, sobbing at the thought of coming so far only to miss the goal at the very end of the journey? I really feel for them now. Don't laugh.

So please send good vibes and prayers my way, coz I really could use them!

fantastic voyage

2008-12-17T00:27:00.002-05:00

Wow.

That's really the best word that can sum up my most recent international excursion.

But 3 countries in 2 weeks is enough to spin anyone's head I imagine.

The food! The cute boys! The shopping! Truly a buffet for the soul. Heehee.

Let me just put my words together then I can share more with you.

dear santa

2008-12-11T15:53:00.004-05:00

All I want for Christmas is a job that I can love, and one that loves me back. Thank you.

(and maybe just substitute "job" for "man" if you're feeling extra generous!)

Peace on Earth. xoxo.

music makes the people come together

2008-12-09T12:10:00.004-05:00

As previously blogged about, in New York City we are accustomed to living on top on one another, privy to everyone else's business and pretending not to care. I know what time my neighbors leave for work and I know what time their kids get out of school. I know that there is a gay couple somewhere in the vicinity who frequently argue about not being able to fully come out of the closet. I know that Greg who lives upstairs likes to play the banjo, stomp his feet and yodel (or whatever that God-awful noise is emitting from his throat), as part of practice for his "bluegrass" band. Those are the times when I turn up my stereo, curl into the fetal position and whimper. There's also a beautifully-voiced opera singer who lives in the apartment adjacent to my bathroom window. Those are the peaceful Sunday mornings when I stumble into the shower, bleary-eyed from the debaucheries of the night prior, and find my sanity again just listening to her angelic chorus interplaying with the rushing water around me.

Then, in moments of inspiration, delusion, or emotional overflow, I belt it out in the shower. As you may or may not know, I'm a closeted, frustrated, emotional and angst-y rockstar. Karaoke is my best friend, when I have a mic in my grasp, a song in my heart and a captive audience of friends and strangers alike. The shower is my practice studio. So, a few weeks ago while rehearsing my rendition of Mariah Carey's "Vision of Love," a thought occurred to me...

If I can hear my neighbors, surely they can hear me!

Um, duh. Cringe.

So now the weather has gotten colder, much, much colder, and I've had to shut the bathroom window for the winter. So no more Sunday opera for the season. I wonder if they are missing me too.

mama said knock you out

2008-12-07T13:19:00.004-05:00

From The International Herald Tribune, published today, December 7, 2008.

Philippines crawls to halt to cheer Manny Pacquiao, boxing hero

By Carlos H. Conde

MANILA: In cities and towns across the Philippines, traffic was practically nonexistent Sunday. The crime rate was zero in Manila and other major urban centers, the police said. And days before, the military had announced it would not be opening any offensives against enemies of the state for a day, while Muslim insurgents responded by promising not to attack.

The event that brought everyday life in this deeply Catholic country to a Good Friday-like standstill was the historic matchup in Las Vegas between Manny Pacquiao, pound-for-pound the world's best boxer, and the Mexican-American boxing legend Oscar De La Hoya.

Filipinos were glued to their television sets as Pacquiao claimed victory over De La Hoya. Restaurants and movie theaters were filled with mostly poor Filipinos, cheering Pacquiao and taunting his opponent, while pedicab and bus drivers stopped plying their routes, to the consternation of some commuters.

"We don't get to do this often, so you understand the excitement," said Erasmo Baltazar, a 52-year-old bus driver who decided not to show up for work Sunday. "Besides," he added, taking a swig of his beer inside a roadside restaurant, "I never miss a fight by Manny."

In many army camps, televisions have been set up for soldiers, whom the popular Pacquiao has always made sure to visit. "The soldiers relate to him because his life is an inspiration to us all," said Major Gerardo Zamudio, an air force spokesman.

Pacquiao, 29, is considered the greatest sports hero this country has ever had. He is dubbed the "people's champ," earning as well the moniker "the national fists."

His victory over De La Hoya, who surrendered after the eighth round of a 12-round fight, cemented his legendary status, which had been buttressed by his humble beginnings (he dropped out of school when he was 12, sold cigarettes in the streets and turned to boxing in order to survive) as well as his reputation for generosity (he reportedly spent $700,000 for tickets to the match that he gave out to friends and relatives).

To many Filipinos, Pacquiao is the embodiment of a dream fulfilled. Across the country, boxing stables are filled with young men who had run away from their homes in the provinces in order to train to be boxers - many of them hoping to emulate Pacquiao. He has almost single-handedly made boxing the national sport in what used to be a basketball-crazy nation.

"Manny lives up to his billing. He is truly the people's champ," said John Nery, a writer who has written profiles of the boxer. "But I think he is also teaching his millions of fans a valuable life lesson. Talent, even of world-class quality, is not enough. You need discipline."

Prior to the match, Pacquiao had been deemed the underdog against the heavier, taller and more experienced De La Hoya. But his training and preparation bordered on the obsessive, many sportswriters had said, with reports depicting him as a hungry boxer determined to prove his nonbelievers wrong.

Apart from being a source of inspiration to many young Filipinos, Pacquiao's fights have a way of deflecting attention from the country's troubles. For instance, the news that 16 people had been killed Saturday in the worst cops-and-robbers shootout in recent years - including a man and his young daughter who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time - was eclipsed by stories on Pacquiao. "Time to make history" went the lead Sunday headline of the Philippine Daily Inquirer, the country's largest.

***********************************

So, does this mean now we are looking at a future President Manny? Yes We Can! But No We Shouldn't! In any case, mabuhay ang Pilipinas!

alone

2008-11-24T14:13:00.004-05:00

It is commonly said of New York City that you could easily go through everyday life here, in this city of 8 million people, and still feel like the loneliness person in the world. We live alone in this culture, most often in our solitary apartments, on top of other solitary apartments, forming no real connections to the masses that surround us and only interact with them in the shallowest of manners. We push through each other in the crowded subways and streets everyday, fight for reservations at restaurants and tickets to shows, and lay awake at night unable to sleep while a zillion car horns blare and pedestrians chatter excitedly on the sidewalk outside our windows. There is life all around us, and somehow we are so removed. I can put on my Ipod and tune it all out.

Mark Twain called it “a splendid desert—a domed and steepled solitude, where the stranger is lonely in the midst of a million of his race.”

New York Magazine's cover story this week is about this so-called "Urban Loneliness," and how recent sociological studies are proving this to be more of a myth than we feel. How so? Humans are social animals with a hypothesized biological need to interact, ultimately ensuring the survival of the species (i.e. sex). Really, that's all it comes down to? Everyone needs someone to love them. Woop!

That's the ultra-simplified analysis. Read more here.

hola atcha puerto rico!

2008-11-23T16:17:00.013-05:00

Phone call to Mom:

Me: Hi Mom! How are you?
Mom: You sound happy. Do you have good news for me?
Me: Yes!
Mom: Oh! You got a job!!!
Me: Um no. But I'm going to Puerto Rico!
Mom: *sigh*

So yes, I still am without job. It is frustrating beyond belief, but my new Zen-like, sanity-maintaining philosophy for everything is: if you don't laugh, you cry. Right? So. I enjoy my time off and I take trips.

This time, destination Puerto Rico. The self-described Caribbean paradise where wanderlusty Americans can flee to without the hassle of passports, learning Spanish, or converting dollars.

It was a last-minute trip, impulsively booked only 3 days prior. Hardly enough time to plan out a solid itinerary and brush up on my (very) rusty Espanol. I shouldn't have even bothered. My feeble attempts were answered to in perfect American- accented English (after some snickering, I might add. Renewed goal for this year is to relearn Spanish!).

Ohh the beach! It was so good to see it again and taste the salt in the air. I could spend hours there, dreaming and sighing and thinking of nothing at all, at peace under the tropical sun, and so I did. I prostrated myself on the sand and watched the local life pass through. Schoolchildren ran by kicking a soccer ball through the ebbing waters on shore, and a lone figure spun over the sand in a flurry of limbs to a capoeira beat all his own. A rolling salsa beat out onto the prone sunbathers across the beach. Slippery, glistening surfers glided by, darting in and out of the waters and harnessing the wild waves with a grace and skill that I can only dream of mastering one day.

Yet I jumped right in. Inspired maybe in a fit of delusion and conveniently forgetting that I'm still a terrible novice, battling the ocean with some of the best. But the rush of adrenaline I get from a split-second atop a board atop a crazy wave is well worth the week of pain I feel afterward. The current that day was the strongest I've ever had to surf in, and I exhausted myself just trying to paddle out to the waves. Actually I was paddling without going anywhere, huffing and puffing with exertion and willing my arms to keep working, and finally my instructor was fed up and sighed "just walk." Unbeknownst to me the water was 4 feet deep. Doh. Later I took a massive wipe-out full-force to the shallow ocean floor and busted my knee. Again and again I am reminded what a life force the ocean itself is- powerful and monstrous and utterly beguiling in its beauty. And I just can't stay away for very long.

Viejo San Juan was lovely as well, with its old crumbling architecture and somewhat romantic, somewhat creepy ambience. It made for some expensive (but yummy) cocktail hours and some tripped out photos.

But for a more authentic, Anthony Bourdain-style experience of the city, this isn't it. The Carnival cruise boat docked that night, unleashing a rampaging hoard of Mid-western American tourists and suddenly we were in Disneyworld.

On an afternoon trip slightly off the beaten path, Sophie and I found ourselves in the area of Piñones, a stretch of pristine coastline dotted with simple thatched hut eateries and patches of sand, where one can sit and immerse in nature and solitude and think deep and meaningful thoughts about the universe at large. It's that kind of feeling. Where lovers go to cuddle and mothers bring their babies for their first taste of salt water on their baby skin. We sat at Soleil and ordered our best meal of the trip- Mofongo with the works. A van parked next to us and a group of people emerged, dressed up in colorful dresses, kicked off their shoes and spontaneously danced on the beach, as if it was a private recital for us. I have no idea what that was about, but it doesn't matter. It was the highlight of the entire trip.

All in all, a few days well-spent. Then back to reality and banging my head on my computer for hours on end looking for gainful employment. Until the next getaway, of course. It won't be too long. :)

barack and roll!

2008-11-05T17:56:00.005-05:00

Welcome Mr. President...

... and thank you God!

i believe

2008-11-03T16:01:00.006-05:00

I met a guy who already voted for McCain. We were in Puerto Rico, swimming in the waves of the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of a San Juan beach. He looked young. He told me he's an original Nuyorican, that is, a Puerto Rican born in New York but whose family later relocated back to the motherland. He was on an 8-week break from his military service in Iraq. McCain wants to give him and his military peers more benefits, he argued. But, I countered, Obama wants you all completely out of Iraq. He was more concerned with the here and now. And actually, I should have been too, floating in those gloriously piss-warm salty waters underneath the gorgeous tropical sunshine. "We didn't come here to discuss politics now, did we?" he said.

But it's all-encompassing. No matter what light we shine on it, from whatever coordinates we are in the world, it is no exaggeration to say that a whole lot of my future, and everyone else's, rests on the outcome of tomorrow's election. I'm actually nervous. I'm turning down invites to "election viewing parties" at bars and friends' houses, because it almost feels too... personal? I have so much emotion invested in it that I may actually wail if things don't go the way I feverishly hope for them to. And it is so evident that I'm not the only one. So many times I've heard people say that tomorrow is everyone's election-- just not everyone gets a vote.

The whole world is watching us! The Economist even conducted a Global Electoral College to tally votes if the American elections were opened up to the whole world. It closed today as such:

So now I am not quite sure why Algeria, the Congo and Iraq are Republican (random!), but the incredibly overwhelming rest of the world would vote Obama. I pray everyday that we will too.

When I was growing up in the Philippines, I can't even count how many times I've been told how fortunate I am to have the freedom to come and go easily by virtue of my blue American passport. In a 3rd world country where human labor is cheap and plentiful, human rights are often violated without question, and a large percentage live on US$2 or less a day, it's easy to dream of better living conditions. And most often, people dream of America. They are eager to escape and work hard for many years just for that chance to infiltrate the so-called "Land of Opportunity" and get their own slice of the "American Dream." It's because of the alleged great American democracy that allows you to achieve success as big as you can dream it, but only if you're willing to work for it first.

I guess it really did take leaving for a bit and returning to this country to make me truly appreciate what I've taken for granted in the past. This is the country that puts such a premium on higher education that it has systems in place to reach even the most remote children, and adults, and offers them financial support to get them there. That allows women to have access to safe and accurate reproductive health information and options that best suit their individual lives. That takes its title of "World's Superpower" seriously enough to intervene with money, labor, moderators, and yes sometimes artillery, when other nations are in turmoil... clearly with varying degrees of success. That every year welcomes in foreign immigrants and refugees looking for better lives with this alleged "freedom." That is a veritable, incredibly diverse melting pot of all sorts of cultures and colors and lifestyles, and for the most part, we all do get along.

And then we squander all of that by voting in idiots who cannot possibly appreciate all these joys that America bestows on us, because they are born into wealth, they surround themselves with people of the same background and mentality, they have never left the country, and whose foreign policies are informed by the proximity of Russia to their house in Alaska. They want to instill in Americans a permanent sense of fear and defensiveness against foreigners and abolish the gains of Roe vs. Wade.

And year after year after year, I find it harder and harder to be proud to be an American. Whenever I travel I am constantly having to defend my government's bad decisions, and why? I don't support them myself.

So basically if McCain wins tomorrow, pass me the nearest shot of cyanide please.

If you're American, find out where and how to vote here. If you're not, pray for us please! We'll all just have to wait and see.

ay caramba!

2008-10-26T23:16:00.001-04:00

Erin is ditching her jackets and heading to Puerto Rico to play on playa! Jejejejeje I kill me.

I promise to be a better blogger when I return. ;)

free-falling

2008-10-03T02:36:00.015-04:00

My camera broke. Again. 2nd time in a year. 2nd time due to drunken debauchery. Full disclosure: we were really, really drunk. Clothes started coming off (NOT mine). Mind you, we were in a bar. A very posh one at that. Because I'm opportunistic like that, I snapped the money shot, and then triumphantly crowed displaying my catch on Facebook. Wrestling ensued. My camera and mind the only casualties. Wail.

(Note to self: you can never show your face at that bar again, ever)

So that's my excuse this time for the lack of updates, which are nearly always inspired by my visual records. I'm waiting for new camera models to come out then you will be returned to your regularly scheduled programming.

In the meantime, I've had lots of time to go through slightly older stuff. Like how I spent my American summer. Post-life-changing, exhilarating, mind-blowing Asia, I shocked my system back into American life by first numbing my senses in suburbia. Suburbia, with all its perfectly cut grass, white picket fences, and old people that go to bed early. Like my parents. Who I love, so suburbia is in fact a necessary evil in my life. But once in a while, it's also a welcome refuge when I feel myself choking on New York exhaust fumes and could use some fresh air and uhh... nature.

Like I mean, what ARE these things?!

Dad found these baby bunnies in a nest right in the middle of his perfectly manicured lawn. Silly mama wabbit. I had my National Geographic moment when I decided to save them and move them to a safer spot under a bush. I dug them a new hole and put an "x" with twigs over it. They were alive and hopping the next day and the x had been moved, so mama had found them. 2 days later they were all gone. Probably off digging holes in someone else's yard.

In place of surfing, I had to get my sporting kicks elsewhere. So a few times a week I'd play b-ball with Dad. He talks a lot of smack, like "who says white men can't jump?" I am ashamed to say that he can kick my ass.

The happiest dog in the world. Mine. He never leaves my side for a moment when I'm there. And he is the most charming partner with whom to take in all the suburbian outdoor splendor and actually make it interesting again. If only I could have half the excitement he has upon seeing yet another lamppost or squirrel.

I'm especially nostalgic now that my transcontinental endless summer is, well... ending. The leaves are turning colors, temperatures are dropping, and my tan is fading (nooo!) faster than I can stock my Fall season wardrobe. I am so not ready. I threw on sandals, shorts and a tank top today in defiance of Mother Nature, and then sheepishly layered the outfit with 2 hoodies and a scarf. Le sigh. Farewell summer. It's been real yo.

i hate the bus

2008-09-16T10:55:00.006-04:00

Threw the rest of my heavy coats and boots into my too-small suitcase and sat on it, pounded it and wrestled the zipper closed, like me on my heavy days vainly wriggling into a pair of skinny jeans. Mercifully it did close. Let's pray now that it doesn't burst and splay my underwear everywhere, as was my unfortunate experience once when traveling from Naples to Amsterdam. And another time from Manila to Hong Kong. Hmm actually this seems to happen to me a lot, I wonder why? Hauled ass to the bus depot, only to be greeted by the door bitch, who, armed with her clipboard and a nasty sneer informed me that there was no more space for me. "But I'm on the list!" I wailed, racking my brain for names to drop and pulling at the metaphorical velvet rope. Flashing cleavage in this situation proved fruitless. Bye-bye bus.

Cursing under my breath, I walked 6 blocks to the nearest Starbucks, dragging my luggage behind me like a dead body. And since when did one have to walk so freakin far to find a Stabucks?! They're on every blasted corner when you don't need them. And I hate Starbucks. But I needed the wifi. At $6 an hour, mind you. Groan. All so I could scour the other rotten bus options for the day, because I need to be back in New York already. My roomie is frantically texting me non-stop that there is a, umm, rodent situation in the apartment that needs to be dealt with asap. Boy, I can't wait to be back!

So as I sit here on this generic purple Starbucks couch, using up every cent of the $6 I spent on stupid Internet, sipping weak and overly saccharine sludge, I choose to vent out all my frustrations now to you, my faceless internet audience, lest I murder my seatmate with all my pent-up aaaarrrhghhhh. I will probably have to pee all the way back, thank you Starbucks, and I pray to God that the bus bathroom is halfway decent, but that would be too easy.

Next time I'm taking the f-in train!

where were you when...?

2008-09-13T00:38:00.004-04:00

On September 11, 2001... I was living in Washington, DC and working for a government office. It was early in the morning and my coffee hadn't kicked in yet, and I was getting thoroughly annoyed by my coworkers shrieking in the next office. I went to see what was going on and the guard's tiny black and white TV was tuned into live coverage of the smoking twin towers in NY. Then it split-screened into the smoking Pentagon building, which was alarmingly closer by to us. Rumors abound that the Capitol building was the next target, which happened to be conveniently located next to our own building. This rumor actually turned out to be true- but for better or worse, the plane intended for us crashed into a field in Pennsylvania instead. Half the crowd hauled ass outta there. The other half, myself included, loitered about in shock and indecision.

My cousin worked at Morgan Stanley, on the 60th floor of the World Trade Center's south tower. It was unreal to watch the flaming buildings on television, knowing that he was there, somewhere. Then it collapsed, and I almost fell with it. I wanted to vomit. I wanted to do something, anything, anything was better than that nauseous, helpless feeling of dread, disgust, panic. I couldn't reach my cousin's phone and I thought I was going to go mad with worry. So I hauled ass outta there too. The streets were pandemonium. Everyone blubbering about senselessly, running aimlessly, on their mobiles and jamming the lines.

He was ok (thank the Lord). He was in the 2nd tower to get hit. When the first one got hit, his building was evacuated, without any explanation. They sauntered down the fire exits grumbling at the disruption of another unnecessary fire drill. When they reached the 45th floor there was a guy with a bullhorn telling everyone that the situation has been resolved and they could return to their offices. So my cuz took the elevator back up. "How stupid were we???" he would later be quoted in the New York Times. He reached his office and looked out the window to see people in the north tower jumping out of the windows. That's when the second plane hit. A file cabinet fell on him. Then he hauled ass. It took him an hour to make the 60 flights down, made painfully slower because he was helping a crippled woman. On the 7th floor she stopped, claiming she couldn't go on. My cousin was aghast. "What do you mean you can't? Do you understand that we are going to die?" She refused and refused. He had to leave her. He was 10 blocks away when the tower came down. The trains weren't running or were otherwise jammed, and the streets were flooded with ash and panicking masses. There was no way he was going to make it home, so instead he met his dad at a bar and they got drunk.

Seven years later, and I am still thankful that my cousin is still here with us, but mourn those who weren't as fortunate. I still wonder what happened to that crippled woman.

in a galaxy far far away

2008-09-08T11:06:00.008-04:00

As promised many months ago, here's the video of the downtime during just another day at the epicenter of gayness, my little office in Chiang Mai. (Again, please excuse my very extremely heinous laughter in the background. I could not control it!)

I miss these fools. I really do.

only in america

2008-09-02T21:30:00.011-04:00

Where else but in America can an Amer-asian girl dress up in a sari and roll into an Indian engagement party in a Brazilian churrascaria with a carload of Filipinos, Chinese and Koreans?

Mat was one of my closest friends from my college days in upstate New York, and over the weekend he celebrated his engagement in a traditional Malayalam Indian dinner party. It was an intimate crowd consisting of family and church members and a few friends. Their pastors were present to lead the many Christian prayers and singing. The mood was conservative, but happy. An hour into the festivities, I felt happy as well, but something was missing. And then I slowly realized there... was... no... alcohol. OMG. I was at a party completely sober! Surreal. Luckily we were at a Brazilian bbq buffet, so I got intoxicated on meat instead, my drug of choice for the night. I inhaled 9 different kinds of bloody carnivore delights carved from sword skewers directly onto my plate, and finished myself off with 2 plates of leche flan for dessert. All I can say is praise the Lord my sari was adjustable. I had borrowed it from Nina in an attempt to be formal and culturally respectful... and also because this might be my only chance to ever wear a sari and their jewelry is crazy. Love it.

I tease Mat that his Indian traditions extend way beyond just his religion. His mother had set him up in what I affectionately termed a modern-day arranged marriage. Clearly mommy knows best. It's rare to see 2 people together and know that there could be no better match for each. After only 4 months of dating, he proposed. He said it was the easiest decision he's ever made. Isn't that how it should always be? :)

extra baggage

2008-08-28T18:15:00.011-04:00

Moving really makes one take stock of her life, as measured in material possessions. When I left New York at the beginning of the year, maybe never to return, I was overwhelmed and drowning in boxes and styrofoam peanuts and packing tape. I must've spent the equivalent of a small country's GNP on overweight luggage, shipping and storage costs. At the end of it all, I once again swore that upon my next inevitable move, it will never be this painful again.

my little lane on Wualai St

Then I was transported to Chiang Mai, a land from a whole different time period, like perhaps, the days before modern civilization (exaggerate much? nah). My house was simple and my closet minuscule. Suddenly I was hard-pressed to find a reason to break out my 2 pairs of high heels and bother with flat-ironing my hair, as in "what do you mean there are no society parties here?" Or perhaps more devastatingly, "what do you mean there are NO CUTE BOYS here??!" I was surrounded by hippies and backpackers everywhere! OK, there was the occasional well-groomed, well-styled, clean-smelling boy here and there, but for the most part, di ko type, or just not for me. Or they were gay. And then the joke turned on me, when I had to start buying hippie clothing in the local street markets that was more appropriate for sweating all day in the Thailand dust. And then I actually grew a fondness for long flowy skirts and wearing the same flip-flops everyday. I even had a flip-flop tan on my feet.

Not that I was a total ultra diva pre-Chiang Mai. I mean hey, I've been camping once! I knew how to rough it, sometimes! But this was kinda new to me. This house full of girls who expected that the contents of one backpack would last them 4 months and 6 different countries. That's when I had to learn to let go of all that wasn't important. Without forgoing my personal hygiene of course. Or sacrificing my lipstick. I still need beautification products! But within some reason.

Now that I'm finally unpacking my suitcases into a real closet in a real apartment again after half a year, I'm wondering how I've accumulated so many things when really, all I needed to get by on everyday was the contents of just one (OK fine, 3 suitcases OK!). I'm fixing up my new apartment, thinking about drapes and new ottomans, and flipping through Ikea catalogs wondering what kind of dining set defines me as a person? (as the pre-Brad Tyler Durden wonders in Fight Club) And then again, I stop and realize that I don't... really... care.

It's a new mantra that's permeated other facets of my life as well. Not the stoner/slacker kinda apathy. But more like, give importance in your life to things that really matter, and less to those that don't. And somewhere in my dim little dome, a lightbulb went off, like... duh! Seems simple enough. But not as simply executed in real life.

My happiness is important to me. So if that means tossing out material goods that are weighing me down, boys that break my heart, distractions that hold me back, frenemies that are more drama than love, then I do it, and I've stopped looking back.

But once in a while, the battle within resumes, between rationality and my irrepressible weakness for hot new shoes. Shoes make me happy. Shoes, and of course plane tickets. If that's how it has to be, so be it. And I'm happy.

must... find... job!

2008-08-19T21:53:00.002-04:00

I only had a vague idea of what I was looking for when I left to travel across the globe a few months ago. I wanted to find an escape, but mostly some perspective and inspiration. I was sick of the somewhat structured life I had created already. I was falling into a rut and didn't know how to get myself out of it. I was so bored but was getting too numb to realize it. Then out of nowhere, circumstances upset that boring balance of mediocre ordinariness. There was a shake-up at my job, my office could no longer keep me, and with that I became one of the first victims of this season's U.S. recession. I could sink or swim. Instead I flew... to Thailand. I wanted a new direction.

I didn't want to be chained to a desk forever, bitching about Mondays, cheering on Fridays and watching the clock everyday until it hit 5pm. I didn't want to work at a job that made me dread waking up in the morning. I didn't want to stress about things that don't really matter in the grander schemes of the universe, like how to make the spreadsheet freeze panes. I didn't want to be living to work. I didn't want to be puttering away behind a computer, losing all sense of human contact and the people I'm supposed to be working for-- the "public" in "public health"-- when I could be in the trenches with them myself. I didn't want a flat office butt. Easier said than done right? But I've paid my dues, and now I want to be on a path that I know I have chosen for myself with all the tools given to me.

So when I get discouraged now and lament about what a drag it is to find a new job, I try to remember what I do and why I get excited thinking about it. Now I not only know what I don't want, but also what I do. In concretes, not abstracts.

I received this email from my old division chief (i.e. big boss) back in New York while I was traipsing about Asia.

Erin,

It was great to hear from you and to see the pictures that you sent. We miss you here and I’m thrilled about your adventures. I have tremendous respect for all that you do and learn much from you by the way you bring “public health” to life.

Enjoy and let us know when you’ll be back Stateside.

Dr. E

And now that I've found inspiration from the outside, I can also find it within.

hearting NY

2008-08-14T23:17:00.005-04:00

Reason number 253 to heart New York: The summer time.

(stupid puggle just licked my whole face!)

Summerstage at Central Park: picnic blankets on bare grass under the trees, sunshine, dogs, friends, and copious amounts of wine and champagne. Oh, plus your buds Gilles Peterson and Jamie Lidell performing live as your soundtrack to the perfect lazy summer Sunday afternoon.
Rooftop parties.
Outdoor dinners with the sun still up.
Never-ending happy hours.
Beers are ok pre-noon time, or anytime for that matter.
There is *always* something to do and the hardest decision is fitting everything in.

Reason number 254 to heart New York: You could live a lifetime here and still never have enough time to do everything.

Kanye West concert at Madison Square Garden. I'm not even really a fan, but tickets were offered and I couldn't pass them up. And hey, it's Kanye, self-proclaimed "biggest superstar in the world." The pleasant surprise for me though was when N.E.R.D. opened. God bless Pharell.

Discovering new haunts and old friends. Old friend Anton spun at new club Love in the West Village, with its sprawling dance floor, waterfalls-as-projector-screens, dark beehive-like caves with cushions, all of it combining to induce a coma of nightlife downtempo.

The Wackness at the Angelika Theatre. Coming-of-age story of a teen drug dealer, his pot-smoking psychiatrist, and the city itself, against the backdrop of the pre-September 11 NYC (one scene features the brilliant Ben Kingsley sitting on a Brooklyn bench across the Twin Towers), and the then-incoming Guiliani era that set in motion a wave of changes to result in the safer and less gritty NY we know today, all set to the beat of thumping 1994 NYC hiphop (think Biggie).

I laughed, I cried, I drank, I danced, and I fell in love with New York all over again.

no sleep til...

2008-08-01T17:46:00.005-04:00

I don't know what I expected to be so different. As if I could disappear for several months and everything would suddenly change positions or close down. But no, every direction I looked, everything was just as I remembered. But with renewed vibrancy.

I slid back into the grind so seamlessly, and was instantly absorbed into the city's throbbing bloodlines (otherwise known as "the subway" and "traffic"). Arrived at the station and was glared at by a cranky old woman. But then a stranger helped me with my bags without even asking. The cab driver lies and tells me he doesn't know the way to Brooklyn. Are you freakin' kidding me? Fine, I'll direct. (Do I still remember?) Along the way, ensnared in the aluminum crush, I point out to myself the old archetypes of New York that I so fondly remember: rocker-junkie (track marks, check), East African immigrant, Indian cab driver, Middle American tourist with big camera, fashionistas in Jimmy Choos, Wall Streeters, the ubiquitous hipster, and the black-cowboy-slash-soul-brotha-in-skinny-jeans-and-Superman-cape... wait, huh? Unusual, but not for this town.

I arrived at the new/old apartment. Took a walk around the neighborhood and promptly picked up 2 perfect giant wooden picture frames that someone else had thrown away. Picking up other people's garbage- old New York survival skills coming back strong!

Hi New York, I'm back. Party.

re-running

2008-07-20T20:42:00.002-04:00

Going back.

After a long, colorful intermission (I think it was a drag show. Asian-themed. I sipped some strong whiskey and mojitos with ginger).

Touching down, crossing that bridge, seeing all those lights heralding my arrival back into her concrete embrace. No matter what time of day or night there's gonna be some energy to find. Somewhere lurking in the back alleys, speeding through the subways or parading down 5th Avenue.

Will it be like returning to a life put on hold? Everything the same, the surroundings, the friends, the seasons, the city. I'll have the same grocery store, the same train line, the same bars. Even my ex-lover has called to say he'd like to catch up again when I return (as if).

Hitting reset and replay. It's deja vu, but it's not. Familiar furniture, slightly dustier. Me, slightly older.

Everything the same but my insides.

Going back.

Going forward.

club life

2008-07-15T22:16:00.011-04:00

I'm not the type of traveler who has to have a steadfast itinerary when I go on trip. I'm a more fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kinda girl, and that applies to almost anything else in my life as well. However there are a few must-dos for every visit. Besides the shopping and the sampling of the local cuisine (which I believe is standard for all tourists), I gotta see the nightlife. It's a (very) familiar ritual to me that takes on a new light when in another country. There aren't many better ways to get intimate and immersed into the local culture than by checking out for myself the musical styles, the dance moves, the pick-up scene, the come-on lines in every language, the differences in alcohol tolerance, and the capacity of the people to let loose and have some mindless fun.

Take Washington, DC for example. Seat of power of one of the world's biggest superpowers, full of government workers, lobbyists, lawyers, academics, consulates, and just general brilliance all-around. People sure do take themselves very seriously here, after all, the fate of the world may rest on their shoulders. And it shows in their off-time. I went clubbing in the city this past weekend and I swear I was bored to tears. The scene never seems to change or evolve there. Even the dancing of the city is stuffy! Just a mindless back-and-forth shuffle or a bump-and-grind mating ritual, with no skill or rhythm to speak of. That is, when there is any dancing. Or maybe I'm just hanging out at the wrong places. I don't know.

Thai dancing, generally speaking, is um, shall we say, classical. That is, slooowww and graceful, and it's lovely in traditional settings. That's the music and movement in their blood, but it doesn't translate well in the club scene. People just stand around bobbing their heads. Check out this statement on Thai nightlife, in the form of an installation I saw at an arts festival in Chiang Mai. Incredibly creative and trippy.

I don't know about you all, but when I dance, I become a woman possessed as I get drenched in sweat and my makeup melts off my face. Beware everyone in my path. This is why I so rarely wear stilettos. I'm not saying I'm hot shit by any stretch of the imagination, but at least when I dance, I feel it.

But the older I get, the less capacity I tend to have for all-night, alcohol-fueled ragers in super clubs, and instead tend to gravitate towards smaller, more intimate venues where I can dance my ass off, but I also have the option to sit, drink and chat with friends when my old and decrepit butt needs a breather. A few of my favorites in New York include 205 Bar and APT. Then of course, there's Cielo, the epicenter of what the New York "scene" is to music-lovers the world over, with its constant rotating marquee of all the top names in house and hiphop music. I've sworn off this club a few times-- sometimes the attitude just puts me off-- yet I keep returning again and again. Much like the city itself.

Then of course, my Manila is just full of karaoke, in a true reflection of the utter cheese running through our veins.

My favorite? Hard to say. Any scene on any night can match any mood. But tonight I'm staying in with a beer. :)

and so it is...

2008-07-11T15:40:00.008-04:00

Back stateside.

Out of oppressive tropical heat into oppressive northeastern coast heat.

Getting bitten by West Nile mosquitoes rather than malaria mosquitoes.

Trashtastically awesome American reality shows instead of goofily awesome Filipino variety shows.

Fatty Twinkies instead of fatty Chippy.

As soon as I got here my family immediately treated me to a taste of home. Home in every sense! At the Filipino restaurant, my culture shock doubled at the sight of the white, blue-eyed blonde chick at the cash register.

Her: "So you ordered the two-rawn and the pah-law-buck, right?"

Me: "The wha?? Oh! Yeah" (turon and palabok, of course) "Can I also get 2 orders of the leche flan please?"

Her: "2 ley-chee flons coming up! That'll be $58"

What the! My God, I'm so poor here in America.

Last night was all a blur. I arrived in the airport, after 3 stopovers and 24 hours in the air crossing oceans and continents, dopey-eyed and confused and with zero dollars in my pocket, but a handful of colorful Asian bills-- play money as far as Uncle Sam is concerned. And wow, Uncle Sam, there is no way I could have mistaken you for any other country, with all your red, white and blue and homeland security greeting me in its loud, brazen, excitable way, and then getting all up in my face about what in heaven's name do I have packed away in all those "balikbayan" boxes??! ("about 10 million pairs of shoes, your honor") I tried filling out one of those arrival cards, which for a floater like me, is apparently one of the most difficult things in the world:

Name: Erin
Address: None
Phone: None
Occupation: None
Income: None

And I wonder how in the world they let me into the country?!

Tried to catch up on all the VH-1 I'd been missing, but soon after fell asleep. After all, by then it was about 8am Manila time, minus the good night's sleep. Woke up once in the middle of the night but popped a Xanax and all was well again. Woke up at 11am America time. Sounds about right. What jetlag?

Of course I miss the Philippines already, so much and I fear the worse hasn't even hit me yet. I left part of my heart there. But I found the other part here, on the other side of the world.

the last frontier

2008-07-06T02:21:00.019-04:00

Quick, name the worst 2 things that can happen whilst on vacation.

1. Getting sick
2. Bad weather

I got slammed with both. I have not been sick in 5 months, mind you. Ever since I set off on my Asia tripping, I've been the picture of perfect health. I thought maybe because I was so happy & carefree? And then, upon waking up the morning of my flight to paradise, otherwise known as Palawan, I felt a nagging itch in my throat & promptly downed all the vitamin C I could get my hands on, just in case. Coz I couldn't really get sick on this perfect holiday could I? That would be a cruel joke. But the throat itch rapidly deteriorated into a sneezing,mucus-y, hacking, puffy eyed, red & raw-nosed mess, & I realized my body will do whatever it damn well feels like doing, whether I want it to or not.

As will Mother Nature. The weather remained a steady overcast haze the entire time. The sun shone through the clouds every now & then, teasing us in a maddening game of peek-a-boo, & every time it did we frantically stripped down to our bikinis & prostrated ourselves in the nearest patch of rays in vain attempts to get that holy grail golden tan. It rained every few hours or so, for about half an hour at a time. The saving grace was that we were already wet anyway.

And of course, it was still amazingly beautiful. Its remote location as the westernmost island group of the Philippines keeps the beaches & waters that surround them pristine & fosters a unique plethora of flora & fauna, & is thus declared a nature sanctuary of the world & the country's last frontier. The landscape was not at all what I was expecting. It was a mix of the jungle rivers, rainforests & terrain of Brazil's Amazon, the majestic mountains soaring out of crystal clear & still waters of Milford Sound, New Zealand, & the limestone cliffs, emerald waters & tropical climate of Krabi, Thailand.

Palawan is touted as an ideal honeymoon spot for being so naturally gorgeous but also so quiet & intimate. I can see why. Our resort, El Rio y Mar, was the only establishment on its own little island & we the only guests. The world could end around us & we wouldn't have a clue. In fact, it was the perfect lonely deserted island wherein to escape to if you've just committed a multi-million dollar bank heist or murdered the entire royal family. Yes, it was romance galore. And us, 4 partyphile chicks on our apparent honeymoon.

The worst part of all my misfortune was that I couldn't dive! Diving while sick is dangerous because the sinuses are blocked & you won't be able to release the dense underwater pressure through your ears. So while my friends gleefully strapped on their BCDs & regulators & went on night & wreck dives (2 of the most coveted types of dives in the diving world), I sadly waved goodbye from shore & promptly got myself a mango rum daiquiri & then a very expensive massage wherein I fell asleep, snoring on account of my clogged sinuses. Sigh.

But I did try to do everything else.

And just to top off my bad luck, I had borrowed an underwater camera from a friend, but lo & behold when I went to use it the faulty battery was dead. So I am left with no underwater pictures. When Sophie finally uploads the ones I took with her camera (in approximately 2 years from now), I'll share more. Underwater is where the real fun happened! The life down there was amazing. Again & again I find that going under really makes my world so much bigger.

Of course the sun came out the day we left. But isn't that just how it goes sometimes?

halina! biyahe tayo!

2008-07-02T12:35:00.001-04:00

(Come on! Let's travel!)

Doing just that. :) See you after the weekend.

the twist at the end

2008-06-30T06:28:00.014-04:00

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

under the sea

2008-06-24T04:11:00.004-04:00

Picture dispatch from the Davao waters.

musika del sur

2008-06-23T04:17:00.004-04:00

I'd never before made it to the Philippines' southern most region of Mindanao. There is the general impression of compromised safety down there, considering that it's the region where the main Muslim separatist/terrorist groups reside & conduct their trainings & most of their bombings, beheadings & kidnappings. Maybe you've heard of the Abu Sayyaf? How about the MILF? (no not that MILF, the other one). Most foreign governments advise their citizens against visiting most of the region. Perfect material for the Mindanao Department of Tourism eh? Most recently, TV news anchor Ces Drilon and her crew were abducted by the Abu Sayyaf while doing a story in Sulu, a smaller province about an 18-hour drive away. She was freed a week later, and there are confirmed reports of a ransom payout, which enables the sad cycle of terrorism to continue. A shame, because the region is truly beautiful. It is also among the poorest in the country.

But Mindanao is a large island group, made up of many different districts, & believe it or not, not all of them are so unstable. Davao is the principle center of business & commerce there, & the 3rd busiest city in the country. If you take into account all the surrounding land area that occupies 244,000 hectares, Davao is actually the largest city in the world. Amid all the turmoil & violence that Mindanao is so known for, Davao has surprisingly emerged as an oasis of peace & tranquility, primarily thanks to their mayor, otherwise known as "The Punisher." He patrols the city streets on a motorbike with a shotgun & has been known to make criminals, especially drug pushers, simply disappear. Don't ask questions, just enjoy! He's also the reason the city's so progressive, practicing eco-friendliness & banning smoking in most public areas (save for designated areas)-- practically unheard of in this country.

My cousin & her family live there & have been begging me to visit for the longest time. Finally I did &... it's so dope down there.

Davao's got the ultimate laid-back vibe & beautiful natural wonders abound. The beaches & mountains are only a 20-minute dive away from the urban center. Not that I could tell where this alleged "urban center" was, as there are no tall buildings to speak of & nearly every road is a dirt road. Everything looked like a market place, but I reckon that's just part of the city's charm.

Poor little yummy piggies

I went straight to the sea, where I promptly discovered that Philippine diving kicks Thailand diving's ass any day of the week. The water was incredibly clear- I could see all the way down to the bottom from the deck of the boat. I didn't have to assemble my own equipment; it was all lovingly done for me by the diving attendants, & they carried my oxygen tank for me, rather than make me shuffle around precariously with it on my back like bloody Quasimodo. AND they let me go down to 25 meters! I'm really only allowed 18 (per PADI regulations), but Filipinos are just cool like that.

The boat guys caught some clams & steamed them on the boat. They even brought their own rice & vinegar = instant lunch! Mmmm chewy.

The Philippines' highest peak, Mt. Apo, lives here. And in the mountains reside the tribal groups Bagobos, Mandayas, Manobos, Mansakas and Tiboli, along with the endangered Philippine Eagle. Up there I went zipline-ing with my cuz-- first time ever!

And caught this brilliant display of nature in action. Nyek.

& then of course, what kind of trip would it be without me raiding the local market scene? The mecca for Muslim-made batik prints, tribal-inspired jewelry & cheap South Sea pearls. My 19-year-old princess of fashion niece was appalled when I swooned over the bright red beaded tribal-style necklace. I had to explain to her that while she, as a resident of Mindanao living amongst actual tribespeople would never dream of emulating their style, anywhere else in the world these items would be cool & "exotic." (hehe) She wasn't convinced, but I bought it anyway. For US$3! I just think of it as reppin' my national pride. I'm such a sucker for local handicrafts, & as a result my style is so very boho these days.

But the best part of the trip was the family time. Look how precious my youngest niece & nephew are. I totally heart them.

the beautiful game

2008-06-22T13:32:00.003-04:00

If you're like me, futbol-mad (well, futbol-player-mad) & on the Pacific side of the planet, then you must be frustrated & sleep-deprived as well. The Euro 2008 games are ongoing as we speak, but being so many time zones away from Austria/Switzerland (the venues this year), I have to be up by a telly every early morning from 2:45-5AM. Madness! I have yet to see a complete game before zzzzzzzzzzzz.

But I love this game. Think of how many world wars are prevented just by having these boys sweat & pummel out all their aggression in the name of patriotism. Or how this is the woman's fantasy version of a "Mr. Universe" pageant.

God bless the tech nerds who came up with the idea to stream these games live online for those of us not lucky enough to have the proper channels to watch.

Check the schedules here.

Spain vs. Italy tonight! (Viva Espana!!!)

Watch live video from MYSPORTS 1 on Justin.tv

(if you get a "not broadcasting" message it means there's no game currently on, thank you come again. If there is one going on, hitting refresh should sort you out)

slave to the grind

2008-06-21T09:56:00.005-04:00

I'm humbled by the overwhelming response to my desperate plea for help. Stop it, please everyone. I'm afraid my server will crash under the weight of all your responses flooding in. Really I'm so touched by your concern, but you can stop now, now that I know how much you truly care. Ha ha.

I'm no closer to making a solid decision. Instead I'm casting my net wide to see what bites. Resumé-blasting away! (psst if you have any hiring capabilities, holla back!)

Sigh. Truth be told I can't imagine myself going back to corporate world & all its fixings: the water coolers, 1-hour lunch breaks, office politics, office gossip, 9-5, etc, etc, etc. But it seems that's where the money is for me. So I do it, & I can be good at it. But then I burn out every 2 years & blow it all on periodic travel excursions. Like this! Rinse & repeat cycle.

And then, one of my standard blog reads posted this article, "Why Travelers Don't Have Careers." Like manna from Heaven & food for thought...

In the meantime, & the downtimes, I got a casual job writing. Can I write? I dunno, you tell me. Or not. :)

should i stay or should i go now?

2008-06-18T02:33:00.014-04:00

OK, all 3 of my readers. Thanks for helping me out with my blog-maintenance issues, now maybe you can help me with self-maintenance. What should I do next?

The Nominees Are:

New York

Pros:

near my immediate family
dollar salary
more independence
it's New York

Cons:

oh so wallet-breaking
weather sucks 50% of the year
more job competition

Manila

Pros:

near my Filipino family
I have more friends here
higher standard of living for less money
weather

Cons:

need a car (& invincible driving skills on top of that!)
very low salaries
far from my parents
not really a con, but a minus point for living there now- Manila will always be there to go back to

Somewhere else?

Signs, signs, signs?! I need one to point me in my direction.

As much as I could see myself hopping round the world forever & ever Amen, I need reliable work & a closet to store my many many many pairs of shoes in. My return ticket date is looming. I just need to choose a place & the rest of the equation will follow- the apartment, the job, the social life & the routines. I've never wanted to live somewhere & not done it. I just need to make the first decision.

Help? We could vote, I'll announce the results & it'll be just like American Idol. Or something.

yargh

2008-06-16T00:37:00.002-04:00

Testing... Can anybody hear me?

Having issues posting today. Fonts are jumbled & posts aren't showing up & pictures are mysteriously disappearing. I'm not a tech-y at all, but I am a slight perfectionist (read: a wee bit anal) & this eyesore is causing anxiety. Weh!

Anyway let me know if you can see me.

unchartered manila

2008-06-15T14:36:00.009-04:00

"I believe that Manila can be a reflection of your state of mind. Being a city of extreme contrasts it’s easy to see how it can become an intense personal experience. Manila can be chaotic and spiritual, dirty and divine, gritty and gorgeous all at once. If you don’t find beauty and poetry here, you will never find it anywhere."
(from the blog of Carlos Celdran)

It's funny... no, more tragic & embarrassing actually, that I spent the first 18 years of my life in Manila & haven't seen most of it. Far from it actually. Those extreme contrasts described in the first paragraph- absolutely true, & I believe that's the reason I've basically relegated my Manila experience to the Metro bubble that I've lived in all my life. There are so many invisible portions of Manila that many locals rarely see. So I thank heaven for the brilliant Carlos Celdran who runs walking tours of the city, thus taking it upon himself to open up Pinoys' eyes to this blind spot in their culture & help foreigners see beyond the glittering shopping malls of Makati into the real Manila, the most misunderstood city in the world.

The Philippines is an amalgamation of multiple cultures, & perhaps there's no better physical & societal illustration of that point than the district of Binondo-Chinatown-Quiapo.

Binondo, better known as Manila's Chinatown, was established in 1594 when the Spaniard colonizers gave the land to the Chinese settlers tax-free with limited self-governing privileges. This was to encourage them to be loyal to the colonial powers while keeping them culturally at a distance.

A little Spanish in Chinatown

The presence of the kalesa

(horse and carriage) stems from the Philippines' days of living under Spanish rule. The Spaniards were the top of the food chain, while the Chinese were blue-collared workers. To escape discrimination, harness the executive prowess of the big fish & avoid deportation back to the homeland with a Communist emperor who would cramp their style, the Chinese were willing to shed all Chinese-ness & assimilate. They changed their names to sound more Spanish, interbred with locals & took up Catholicism, effectively blending into popular society.

But the Chinese & local customs couldn't be erased completely, & it's the norm to see traditional herbal & voodoo remedies sitting uncomfortably side-by-side along the Sto. Ninos & Virgin Marys in the many street market stalls. I picked up an anting-anting (mythological amulet) meant to protect me on traveling journeys (of course!) with the "Eye of Rome" on one side & 7 Christian guardian angels on the other.

Carlos held up one particularly nasty-looking concoction bottled with a black cross on its back, called "pampa-regla," or regulating medicine. Women drink it to regulate their menstrual cycles. Because when you miss your period, that's irregular, right? It also means you're pregnant, & the concoction is actually veiled poison used to self-abort. Abortion is illegal in the overwhelming Catholic country. Women can die or cause irreparable damage to their bodies from this, & it's all so unnecessary, if only they could get over the stigma of contraception & open dialogue about sex. Condoms & birth control are already the cheapest & most widely available as they've ever been in the country, but the risky behaviors continue. So if you need anymore justification for why health & sexual education is so important, look no further. This, sadly, is why I will always have a job in the field that I work in.

And if you suspect someone you know is a mananangal (or flying half-bodied monster that feeds on the flesh of little children), just wave these manta ray tails over the lower half of her severed body to kill her for good. Handy!

Then Carlos stopped & instructed us to pair up with a buddy. "Imagine yourself scuba-diving now & don't lose each other. Because you DO NOT want to get lost in Quiapo." We turned the corner & I almost gasped out loud. The crowd was almost impenetrable. But once you get the hang of it & position your purse in a solid deathlock, the shopping is to die for! I scored a beautiful decorative hanging lamp, intricately woven with shells, for a shocking P150. As in, US$4. I don't have a home to put it in & I don't know how I'm gonna fit it into my bursting luggage, but I don't care! It'll probably cost me 10 times as much to ship it back now. Me, practical? Never.

It was as hectic as I imagine China to be (I've only been to Hong Kong, but that's a bit different, huh?). "Be careful out there." I heard this a few times when I told people how I was spending my Thursday. Of what I wonder? Pickpockets, kidnappers, scam artists? Let's not forget that Manila is a city & like any other city, pickpockets can happen, but I probably have an equal chance of being kidnapped in the New York subway, & I am fully confident I can hold my own against scammers after surviving the Bangkok taxis. What are we so scared of anyway? When was the last time you've been to Binondo?

But yes, of course it was chaotic. I think all the white people on the tour had their eyes popping out of their heads, & the locals had their jaws dropping when they saw the parade of foreigners coming through their turf, snapping photos of them with their gargantuan Nikons. People everywhere, no sidewalks, vendor kiosks scattered haphazardly along the streets, cars & trucks sideswiping us by centimeters, kids in ragged clothes poking us & begging for money. I was really impressed by the way Carlos handled the crowds though, calming walking into traffic to let us pass, threatening to call the kids' mothers if they didn't back off, & getting the locals to chant "I love Philippines!" Hilarious. & really, amongst all the chaos & noise, I thought it was charming & beautiful.

As Carlos said, to improve the city of Manila, we have to first change the way we look at it & stop being afraid of its' grimier corners. I highly recommend visiting, even if only for the shopping. But if you're anything like me, I think you'll walk away with more than just some local handicrafts.

made in the philippines

2008-06-12T07:34:00.009-04:00

(pic from BBC)

Happy Independence Day to the motherland!

The Philippines declared liberation from more than 300 years of Spanish rule on June 12, 1898, in the midst of the Spanish-American War. A premature declaration by then-president, Emilio Aguinaldo, because as he saw the Spaniards board their ships & sail away, he rushed to the presidential palace only to be greeted by the new colonizers, the Americans, who had purchased the country from Spain in the 1898 Treaty of Paris to recoup Spain's war costs. Ooooops.

American rule lasted until the end of World War 2, once the Philippines had fulfilled its usefulness as a Pacific military base. Incidentally I watched a great old movie today about the Japanese occupation during the war, one of the masterpieces of Philippine cinema, "Oro, Plata, Mata." It's directed by Peque Gallaga, a proud Illongo & filmed in Bacolod, yahoo! (I am also a proud Illonga from Bacolod) :)

Even though we are now proudly independent, we have much to owe to our former colonizers. So thank you Spain, for our love of all things pork, our musical rhythm, 40% of our language, Catholicism, & our last names. Thank you America for our English skills, our media-savvy, & our penchant for fast food & sugar. And then thank you rest of Asia for our family values, our cheap & great shopping, & our love of variety shows & karaoke. All these quirky traits combine to form the wonderful & wacky culture that I so adore & take with me everywhere I go.

Go Pinoy pride!

on an island in the sun

2008-06-10T11:56:00.004-04:00

This post is so long overdue. I'm sorry! When I left Chiang Mai, I wasn't sure if I would continue with this blog, since that was the only reason I started it in the first place. But some of you miss me I guess. ;) Hehe.

So after Chiang Mai I was craving some hardcore solitude to finish off my Thailand sojourn. Just a space to reflect & damn, I've been living on top of 5 other girls & a crazy maid for the past 2 months. In a bunk bed. So I went to a place far away where I wouldn't have to deal with too many other people. I went underwater.

Diving's always been on my life's to-do list. The risks always scared me off, given that I have asthma, fear of body-hugging wetsuits & have read one too many stories like this. But I had the time & what better way to occupy my time whilst on a beach honeymoon with myself? I can only read so many trashy romance novels in the sun. So I decided to face my fears & enrolled in the 4-day Open Water Dive Certification course. I had my pick of dozens of dive resorts, but settled on Sunshine Divers since I was their only student at that time, so all the attention would be on me (as it should be). Even luckier for me, my instructor was simultaneously training 2 dive masters, so it was like having 3 instructors to myself, while other students were crammed into groups of 8-15 people sharing 1 instructor. I felt totally safe with so many boys looking after me. Plus my instructor reminded me of Conan O'Brien.

Matt demonstrating how to equalize

How I spent my nights- Singhas & studying

Koh Tao, or Turtle Island, is Thailand's diving mecca, known for its crystal-clear waters & some of the world's cheapest dive training, & it also afforded me all the peace & quiet I could ever ask for. While most visitors stay near the pier on Sairee Beach, I went all the way on my quest for solitude & opted to stay at another beach on the southern tip of the island. Chaalok Baan Khao was island life at its most serene, & I scored myself a private bungalow on a semi-private patch of beach.

The island is sparsely populated in a 50-50 mix of locals & expats, but the lines between local & expat are blurred beyond recognition. Heaps of British people come through every year to take up diving & never leave. Burmese refugees have built their new homes there as well. I almost didn't feel like I was in Thailand anymore- I barely heard any Thai spoken & there were white people everywhere.

There was an out of season typhoon the day before I got in the water, making visibility pretty shiet. "Crystal-clear waters" my ass! I was pretty terrified actually when I realized I could only see 5 feet ahead of me & was grasping for Matt desperately (he would have none of it, the bastard). But I soon learned to chillax & breathe normally, which is the real key to diving. Each dive was progressively better, & then I really fell in love. Hard. It's so easy to get lost in the tranquility down there, weightlessly floating amongst the clown fish, manta rays, barracudas, puffer fish, & moray eels. No turtles, despite the island's name. I wish I had underwater pics, maybe next time when I'm not preoccupied with making sure I breathe properly, or about to get mauled by a fish. Yes, it almost happened. Only me huh?

During one of my pre-dive lectures, Matt showed me a pic of this nondescript-looking fish & mumbled something about mating season, territorial behavior, just watch out for a warning sign in the form of a raised fin, but everything's ok, no, nothing to worry about at all. WELL. In the water, Matt suddenly made the sign for "triggerfish." I turned around to see a heavyweight fish, about 2 feet long & fat, going at the dive master while he backed up & stuck his fins in the fish's face. I giggled-- I mean it's a freakin fish, right?-- until the monster turned & went for me & I got a full-frontal, up-close-&-personal look into its gaping mouth full of jagged teeth headed right for me in slow motion. Eek. Instinctively I copied what I saw the dive master do & stuck my fins up to block it- the marine equivalent of giving the hand, I guess. But I could feel the force of the vicious thing banging its head on my feet, & wow, he was pissed! Matt finally pulled me down out of its upwardly cone-shaped turf & it retreated. Nope, nothing to worry about at all. It was just the life-affirming experience I was looking for. ;)

Low tide

Aside from that, I finished 2 books, perfected my tan, discovered the perfect pad thai, & learned how to vacation alone. Enjoying one's own company is such a skill, & now I can honestly say, with no modesty at all, that I'm really really good at it.

back with a vengeance!

2008-05-29T07:10:00.007-04:00

It's so easy to get lost in the black hole that is Manila, & I mean black hole in the nicest possible way. I haven't been back in ages- 3 years to be exact, save for one very short week in March, pre-Thailand. So every time I leave the confines of my borrowed house, I bump into a million people who weren't at all expecting to see me here right now. Lots of exclamations & questions & life updates & exchange of phone numbers & then invitations to whatever party/wedding/trip is happening this week. Manila's great. One big chaotic nonstop party.

But now, at a point of delirium, after 3 weeks of pretty consistent going (all) out, I think my liver is about to fail. Ek!

Updates soon. :)

why...?

2008-05-11T07:24:00.001-04:00

... am I always overweight? Like, always.

I mean luggage, by the way. Wah.

over & out

2008-05-10T05:15:00.011-04:00

I feel like Forrest Gump sometimes… ending up in all these cool happenings without having the slightest clue how. How’d I end up in Chiang Mai??? It was only 2 months ago when I moved out of my beloved Brooklyn home, left my beloved kitties, divorced my beloved Audrey to float off into the unknown. As hard as it was, it must be one of my best decisions ever.

2 months. Of course it doesn’t feel like it. To most people 2 months is nothing at all, but to me those 2 months have impacted my life forever. Of course time has flown. And of course I’ve changed in ways that probably won’t become clear to me until after I’m gone. Or have I? I always knew I could do it—trade in a large chunk of my creature comforts so I could live the simple(r) life, adapt to new surroundings, bond with new people. That was the easy part. Honestly.

A new girl started this week at the volunteer house & I couldn’t help but envy her to be at the beginning of her own Chiang Mai experience. On my last night she asked us older volunteers what it is that we’ll miss most about the place. Maybe the anonymity, which translates into the freedom to do whatever & say whatever I want to without having to conform to any previous version of myself. Of course I’ll miss the ultra-chillaxed lifestyle. There are no schedules, & I often just act on impulse. If I want to go into work late, I do. If I want to go to the pool instead that day, I do, or the bar or the yoga studio or the market. I loved having new experiences everyday, because they always teach me a little more about myself. And everyday I would meet someone new, & every new acquaintance makes my world a little bit bigger. I’ll miss my crazy & loveable workmates, my wild housemates, all my new friends.

I will not miss the house’s menagerie of pests—the millions of ants, little lizards, flying things, the occasional mouse & the resident tu-ke (big gecko, or tuko in Filipino). OK maybe I will miss the tu-ke. He was green with pink polka-dots & shy so rarely ever seen, but we could hear him every half hour every night coughing out his name.

I had a goodbye shebang with the gayest gays that have ever gayed, i.e. my workmates. They took me out to dinner & gave me a bag & a Lanna (northern Thai) style jacket- super cool! Then each said a few nice things about how they'll remember me, in English, which was so so sweet because out of all of them, only 3 can speak semi-fluently; the others, not so much. We finished the night with-- of course-- gay bar hopping. Actually truth be told, they scammed me into going with them to a gay "erotic" show. Don't ask. & I won't go into further detail just yet, I am still recovering from the trauma.

Then goodbye to my housemates. I used to have insecurities about how I'm living my life, with no permanent home or job to speak of. & then I met all these girls who are more or less in the exact same position as I am, as different as we are as individuals. So for that, I am so grateful to have met them. And grateful that I never had to tackle this foreign city totally alone.

It was raining almost every day the week I left Chiang Mai. Maybe it was crying as it bid me goodbye, just as I did on my way to the airport. Saying goodbye yet again. I feel like I do it so often. But I'm glad I took the time out to come here, & I know how fortunate I was to have had this opportunity. I don’t think I would have fully appreciated all the city’s charms had I just been passing through & hadn’t spent an extended period there. But now I know, & I will miss it.

Now back into the unknown...

downtime, finally

2008-05-02T06:36:00.011-04:00

With all the traveling & working I've been doing, the moments I've found to explore my own city have been really precious. Chiang Mai has been growing on me, slowly. It’s gradually morphed into an odd mix of foreign & familiar. I’ve started to recognize landmarks & certain faces out & about. I can almost make my way around on my bicycle without a map, & instead I use the glittering temples, orange sunsets, square-shaped moat, & view of the mountain to point me in the right directions. I’m meeting people outside of the house & of the workplace. I have a few semi-regular bars & market stalls, where people also recognize me. I still don't understand the street signs or local newspapers, but I am slowly, slowly, painfully slowly picking up the language basics, vocally at least. I can fake it as a Thai (really!), at least until my casual conversations progress past "hello," "how are you?" "how much is that?" & then inevitably followed by "too expensive! What's my discount?" My bargaining skills are killer now.

Now I know why this city is so special to travelers. It's just one of those places to accomplish some serious chillaxing. It's peaceful. I can think here. I don't think it's a feeling that is easily explained to others who've never visited. But I'll have a go...

My favorite temple: There are 2. The Silver one & the Teak one. I wish I knew their proper names, but I guess I'm too lazy/not cultured enough to find out. But they're gorgeous aren't they?

My favorite Tuesday night activity: Jazz open-mic night at North Gate. "Jazz" interpreted loosely.

My favorite every other night activity: drinking. Duh. Below, Rooftop bar & Reggae st.

My favorite market: The Sunday night market by Thapae Gate, scene of the epic haggling spectacle. Much exhilaration & bloodshed (to the finances, that is). I can get lost for hours & hours here. I end with a foot massage from Jun.

My favorite massage: Jun's place on Moon Muang Road. 200 Baht (about US$6) for an hour "foot massage" but she actually does the whole body & nearly every pressure point. Heaven.

My favorite dinner: Oh there's too many but here's one. Som Tam, or spicy mango salad. It's such a cool process to watch.

My favorite snack: Crispy fried crickets with basil, garlic & chili.

Just kidding. They're not my favorite. But they aren't that bad either. Yeah, I really ate them. They taste like... basil, garlic & chili. With legs.

This place will be hard to leave.

rite of passage, pt 2

2008-04-30T05:26:00.005-04:00

It's teardrop-shaped, just like the tears I wanted to cry when I heard my skin sizzle & my previously perfect tan seared to charcoal & I was forevermore scarred for life (is that redundant? I just wanted to make my dramatic point). It's scabbed over now, & coming off in crispy flakes of brown, transparent goodness. I am raw & pink underneath. Oh so sexaayyyyy.

Some people say scars are cool, badass, a good story, & they bring more depth to an otherwise flawless existence. Now I'll say that too.

rite of passage

2008-04-28T04:16:00.013-04:00

I got my Thai tattoo, though not the one I intended, & it’s much uglier.

Motorbike incident. I heard the skin sizzle. Instant 2nd-degree burn. But the real pain wasn’t in my leg but in my vanity. What a big ass ugly scar!!! Boohoo.

But I guess that’s the rite of passage everyone assimilating into Thai life has to go through. Apparently every Thai has the same scar. They know immediately when they see me.

“Motorbike?” they ask.

“Yeah”

(sympathetic grimace) “Here’s mine” & they lift pant leg to reveal very similar scar.

I’m really Thai now dammit. So I have no problems going straight through now when I see signs like this:

This was the sign we saw as we went up to see Doi Suthep, on the mountain that overlooks the city of Chiang Mai. It’s the most sacred temple in Northern Thailand.

There was a Buddhist monk granting blessings in the form of a white string bracelet. His assistant tied mine on me since monks aren’t allowed to touch women. I felt the intensity & wished for many things to come clearer to me in life. It was deep, man.

And then we left the temple, got on the motorbike, & a few short minutes later… I was scarred for life. WHAT THE…?! What kind of blessing is this?! If this is that kind of “hard lessons learned” blessing I feel totally ripped off (never mind that the blessing was free). What’s this supposed to mean? What did I do wrong Buddha? Do you mean to tell me there are bigger things in life than having flawless skin? Vanity is ungodly & a waste of time? Weh!

My kooky friend Ike says maybe I need to have a little bit of bad luck first to get the greater good luck. He told me to buy a lottery ticket tomorrow. Maybe I will.

Here's me modeling my new scar a few minutes after it happened, so it hasn't turned black yet. Don't be fooled by the stupid grin on my face-- it hurt like %#&@* (especially on the inside!!!). Note that the shirt says “No Pain, No Gain” & it’s from the tattoo shop that my friends work at. Appropriate eh? Fuck.

more notes from the gay zone

2008-04-23T03:21:00.004-04:00

Director: You must feel really safe with us.

Me: Why yes, I guess I do.

Director: I mean, absolutely none of us is or ever will be attracted to you.

Me: Oh, er, um, thanks, I guess.

burmese days

2008-04-19T01:24:00.031-04:00

Random fires spotted the mountainous landscape, natural seasonal occurrences resulting from the dry summer heat. I could see the smoke wafting through the bamboo forests as colorfully dressed tribe people carrying babies on their backs & raw materials in their arms made their way up & down the hills from the highway & disappeared into the thickness. It was a 5-hour westward drive to Mae Sot, made longer by the frequent Thai government/border police checkpoints, inspecting all cars for drugs & refugees.

Mae Sot is a town that straddles the Thailand-Burma border, resulting in a cultural collision of Thai, Burmese, foreign NGO peoples, and various hill tribe ethnic minorities such as Karen, Shan & Kachin. It hosts the largest refugee camp in all of Thailand, Mae La, home to 40,000 Burmese refugees.

I wasn’t sure what to expect going into the camp. I had a movie-type vision of everyone living in tents, rampant disease & abuse & an air of desperation. I didn’t know how to mentally prepare (as usual).

There were children everywhere running free & laughing. That was my first clue that this was a real community of families & not necessarily the hopeless prison ground I thought it might be. The few I was lucky enough to interact with were all smiles & manners & curiosity, & some even spoke English. As we walked past rows of bamboo huts, an occasional high-pitched “hello!” would ring out from a corner, obviously for the visiting foreigners’ benefit. And then shortly afterwards, a “bye-bye!” So many children. I can’t imagine what their parents must’ve been through to get them there, but to the naked eye, there aren’t any scars, for which I’m so glad.

The U.S. takes in the most refugees from this camp each year. In the beginning they took all at once, but every year the camp would grow & grow & grow, possibly because more Burmese flooded the camps hoping to be exiled to the U.S. as well. There are “America Training” sessions & bulletin boards posted for the refugees to familiarize themselves with American customs & such before they depart.

Funny, some of the pictures were of obese people eating McDonalds. No joke. Oh the shame. And did you know that the majority of Burmese refugees end up in Missouri??? Oh the shame! (I kid I kid) But seriously, weird.

This is BiBi, our Mae La host for the day. He works with educational systems & curricula for the camp. He is the only reason we were able to get into the camp, as I don’t think they normally allow tourists. He is awesome.

More disheartening was the Burmese migrant clinic, Mae Tao. It’s a wonderful health service & training center specifically designed to provide quality care to displaced Burmese migrants & ethnic peoples along the border. It was established by Dr. Cynthia Maung, who has won a host of awards for her work there, including the Ramon Magsaysay Award for Community Leadership (go Pilipinas!). They do wonderful caring work for a population that desperately needs it, but it was difficult & emotional to witness the cases they deal with, & what few resources they have to work with. They didn’t have a proper blood pressure machine to use when one of my housemates donated blood. They ran out of beds for surgery patients. They also ran out of rooms, so patients were strewn about on mats in what used to be a conference room. There is no separation for patients with airborne contagious illnesses, making spreading possible. And this really broke my heart.

It’s times like this that make me feel the smallest and most helpless. I gave my card to the administrator if they could ever use me (after all, I do work in healthcare), a tiny gesture but I just couldn’t walk away doing nothing at all. For more information about the clinic, check out the links at the end of this post.

Although this health poster there made me laugh out loud. I’m not quite sure what message they are trying to send… any guesses?

Our beautiful host while we were in Mae Sot was Moon, who opened her modest home to 6 strangers (my housemates & I), plus our driver & our mutual friend Wad, who was her classmate in university. She speaks several languages (English, Thai, Burmese, Karen & a few other hill tribe dialects). Amazing woman she is, & she’s only 25!

She moved to Mae Sot to establish the Karen Student Leadership Network, which trains young adults from refugee camps in leadership skills, which they can then impart to others within the camps. Once every few months they hold a 3-day meeting in her office, & for that she has to first go collect the 30 students from 5 different refugee camps—a grueling process that involves much paperwork including official permission from the Thai government & referral letters from NGOs. Two of the students even came from across the Burmese border (illegally?), risking the lives to come to the meetings. Day 1 of the meetings is usually spent getting them basic things like toothbrushes that they may have left behind in their rush to get out of the camps. Our visit happened to coincide with one of these meetings. We were ushered into the office for what I thought was a casual viewing (as usual), but there were 8 chairs prepared for us at the front of the room, while the group of about 30 young adults sat of the floor facing up at us with wide eyes & snapping pictures. Like… huh?? I thought they were so much more interesting than we were & snapped pictures back. Odd sight we must have been, snapping each other.

We exchanged questions & answers, with Moon translating back & forth between 4 different languages. We heard stories of how they got to that meeting that night, got into the camps in the first place, got arrested on several occasions—all these crazy harrowing stories told with a smile. They had equal interest in the work we all did. I had to field so many questions about sex workers, which showed where their concerns really lie. Many migrants fleeing into Thailand, having no official identification, no useful training, & no local language skills, end up turning to sex work for their most viable income. We asked them what made them want to be at that meeting that night, some risking their own lives to be there, & they all answered it was worth it, because they would be able to help their communities empower themselves & better their lives. I felt humbled. Really really really humbled.

Bought a bunch of stuff at Borderline the next day, “A Creative Space for Expression in Exile.” It boasts handmade products from women’s groups in Thailand & Burma & in doing so, enables them to have access to fair trade income generation opportunities. 80% of proceeds go towards various related causes. Shopping for a good cause! I loved it.

Support support support.

Mae Tao Clinic
Borderline Collective
Free Burma Coalition Homepage, an umbrella group of organizations around the world working for freedom and democracy in Burma.
Free Burma Home , a web site devoted to disseminating information on Burma.
FreeBurma.org, a comprehensive set of links to Free Burma resources.
Open Society Institute's Burma Project, dedicated to increasing international awareness of conditions in Burma and to helping the country make the transition from a closed to an open society.
A Land of War, a Journey of the Heart, an article by Seattle Times writer Paula Bock about Dr. Cynthia and two little girls from Chogali village. Photographs by Tom Reese and website production by Betsy Aoki of the Seattle Times.
The U.S. Committee for Refugees Burma Report, an excellent overview of the current health and political situation on the Thai-Burma border.

holy s--- songkran!!!

2008-04-17T03:44:00.013-04:00

It is so hot here. It is a steamy Thai summer, & the sun beats down relentlessly for 12 hours of the day, melting concrete & makeup & brains without mercy. My bedroom has no aircon, so I lie awake for at least an hour each night after going to bed, unable to sleep even with an electric fan pointed 2 inches from my face blowing hot air, & I wake up uncomfortably drenched in sweat as soon as the sun peeks its head out over the horizon once again. I take 3 showers a day. It is unbelievably hot.

The Buddhist New Year celebration of Songkran coincides with this most sweaty season, when the sun enters into a new position in the zodiac. The word Songkran is derived from Sanskrit & means passage into a new phase. Sacred Buddha images are washed & water is symbolically tossed on one another as a sign of blessings & cleansing for a prosperous year ahead. It's a good way to cool down in this heat. But Chiang Mai takes the festivities to a whole other level, & the city erupts into full-blown water warfare. No exaggeration either. For FOUR WHOLE DAYS it is absolutely impossible to stay dry, as the moment you leave the confines of the house, you’re pelted with water guns, hoses & buckets-full of water. The square-shaped moat is the center of all the action & becomes a throbbing mess of slippery bodies, flooded streets & pure pandemonium. Pails attached on strings are lowered into the moat & subsequently emptied onto a victim’s head or the passing motorists. On the street, open tuktuks & pick-up trucks filled with revelers & huge drums of water speed by & blast everyone in their path with water canons. And if you’re really lucky, you might just end up in the moat, as my roommate did when she went to refill her bucket & a (now former) friend shoved her in. Shudder. And I hated the ice water! Cold then hot then cold again. No one & nothing is safe, & you have to shield your most delicate belongings (i.e. mobiles, cameras) in quadruple-wrapped plastic bags or leave them at home altogether, lest they get damaged. I can only wonder how many mobiles have been destroyed, skin rashes have broken out, and shoes have been lost in the moat over the course of the festivities.

It’s a welcome respite from the heat, & the first day I was fully into it, but by day 2 I was hiding indoors & begging for mercy. How could this possibly go on for 4 days??! You can’t get anything done. There’s no greater feeling of dread than when you’re walking down the street alone, still shivering from ice water attacks & there is a group of 20 boys on the sidewalk, waiting with evil grins & water hoses, ready to ambush you. And you have to good-naturedly take each & every water attack, bow your head & thank your assailant for the “blessing,” even thought he nearly ruined your $400 digital camera with a bucket-full of parasite-infested murky moat water. Yaaargghhh.

These are the best pictures I managed to take, since every time I took out my camera from its plastic fortress I was risking its life. I looked like a drowned rat. But so did everyone else. The gay boys were especially sexy in their see-through & skimpy t-shirts. I worked with them one of the days of the festival handing out wet condoms & dancing on the streets. The only straight boy in the pic, the guy next to me, is a local celebrity apparently, but I have no idea who he is. I think his name is Tek?

When not working I was out at one of the millions of parades or outdoor parties going on, or my favorite bar, which had transformed into a soaked & sloshed wonderland. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life.

I just realized that I’ve been able to participate in at least 3 New Year celebrations in the past 4 months. It’s like starting over & over again, & a reminder to keep a brighter perspective each time. It’s turning out to be a very good year.

it's bali, babi!

2008-04-15T07:30:00.015-04:00

The trip we’ve been planning forever to celebrate Sophie’s 30th birthday. We flew in from all corners- Sophie from New York, Pren from Hong Kong, Audrey from the Philippines, me from Thailand, with one Bali local, Karen, to show us around. Much eating, drinking, shopping & laughing ensued. I’ve so missed my friends.

Pictures say it best.

Surfing on Kuta beach. Many battle scars- including scraped knees, mangled toes, bruised chins, choked throats, & severe ass burns.

Dancing & drinking at beachside clubs.

Poolside pampering, massages & manicures at our Seminyak villa.

Sunset, cocktails & fois gras sushi at our everyday hangout & the bestest bar in Bali, Ku De Ta.

Finally meeting the famed Babi Guling in the mountainous jungle village of Ubud. That is, roast suckling pig stuffed with Balinese spices. Hands down the best meal of the trip.

And the villa! I went from sharing a bunk bed, aircon-less, ant-infested little house to this.

It was so hard to leave. I think I even shed a tear.

Bali, I love you. Terimah kasih!

erin is surfing in bali

2008-04-06T07:45:00.002-04:00

A shame that being on the go all the time means less time to update you all. It's amazing here! Plenty of pictures to come. :)

channeling the spirits

2008-03-31T06:45:00.011-04:00

As the only foreigner in my workplace, I’m getting really accustomed to not knowing what’s going on. Part of it is because I don’t speak or understand Thai fluently, & part of it is because of cultural work differences that are hard to adjust to. For example, our meetings are always loud & chaotic, & I need a translator. Everyone is yelling simultaneously in rapid-fire Thai. Someone across from me is applying makeup & the ladyboy next to me is simulating a blowjob on a corn cob. It’s the picture of ultimate chaos, but once everything’s been translated for me, I’m always amazed at how these people are really doing innovative & intelligent work.

So I am used to asking many questions & not always getting answers that I understand. While it does get frustrating at times, I’ve learned to just let it go & be prepared for anything.

They asked me to join a few of them on some day-outing for work, but I couldn’t quite understand what the purpose of the outing was. They kept saying “ghosts, you’ll see many ghosts.” After several attempts to get a different answer or more elaboration, I had to give up & assumed it was a bad pronunciation or translation problem on their part, or complete ignorance on my part.

But they really did mean ghosts!

It was a ceremony called fon pee mot (that's the phonetic spelling, I have no idea how to write in Thai!), a whole day when the community gathers together to eat, drink, smoke, dance & channel the spirits of their dead ancestors. What does this have to do with gay people? Ancient folklore attributes magical powers to some gay & transgendered people. So many of the participants were openly gay.

Of course the ceremony was Buddhist, & there I was in a sleeveless top, tattoos & bra straps glaring (strict Buddhists expect women to keep shoulders covered). Sigh, wrong attire yet again. Although no one seemed to mind.

The transition from "normal person" to "dead ancestral spirit" was fun to watch. Some random person in the audience would start crying loudly, in mourning for their dead loved ones. Then s/he would start hacking & coughing & dry heaving (When I first saw this happening, I leaned over with a tissue & asked if the woman was ok. She ignored me & continued to convulse). Then s/he starts dressing up in some elaborate, crazy costume. Then the "spirit" joins the dance. One by one, the dance floor crowded up with jolly, colorful ghosts.

And more often than not they were smoking a fat blunt & swigging whiskey.

It's just tobacco. But I bet they'll be hacking a lot more afterwards. Strangely, the "normal person" is usually not a smoker or drinker in real life, but when channeling the spirits, suddenly they're Amy Winehouse.

Not sure what this was about, but it looked super cool.

I was there to film the event, so I got right up into the mix, squatting & crawling in the middle of the dancefloor to get the perfect angles. One of the ceremony leaders noticed me & called me over & I thought shit, he wants to exorcise my evilness. But instead he "blessed" me by putting a strand of sampaguita (little white flowers) on me & one of the scarves from the offering table, & then made me join the dance! I was the only non-Thai & non-Buddhist there & also the only one who didn’t properly “channel” anyone by going through the convulsing motions. Thai dancing is so slow & totally foreign to me. The only way I know how to dance is to shake it Shakira-style (hahaha), so I did. I was the international ghost. J

I kept the scarf for blessings & good luck, & the ghosts probably followed me home. As long as they are friendly ghosts, I am fine with that.

What a totally unexpected, random day.

back to bangkok, & then debauchery central

2008-03-26T04:10:00.011-04:00

Imagine... a 12-hour overnight van ride to Bangkok, with every seat full of gays (except me), screaming & singing (to Kelly Clarkson or really really bad Thai love songs) the whole way there.

We arrived in Bangkok at 7AM & went straight from that hellish ride into a human rights conference. Oooog I was in paaaiiin. Grumpy from lack of sleep & from distorting my body for hours, trying in vain to find a comfortable position during the ride. And then... the conference was all in Thai. Meh! Pain & torture multiplied. BUT I did meet a lot of potentially valuable contacts, like the staff from the Human Rights Commission of Thailand.

And at least this time I wore proper clothing!

I asked to be excused from the next meeting, also all in Thai, & fewer attendees, so my nodding off in the middle of proceedings might be more noticeable & some may say "rude." So instead I just wandered the city streets & a vendor tried to rip me off with fake Ray-Bans for 1200 Baht. I cursed him out for insulting my intelligence & stomped off while he chased me down the street screaming "how much you want pay??!" Bitch, please. The only reason I was even slightly interested in your shoddy merchandise was because I had left my $6 H&M shades back in Chiang Mai & the Thai summer sun was scorching my eyeballs.

After all that, I was more than ready for some fun. From BKK we drove (more driving!!!) straight to Pattaya beach 1.5 hours away. It's by no means the nicest beach that Thailand has to offer, but it's close enough for the city dwellers to escape to for a weekend. Kinda like Batangas to Metro Manila. But not as beautiful, & a lot more trashy. Like A LOT more. To illustrate: it was crawling with white Euro men (usually of the bald, overweight, not-so-easy-on-the-eyes, middle-aged/elderly variety) & their Thai women (usually of the scantily clad, heavily made-up variety). The nightlife looks like this (you can click to enlarge any of these, FYI):

But the ice bar was super cool (ahaha, I kill me).

Those are my coworkers, by the way. I heart them. That's my boss doing the ice shot.

The next day I was all ready for the "meeting" that we supposedly had, which turned out to just be an entire day on the beach spent banana boating, riding roller coasters, feasting on seafood, & then an all-transgendered cabaret show. I had no complaints at all. Except when they told the one straight, semi-cute boy that had the balls (!) to talk to me (surrounded by 10 gay/trangendered men) that I was a ladyboy. And he actually believed them. And then tried to grab my crotch for further proof.

Then the 12-hour ride back to Chiang Mai. This time with 2 hits of Valium.

virgin province

2008-03-22T03:38:00.014-04:00

I was in Nan earlier this week, a Thai province that is a 5-hour drive east of Chiang Mai & on the western border of Laos. According to the all-knowing Wikipedia, for centuries this province was a kingdom all its own, leading to the flourishing of ethnic hill tribe minorities and flora that are unique to the region, and led to the romantic labeling of it as Thailand's "virgin province." Until only recently Nan was deemed too dangerous for travelers to visit due to decades of armed conflict with Thai rebels. Things have since calmed down & despite the instability, the region is now coming into its own as a new tourist hotspot. For local tourism that is. Foreigners still rarely make it out this far. I was quite the novelty to the locals.

My boss invited me out here to accompany him to a "small NGO meeting," which to me sounded very brief & informal, & he had been talking up all the touristy, rugged, adventurous things we could do after our meeting. After all, Nan is also well-known for its hiking trails & waterfalls. So I was not at all prepared when we arrived there & were promptly ushered into a large conference hall with all the movers & shakers in Thailand's NGO world, including the Department of Health, all with suits & heels & briefcases, while I was in frickin' fishpants & tsinelas (slippers)!!!! [The way we do business at my organization, & Thailand in general, especially in rural-y areas like Chiang Mai, is always informal] I wanted to die. I didn't pack at all for this. (damn that language barrier & mixed messages yet again!) I threw on my denim jacket & Pumas for slightly more "professional" look, & then suffered all day sweating sweating sweating in the intense summer heat. I don't know how everyone else was managing it in their suits. I wanted to strip off my skin, it was so so sooo hot.

Then to exponentially multiply my mortification, I was asked to give a presentation!!! In Thai!!! I prayed frantically to the Lord above for the ground to swallow me up right then, to no response. (Lord! I gave up chocolate for Lent, does that not count for anything?!) So all eyes burned on me as I struggled through my feeble Thai & then apologized profusely for completely butchering it. Twitters of laughter & then applause as I finished. Die.

But despite all that, I am so glad I went. The conference was about management & capacity-building of healthcare systems of communities in northern Thailand, some of the poorest in the country. Really fascinating stuff (to me, but I can be nerdy like that). Everyone shared stories of successful public health projects in their community that they were involved in & afterwards we took a tour of one of the local communities. We visited one self-sufficient community that farms all its own organic produce & has collectively agreed to an area-wide ban on alcohol & tobacco products. Fruits, veggies, flowers, animals, handicrafts everywhere. I was enthralled.

This is Prim & her little boy, Piyu (picking starfruit off the tree).

She was also an attendee at the conference who specializes in Thai massage therapy. Her story is truly fascinating. Some years ago she was in an accident that left her crippled. Doctors couldn't help & no medication or treatments worked until she tried Thai massage therapy with a blind woman. She's completely cured now, & has used the experience as a sign to spread the benefits of Thai massage therapy to others in need. She regularly sees cancer & AIDS & depression patients & has improved the quality of their lives considerably. She saw an infertile woman, who got pregnant after one session with her. The real beauty behind her technique is not just in the massage itself, but the human contact- physical & emotional. And how incredibly lucky was I to have her as my roommate for the night! & especially so since she was eager to "do me" & naturally I was equally eager to comply. So that night I was treated to a 3-&-A-HALF-HOUR massage. Wow. She pressed buttons on me that made my hands open & close, my heart rate slow down or speed up, certain parts of my brain tingle. Amazing. & even more amazing, when I offered to pay her for that she declined, saying only in her broken English that she wanted to take care of me. I'm a believer now!

The rest of Nan was also amazing. Temples galore. Wat Phumin is the most impressive:

This is me & my name tag for the conference, in Thai.

"Erin" is hard to pronounce for Thai-speakers, but there is a Thai name that is similar so that's what people call me here instead. It's pronounced "Ah-ree" & it means kindness. Hahaha, I kinda like that. ;)

what i do

2008-03-17T02:14:00.008-04:00

I am a health educator. That's why I'm here in Chiang Mai. I am working in a volunteer capacity doing HIV/AIDS prevention & outreach.

I'm super fortunate to be coming in at a time when the small organization I'm working with has just received a grant from the Australian Federation of AIDS Organizations to do a groundbreaking research project with sex workers & the MSM community (that is, "men who have sex with men." More explanation later).

Working with gay men has its perks. They know how to laugh. They know how to have fun. & that is so important in the workplace! After all, it is where you spend most of your waking hours, so it should be something you enjoy doing. Even when working on such serious issues, there's nothing that we can't laugh about. The atmosphere is warm & welcoming, as it should be for an organization that is so keen on human rights & equality & open exchange of ideas. This is my outdoor office.

But being around them all the time, I think I'm turning gayer & gayer everyday. Like we burst into song in the middle of meetings & scream to the high heavens when a bug crawls across the floor. Check out my coworker Jit, entertaining us during a break time. Please excuse my heinous laughter in the background. Those are 4-inch heels he's got on by the way:

Just another day at the office.
(* edit: this video is taking for-fuckin-ever to upload. Damn this archaic internet again! Hopefully it worked, but if not will try again at a later date. Worth the wait, trust me!)

Right now I'm working on developing a survey to research risky sexual practices so that we can address them more effectively. This is already super challenging given the very complex & graphic content, but throw in the language barrier & it just boggles the mind. Much hilarious pantomime & charades ensues. For example, how do you explain oral sex in terms we can all understand? Or the 69 position? Or ejaculating inside or outside the body? Or casual sex?

Me: Someone you have sex with only one time.

(looks of puzzlement)

Someone: One person?

Me: No no. One time. A one-night stand? Someone you have sex with for one night only?

Everyone (bursting into song): One night only!
(you know, the song from "Dreamgirls"? Hello gayness)

Seriously. Wow. By the end of the day my head is bursting with the words "cock," "suck," "fuck," "come," "ass" & every other graphic word that's worthy of an entire sexual thesaurus. It's so draining & brain-frying, but at least they make it fun. :)

inspiration

2008-03-16T00:24:00.002-04:00

Julia Campbell
juliainthephilippines.blogspot.com

I was in Paris when I heard about Julia Campbell. I was with the Paris pinoy contingent, & the news of Julia was spreading like wildfire through the Philippines (her temporary home), the U.S. (her real home), & then the rest of the world. For those who don't know, she was an American Peace Corps volunteer who was killed in the Philippines towards the end of her 2-year assignment there.

Her story touched me in so many ways. How could I not have love for someone who dedicated so much of herself to the Philippines, the country that is half of me? And a country to which she had no previous ties to at all. She decided to leave a life of relative stability & comfort in New York, to step out of the rat race as she said, & into a life of provincial simplicity in the 3rd world. She's originally from Fairfax, Virginia. That was also my first home, where I lived from age 0-3 years.

Reading her blog gives me a glimpse of the realities I'm just getting myself into. The humble living conditions. The exhilaration of a vastly new environment & new lovely people to meet. The challenges of being a foreigner in an un-diverse setting. The frustrations of working your ass off without seeing any results because archaic systems, corrupt institutions & lax business practices are thwarting your every move. The harsh realities of realizing that you can't help everyone, especially those that need it most, & that your impact there will have little effect in the grand scheme of things. All you can do is hope that you've made life even a fraction better for someone else.

But it is because of passionate & dedicated people like her that positive change does happen.

She was killed in April 2007. Not even a year later, & here I am embarking on my own volunteering adventure.

Every encounter we have, however small or seemingly impersonal, is still significant & influences our lives in ways that aren't always obvious. I didn't know Julia, but she has touched my life.

simple life

2008-03-14T07:45:00.006-04:00

And now I am here in Chiang Mai, which is to be my adopted home for the next few months. First impressions:

Little alleys (just like Italy, o diba?)
Motorbikes (everywhere. I’ve already been on a few. Must get over fear of)
Markets (also everywhere. Lord help me)
Moat (separates the “old” from “new” city. It’s my landmark for getting to & from anywhere)
Heat (scorching, & only going to get hotter as we enter the summer season)
Flowers (orchids, bougainvillea, sampaguita, birds of paradise, the smallest roses I’ve ever seen, & a million others I could never hope to name)
Hippies (lots. Kinda ew)
Dogs (askals roaming free on the streets)
Food (oh my God the food. Do I really need to elaborate?)

The house. I am living in a very (very very very) simple house that is traditional Thai-style. We take off our shoes at the door. No TV, no internet, no aircon. I don’t even have my own bed. I have the top bunk (disaster in the making when I come home drunk, augh). The first night I was eaten alive by the tiny red ants that decided to crawl into bed with me. Ahh, nature. I was able to solve this problem by spraying my sheets with Bygon (insecticide), & it’s really comforting to know that now I won’t die from being eaten alive, but instead it’ll happen by breathing in poison every night (I kid, I kid).

I live with 5 other volunteers, all female, ranging in age from 24-40: 2 Americans, 1 Scottish, 1 Australian, & 1 Filipina. Then me, the house mongrel. We are each working on different projects, so it’s a great dynamic in that we get to exchange many colorful stories about work life. So far so good- no catfights yet. J (no pillow-fights either, you perv) We also have a live-in maid, an assimilated Thai woman who was originally a refugee from Burma. She cooks our daily meals & cleans up after us messy Westerners.

It is no secret that I have not yet mastered the art of packing light, & it seems I never will. I rolled up into this ultra-simple house (as a volunteer, no less!) with 2 pieces of luggage & a backpack stuffed to the brims, 6 pairs of shoes, a hairdryer, a flat iron, a laptop, an ipod, ipod speakers, 2 digital cameras, & 10 million beauty products. Low-maintenance, I am not. And my closet looks like this:

And I share it with my roommate. And I am only going to accumulate more. Like much much more. Like I am afraid of myself & the damage I can do to my already overburdened bank account. Hello shopping!!! The markets are right at my doorstep.

There are way too many opportunities here for me to empty my wallet.

The pace of life is slow, worlds away from what I just experienced in Bangkok & Manila & most definitely New York. Time doesn’t seem to matter. The operative word for everything here is “chilllllll.” But I’m enjoying this radical change in my life. I really really am.

sa wa dee ka bangkok!

2008-03-14T05:16:00.007-04:00

Bangkok! Bustling, crazy, hectic Bangkok.

Can I just express again how much I adore my friends? That’s the beauty of having grown up as an international kid- having connections in virtually every city in the world. Jon, my friend from New York via International School Bangkok, hooked me up bigtime. In a city where I knew not a soul, I somehow managed to feel like a local. The morning I left Manila I didn’t even yet know where I’d be sleeping that night, but by the time I reached Bangkok I had an airport greeting party (thank you Aman & Pawan), a luxury hotel accommodation (thank you Vishal), tour guides & party planners.

Vishal made my hotel arrangements at the President Solitaire , which apparently is owned by a friend of theirs (& thus a nice friendly discount). My jaw dropped when I saw my room.

I soaked my over-partied, over-traveled self in the hot tub, I watched bad teen movies on the 30-inch flat screen TV, I slept for 12 hours in the king-size bed, & I marveled at the bird’s eye view of the city from my windows. I felt so undeserving. Although now I am thanking my lucky stars for that last taste of luxury before this simple life in Chiang Mai (more on that later…).

With only 2 days there, I didn’t expect to do much & was absolutely not in the mood to rush about & join the hectic Bangkok fray. Instead I tagged along with Pawan & Keren during the day while they scoured the electronics malls & ate at Pizza Hut. They apologized for taking me to an American food chain as my first taste of Thailand, but no worries, as I am sure to be thoroughly sick of Thai food by the end of my very extended stay here.

Besides, the hectic-ness happens at night. Behold Bed Supper Club:

I had a video, but internet here is painfully slow so I couldn't upload, but you get the idea. Besides, too much Sambuca does not make me a good videographer. Sambuca is gross by the way. Crazy Thai people.

3 hours of sleep then off to the next episode.

all apologies

2008-03-13T02:18:00.003-04:00

I miss you! Internet access is scarce. Updates coming soon. Promise. :)

no place like home

2008-03-05T00:44:00.004-05:00

My fresh start begins by going back to my roots. A little over 5 days now that I've been back in Manila, after having been away for more than 3 years. I know it's not just the jetlag that's making this feel so surreal. So much has changed, yet at the same time, nothing at all. The beautifully familiar and comforting are in the details.

An ice cold San Mig Light in my hand (non-export quality). The dirty orange 20 peso bills. The lizards crawling over fluorescent lights snapping at mosquitoes. The lively chatter & chismisan everywhere. The "ma'am/sir"s. The bougainvilla hanging from the walls. From the moment I stepped off the plane, the smells & the humidity & the soothing Tagalog lilt hit me all at once with the force of a typhoon. My heart skipped a beat. I'm home.

displaced

2008-02-23T20:39:00.011-05:00

In pictures:

1) My bedroom dresser. The world map is marked with all the places I am hitting in the next few months to remind me why I am doing all this.

2) Housewarming gifts from all our partays. The tile says "Home Sweet Apartment"- so very New York City.

3) My fridge. I collect magnets from every place I go. The cats broke my porcelain magnet from Capri, but the Armani model lounging in a boat in Capri compensates well.

4) The daycare below me. In this last month of unemployment, I've been awoken every morning by the sound of little children singing the hokey pokey.

Today I packed it all up & shipped it out. My life yet again packed neatly (ok, harriedly) away in boxes. I've done it so many times before but somehow I never seem to get any better at it, & it's so draining & I swear I'll never do it again, but that's always a lie. And it only gets harder as I get older & accumulate more, because I thought that's what adults do- settle & nest. But when it comes time to relocate, I again curse my materialistic weakness for shoes & again consider just trashing it all in favor of a Zen existence unburdened by unnatural attachments to inanimate objects. My hands are mangled, my muscles are aching, my eyebags are glaring, & I have half a brain left. All I want to do is collapse onto my huge queen feather bed & curl up in the fetal position & whimper, but I can't, because now there is no huge queen feather bed.

I am exhausted. Exhausted exhausted exhausted.

And now to get ready for my going away party. Some things just can't be avoided. ;)

check out these digs

2008-02-12T22:54:00.011-05:00

I think I can handle any of the above options (perhaps with some difficulty) but if any of you have suggestions for villas in BALI, INDONESIA to fit 8-10 crazy women, I'd love to hear them. :D

book lust

2008-02-10T23:09:00.000-05:00

There is a small independent bookshop in my neighborhood where I go to escape real life for a few hours each week. I pore over the travel section in particular, & drooooool with raw lust. I mean, check out the possibilities.

It's been a few years since I've been back to Asia, & my heart has been aching for it. I feel like there's a huge hole in my life. When I realized I had this opportunity to live in the region again, I knew I had to grab it. I plan to explore Thailand's every nook & cranny, but beyond that, Asia is the world's largest continent. I have a legion of other unexplored countries that await. Now the biggest challenge is trying to fit all of them into my schedule... Hmm.

So today I went home with a brand new travel guide & thus in effect, a whole new country agenda to plan. Nothing makes me happier, I swear. :)

I'll give you a hint. Beaches, palm trees, dancing, diving, spirituality & party party paaarrrrtttyyyyyy!

unleash your inner gay

2008-02-09T01:56:00.000-05:00

When I lived in Australia, I had the opportunity to take part in the most flaming & fabulous party in the whole world. That is The Sydney Gay & Lesbian Mardi Gras. Costumes, wild partying, flamboyance, debauchery. I mean what's not to love? You don't have to be gay to appreciate the show (I'm not). It's all one love after all, right? And what a celebration of that love, in all its diverse & colorful glory.

I was recruiting men to complete the Sydney Gay Community Periodic Survey, which served to track trends in perceptions & risk behaviors associated with HIV/AIDS. The data was used to inform health education & prevention campaigns. HIV/AIDS has been inextricably linked to the gay community for as long as it's been known to exist. This is mainly because when the disease first started rearing its ugly head (around 1981), it was concentrated within the gay community, leading many to prematurely & incorrectly label it the "gay disease." Fast forward years later, & while we still can't shake some of these misguided perceptions, we now know with absolute certainty that HIV/AIDS is not prejudiced or elitist in any way- it is an equal opportunity killer.

I was working, but wow, what a spectacle.

(I wish I took these. But no, I jacked them from other parts of the web).

This year marks the festival's 30th anniversary, so it's bound to be even more fantabulous. And Conde Nast Traveler has even named it amongst the top ten costume parades in the world. The partay starts today, February 9, so if you find yourself in that part of the world this month, sashay shante & go go go! Send me a postcard.

kung hei fat choi!

2008-02-06T23:48:00.001-05:00

Or happy year of the rat!

My zodiac forecast (Horse) for the year is pretty awful, much to my dismay. It basically says that anything that can go wrong will.

Horse Rating: "3 neutral and 9 unfavorable months. Horse is the sign that fares least well in the year of the Rat."
Ew.

Horse Career: " Your difficult year will probably extend into your career as well. You will find that projects will become a bit more difficult and delays could be the norm."
Hm well this is probably going to be true. I have no delusions about the work I'm doing in Thailand to be easy. And the program directors I'm working with feel the need to remind me over & over again that business operates at a much... slower... pace... there. So I need to shed my New York impatience & refamiliarize myself with my island time upbringing.

Horse Health: "You may experience signs of decreased energy."
As long as it isn't dengue fever!

Horse Relationships: "Tough times at work will cause you to seek solitude. Relationships may cause you some distress, especially if your loved one is also of the Rat, Monkey or Dragon groups."
Well this is true every year.

Horse Wealth: "This is definitely not the time for risk-taking."
Um. Too late!

Ominous! But: "The trick will be to force yourself to rely more on your head than your heart. That is contrary to the Horse nature, so it won't be easy." Forced to use my head? Oh dear. But the whole point of this Thailand sabbatical was to use less of my head...

It also says that Horses are the nomads of the zodiac animals.

In other rat news, my friend sent me this recommendation on a new dish to try when I get to Thailand. Yum! From bbc.co.uk:

Thai fast food sellers are enjoying a boom in rat sales, as people learn to love the taste of the rodent.

While rat has long been eaten in Thailand's poorer northern regions, a growing number of the country's roadside vendors are now serving it up.

The rats are drowned and sold uncooked or ready to eat, with happy customers purchasing rat meat for as much as 150 baht ($4.82; £2.30) a kilogram.

"It's better than chicken," one customer told the AP news agency.

'Nothing can compete'

"It all depends what you like, but it's a normal meat like any other," added Thongyu Roruchit.

One rat seller, Sala Prompim, said that the hip and liver were the best cuts. "It's tastier than other meats - nothing can compete with rat," he added. Mr Prompim said he only used rats caught from rice fields, and not those found in towns or cities. "They are definitely clean," he said.

The animals are killed by drowning, before being skinned ready for cooking - poached, fried, grilled or baked.

Mr Prompim says he sells as much as 100kg of rat meat on some days.

bloodsport

2008-01-26T21:29:00.000-05:00

There hasn't been much inner peace in my life these past few months. They've been tumultuous & some of the crappiest I've had in years. A lot of change. A lot of insomnia. So many valid reasons for making the decision to up & leave for Thailand, but that doesn't mean it's easy.

But I have my own brand of therapy, when shopping & spas & heavy drinking fail me. I kickbox. The type I do is far from the stuff of action movies, but I can fake it quite well. :) It's so physically demanding that I can't afford to let my mind wander to anything else, like how much bloody plane tickets cost for example, & other stresses befitting of my quarterlife crisis (am I still considered quarterlife? Probably not. God, how depressing). With kickboxing, I have to be mentally present there in that moment or risk falling over or getting whacked in the face. Better yet, I'm the one whacking people in the face that had the misfortune of crossing me that day. Only in my imagination, but it is immensely satisfying! All the anxiety, the inanity, the chaos, just melt away.

Luckily, I am headed for the kickboxing world capital. Muay Thai is also known as the Art of Eight Limbs, which refer to the 8 parts of the body that are used in sparring- 2 hands, 2 elbows, 2 shins, 2 knees. Amazing striking speed, high jumps & huge calves. Check this video with Thai legend Tony Jaa. It's a bit long, the action starts at around 4 minutes in. But there is a nice long dramatic lead-in to set up the fight, with the Slash-looking Western opponent taunting Tony with the universal "fuck you" sign & comical English jeers.

Can you picture me? Hahaha.

reality check

2008-01-24T16:09:00.000-05:00

Got my tickets today.

NYC --> DC --> Manila --> Bangkok --> Chiang Mai.

A few days in each spot. It was a puzzle making all the itineraries fit.

No turning back now!

the mother continent calling me home

2008-01-23T17:20:00.000-05:00

In 6 weeks I'll be living & working in Chiang Mai, Thailand. 6 weeks! And getting closer everyday...

I knew next to nothing about Chiang Mai until about 2 months ago. Now I know that it is a small city of about 1 million people in the northern mountainous region of Thailand, known for their temples, spas, & blazing night market. It's also the historical center of Thailand, founded in the 13th century & established as capital of the ancient northern kingdom of Lanna. That history is marked today by ancient ruins & the presence of various tribal ethnic minorities that still hold onto lifestyles & customs of centuries passed. It sits in the heart of the golden triangle, straddling Burma/Myanmar to the east & Laos to the west.

(Spas & shopping sound good to me.)

And today I also learned that they have annual outbreaks of Japanese B encephalitis. Japa-what? It is a nasty little bugger transmitted by mosquitoes for which there is no treatment, & a third of people that get infected will die while another third will suffer permanent brain damage. Sounds lovely. Unfortunately the vaccine is a regiment of 3 shots over the course of a few months, costing $600. Ouch. I can only hope that 18 years of growing up in the tropics, being feasted on by all kinds of parasites carrying who-knows-what were good for some kinda immunity. (Please God.) I settled for the poor man's vaccinations instead- typhoid & hepa A, because Lord knows that alcohol gives my liver a thorough enough beating already.

Now my arms are so sore & bruised I can barely lift them. If that isn't a good enough excuse to skip gym today, I don't know what is. :D

escape from new york

2008-01-20T18:05:00.001-05:00

New York,

How I love you. I love all the clichés- the ice skating in Central Park, the shopping in SoHo, the brunches in Brooklyn, the alcohol-saturated nights in the LES. I love that I don't have to know how to drive. I love that there are some bars where everyone knows my name, yet the moment I leave their cozy interiors, I fade into anonymity again. I love that I can go on an international gastronomic adventure any day of the week, & spend anywhere between $1-$600 doing so. I love that I can stay right here & the world comes to me, & I am always playing tour guide to the visiting friends constantly coming through. I love that on any given day, I could be in the midst of pompous lawyers, gorgeous models, trendy media-types, French tourists, struggling musicians/waiters, illegal Mexican immigrants, Malawian royalty, all sitting next to me on the subway. I love the way you can make or break anyone, whatever walk of life you come from, & how if you can make it here you can make it anywhere (sing it Frank!).

Everyone I've ever met tells me I belong here, & I'm as much a part of the fabric of the city as it is part of mine. After living the semi-nomadic life for the past decade, I thought this would be the city I would finally "settle" in... at least for the next 5 years. It's been 2.

Cracks started to appear in our perfect love affair. Everyday I'm bombarded with ads, flashing lights, traffic, smog, high-rise buildings, subway screechings, $2000+/month rent (not including utilities, mind you), the endless rat race, the endless RATS, 7 million beautiful plastic people crammed into the same 7 miles of space & every single one fighting for attention & that elusive last bit of elbow room. I know a good relationship means a lot of give & take, but I'm beginning to feel like a battered woman. And this winter weather? Brutal. How did you suddenly turn so cold?

New York, consider this a trial separation. I love you, but I just need time to myself right now. I think we should see other people...

salut / 你好 / ciao / hola / こんにちは

2008-01-20T17:06:00.000-05:00

Hello.

A preamble: I am completely new this whole blogging world, so please bear with me as I find my groove.