Finally here again

So I am now in Cebu City, Cebu.

Sitting in an internet cafe.

That's five pesos per hours more than in Manila.

And I'm being very stingey.

There's actually an Internet Cafe on the other side of the compound I'm living in, but that gate closes at 7 and the other street is a little more terrifying. So here I sit, in an "overpriced" Internet Cafe, because I wanted to update everyone. And when in actuality I just needed to have a little contact with my friends and family.

I guess I'm having this desire so strongly now because I'm actually a very shy person around new people, especially when I'm on my own. I don't really know exactly how to act yet, and communication is very hard, harder than I thought it would be. I never know, first what to talk about, and second, if I'm getting across what I'm trying to say, since I'm certainly having a hard time understanding them.

So as I think I mentioned before, they speak Cebuano in the Visayas mostly, and so all the Tagalog I learned is mostly in vain (I say that in jest). I went to the National Bookstore today to try and buy a Cebuano-English dictionary, which you think would be available, but alas, only Tagalog-English. That doesn't seem to make sense to me. Thankfully Bishop Dan has on he has lent me. I won't be able to carry it with me, however, since it weighs about twenty kilos and is quite bulky (I'm joking about the 20 kilos). There is a big push already for me to learn Cebuano, which I have a desire to do, although to be honest, my excitement is shadowed by the understanding of how daunting a task this is.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

I arrived here on Saturday in the mid-afternoon. I acutally flew in on Mactan island, which I think is considered part of Cebu. It has a lot of foreign tourist places, including the Shangri-La, where the ASEAN summit will be held in mid-December. I mention it because it's been talked about so much here in the very short time I've been present. The government has ordered the building of a civic center in Cebu for the occasion, which is supposed to be finished soon, but probably won't be until its grand opening for the summit. It's actually not a very promising engagement, because of the consequences such a summit will have not only on economic policy for the country (since many G8 countries will be there, probably bringing their own wish list with them) and because it means the demolition of a lot of urban poor areas deemed unsightly for such an occasion and highly militarizing the area. (Run-on sentaces aside). Mactan island is also where Lapu-Lapu killed Magellan, apparently. I've been told this quite a few times as well.

I'm living in the UCCP CENDET compound (Center for Education and Developement, I know know where the N comes from). Even though, Cebu is the second largest city to Manila, and second to only Manila in a lot of aspects, the compound is off the busy roads and has jokingly been described as "rural". It is very nice to live in and is in a line with UCCP Bradford (donated by a Presbyterian New Yorker) and the VCMC Hospital, also owned by the UCCP. My program coordinator is Ate Rose (and that's all I can remember, no last name as I am already so bad with first names) and her husband is the administrator for the hospital. I attended a very early church service with them on Sunday (7:30! I'm not that far out of college!) and had lunch and dinner with them that day. Dinner was quite insteresting since I ate very fishy tasting squid, that was purple. It actually wasn't very bad. We oddly watched the Flintstones movies, which in an odd way I was glad for since I was able to laugh at the movie with Rose's husband (I think his name is Mike), who I find very fun and enjoyable.

The compound is used for many purposes, even those outside of the church, and is used for income for the UCCP in general, as well, obviously, as those working there. I have met most of the people working there, and subsequently forgotten most of their names, something I will have to work on. I have my own room with a CR and a "sala", although there's nothing in the sala, and I am sharing it with a girl named Marisel who works in the kitchen. I honestly have been very shy to talk to her, although I know I should since she is the closest to me at this point.

I've found that venturing out so early is something that makes me weary, but I really needed, as I said, to have some contact with home. I worry that I am having too much alone time as it is, which adds to my weariness of leaving the compound to come here. I was told to expect that alone time would be in short supply and we should prepare for that. The Filipino way dictates a very communal atmosphere, demanding that time be made for lots of casual conversation. However, I've found that here I've had very little conversation or interaction outside of my "orientations" to the compound and programs I'm working with. I feel mostly "sent back" to my room "to rest" when my "orientations" are over. It makes me feel like I'm giving off some sort of vibe that I'm not concious of that is somehow being damaging or distancing from people. I guess I'm having a lot of apprehensions for being here for such a short time. It's just that my concerns come from being told to expect something very different from what I am experiencing.

I guess this will be something to look out for and be concious of, and most assuredly something I will be keeping my *avid readers* up with.

I feel like there isn't much to tell yet. That seems to be it. Things are still in the getting used to phase, so I will write more when I experience more. I am looking forward tomorrow night with both excitment and apprehension becuase there is to be a dinner for me to meet everyone involved with my internships. It is quite daunting and flattering. I also will get the opportunity to go with the family of one of the PCPR workers to visit her family during the celebration of All Saints Day, which will be exciting.

Happy Halloween to those in the States (and those in other countries missing it like me). Send me some candy ;)

Peace, I hope

A little 3 in 1

Actually 3 in 1 is the coffee that I love to drink here. It's actually powdered coffee, becasue unlike other lucky YAVs, there is no coffee bean industry here. In fact, it is QUITE rare to have actual brewed coffee at all. But I drink 3 in 1, with tons extra sugar even though it's supposed to be one of the three, because Nescafe has blood in it.

So I realize how awful I've been at keeping up with my blog, as I mentioned in the last teaser post. Well now you get a grand treat of 3 posts in 1. It may take some time to read, and will certainly take some time to write, but here goes.

First off, I leave for Cebu City tomorrow, so there will certainly be another post SOON TO COME!!

Ok, here goes

Part One: Putting Ramento to Rest

So I realize I've posted before on Bishop Ramento, but I had some final thoughts for you. A little while ago, gosh, it's actually been a few weeks now, some of us participated in a march from the local Iglesia Philippina Independiente Church to what was supposed to be Mindiola, a very important and historical site in the line of justice. Since I'm no good at judging distance, all I can say is this is quite some walk. The great thing was that so many people turned out for it. And it wasn't as if this was the only march or demonstration for the Bishop. To reveal something a little disturbing and disheartening about another YAV, which I don't do lightly and which I will not include a name, I overheard someone saying that they didn't think they weren't excited to go to one of the vigils because "they didn't know the guy". I was really taken aback by this statement, because what is so striking, over and over again, is that most of the people involved in these vigils and these marches, which took place all over the Philippines, didn't know him either. Still, because of what he spoke about and how he spoke freely and without fear, people responded to him and were affected by his loss. The body travelled all over Luzon, just so people, who didn't know him, could pay their respects.

So this march was supposed to be, I think, the final march before he was laid to rest. Now "laws" have been passed that contradict the Constitution, which is similar to ours, which says that people have the right to peacefully assemble. Such laws prohibit people from assembling at Mindiola in Manila. Well this is where we were going. So basically hundreds of people, clad in red, black, and white, marched in rows down the streets, alongside a truck blasting "solidarity messages", in the middle of traffic. Now, the thing to note is this does cause increased traffic at a time where traffic is already bad. So of course this was probably pissing a lot of socially unconcious people off, or maybe people who had had a bad day at work, which is understandable. The thing was, we left two lanes of traffic open for cars. But wouldn't you know, a mere two or three blocks after we started, we were stopped by the police and told we could not participate in such a march. The people of the march immediately banned together and there were people shouting orders to spread out and cover the entire right side of the road, so no traffic could pass going in our direction. The people in the front, which were mostly old bishops, were beating against the police, who refused to let them pass. Finally the people prevailed and we were allowed to continue marching, only to be stopped later where the road curves to the right towards our destination. This was actually a very key point in the trip because it was right next to the national post office, where people are "allowed to assemble". This spot is actually reserved for "peaceful demonstrations", in my opinion, more to...disuade them from trying to assemble elsewhere. It downplays a lot of demonstrations because they get tiring. They seem to be in the same location about the same thing, and get lost in each other. Certainly they are all about justice, but each demonstration has its own heart, and to force people to repeatedly be quarantined into a small meeting area is not only unconstitutional, but sad.

So finally, the thought I was struck by. There are actually two that came to mind. One I remember learning so much about at Triennium a few years ago, which is a text from the Bible. It is the one that proclaims that if you silence the people, even the stones will rise up and shout. This was so striking because of the number of people involved and affected by this extra-judicial killing. What is the point of thinking you can scare off people from a cause like social justice by striking down one of its main proponents. Doesn't the government know that even if you silence him, the people will still rise up, en masse, and shout for justice?

The second is a little more light hearted and comes from the great philosopher, George Lucas. "Strike me down and I will become more powerful than you can possibly imagine.

Isn't it odd that I can quote Star Wars and not the Bible. I'm so ashamed.


Part 2: The IP immersion makes us sick

So our final immersion, which we returned from the day before we were set to go to the beach, started about two weeks ago. In this immersion, we went to stay, for the longest time of any immersion, with an indigenous people's community, the Dumagot, in the far reaches of the mountains in southern Luzon. Just as an idea of how far in we were, let me say this. We first spent a long jeep ride to the nearest city to the communities. Once we got there, we climbed on another jeepney, which we noticed we had to climb up to get into, and couldn't figure out why this jeep was higher than the others. It turns out its higher, because to get to the place we were going, the jeep had to litterally go off-road and cross over the river. More than once, in face, quite a few times.

The stories to tell about this immersion are numerous, so to save time, I'll talk about the most meaningful of them all. It was the second full day we were with the Dumagot people. We had travelled into their village with two kasamas and had learned that they mostly grew rice for their livelyhood. We also ate more than I ever want to eat in my life (rice, that is). We slept in their houses, quite a few to a room, and so the "good night's sleep" wasn't exactly happening. We were told we were going to harvest that day, and that we were going to bath, again, in a pool under a waterfall (which we had done the day before and it was AMAZING). They told us that the next pool was just above where we had been the day before, which hadn't been a very stressful hike to reach. So we weren't really worried. That is until we started to climb. We had a lady guide us up the mountain and when I say "up" I mean "STRAIGHT UP". At times we were even literally climbing the rocks. The path was slippery and climbing along very narrow ledges with our feet being sucked into the mud was quite frightening. And the thing is I do love to hike, I'm just not in very good shape to be great at it. I admit I have to rest climbing Greybeard in Montreat, so you can imagine who strenuous it was to climb just as far, but in quite a shorter, and more direct, path. And of course we kept worrying, "how are we going to get back down?"

We finally reached the top of the mountain and were amazed by the site. There was rice grass covering the top of the mountain, which gave a clear view over the surrouding area. It was like being on top of the world before the world was plagued by man. And it was just the seven of us (unfortunately we had lost on to a knee injury half way up the mountain), our two guides, and the family who lived on top. They welcomed us into their very small hut, which was open to the elements and mostly filled with what had already been collected of the harvest that day. We ate lunch, with a baby monkey no less (who was amazingly cute and adorable and let me feed it), and then we were each handed a large sack and told to fill it. This task is actually quite daunting when you think about it. Rice doesn't take up much space, and takes the slightest bit of muscle to pick. So basically this means many hours, and many blisters, just to fill one sack. There's also a little thing called nettels, which of course I brushed against and felt for the next week. But it was an almost religious experience, being on top of the world, alongside people I will probably never see again, helping them gather their livelyhood.

We never finished filling the sacks because the old woman in the group told us we must return to our home down the mountain before the rain came or we would never make it.

Now, I have a bad knee. Humorously, its more "an old cheerleading injury". The hardest thing for me to do is go DOWN mountains. So trying to climb down this mountain, which is straight down, not really being able to trust that my knee is going to be able to support me, was a really scarey thought. At times I was so frustrated I just sat down on my butt, and slid through the mud down the rocks. When we were about 2/3 of the way down, and I was thinking I couldn't take much more, a prominent figure, who had been helping us throughout the week, came up the mountain to check on us, Tatay Pio. At this point I was at the front of our smaller group because I was taking longer to get down that the others. He looked at me and told me to hold his hand. He turned around and told me to place the other one on his shoulder and step where he stepped. Of course he said this in the Dumagot tongue, which I obviously don't speak, as if I did. But he gesticulated enough for me to understand, and we began down the moutain. I watched only his feet, and even though his stride was longer than mine and I was having to stretch to reach where his feet had been, I was miraculously making it down the mountain. A few times I slipped and grabbed on to him, exclaiming, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry." To which he would reply, in English, "no, no no, I'm very strong, very strong." Following his feet, which had memorized exactly where to stand, I made it down the mountain to the waterfall (which was just above where we had been the day before) where I was relieved and thrilled to dive into the crystal clear water.

Now if you're still wondering about the title to this part, I'll explain. The water was very clear. Crystal. Pure. So refreshing. I had drinken freely of it all the way up the mountain because I was told it was safe. Apparently this was the mistake. The next morning, quite early, I began to feel exhaustingly sick. I climbed out from under the mosquito net I was sharing with my German counterpart, Debo, and ran outside. My entire body hurt, partially from the climb, partially from the sickness, and I couldn't find relief. I worried that it was mental, since no one else was showing any signs of being sick. I stayed the whole day on a hard bed, with people trying to bring me food that only made my stomach want to church. But the entire tribe was making sure I was ok, they were genuinely concerned. The rest of the group went to visit a 108 year old man, who if you asked about the war he was in would say, "which war?" He was amazingly healthy for his age and told the others he thought of them as his granddaughters. That night I was feeling a little better, and still had the ability to sleep through the night.

The next morning was a different story. I awoke feeling fine, but apparently a few others had met each other in the night on the way to throw up, or move their bowels, which were, shall we say, quite loose. Everyone was so ill that day that our leader decided we would leave a day early. We were set to leave at 3:00 that afternoon when the jeepney would pick us up, and return to Manila. The 108 year old man let us stay in his home to rest, but when 3 rolled around, no jeepney. At 4 no jeepney, and at 5, no jeepney. Finally at 5:30 the jeepney showed up, having had a flat tire which caused its delay and we were told we couldn't go back that night. Some were devastated. Everyone was feeling very ill and now we felt confined to this place. I guess the truth was, I was struck by a feeling that we were quite done, that there was something else we needed to learn. I'm not quite sure what it was, but I think it was this.

We instead left very early the next morning, at 4 am. It really wasn't much time difference, and made very little difference to the time that we were there. Had we left the night before, we would all have gotten back quite late, and would probably still be asleep. I think what we needed to learn was patience and the ability to be with people. I can't imagine the image we must have given the people of the village, all of us so upset that we couldn't leave what was their home and their life. We acted as if we deserved to leave, we even tried to buy off the jeepney driver, promising more money if he would risk his tiredness and the dark, not to mention the roads, to take us back. How presumtuous and arroagant of us all. I wonder if that thought struck anyone else. We didn't really spend much more time awake, since we went to bed with the sun because there was no electricity. We watched the stars, which were so clear, even enough to see the milky way, and went to sleep.

The sad thing is the next day, a group of men was travelling with us to go and petition the leaders of the area to impeed on a Japanese company that was threatening to build a dam that would take away all the rivers in the vast area of the Dumagot tribes. It was especially hard to hear since we had just learned the great importance and life sustaining need of the waters of the area, even if it had made us all sick. Their entire lives come from these waters, they can't live without them. I can only hope and pray that somewhere along the way, someone has the forsight from the opposing side to realize this and has the ability to change things. So in other words, keep the Dumagot in your prays.

So all in all, I jest about the sickness. It sucked, to coin a phrase, but it was nothing compared to how beautiful the land and the people were. They showed us their dance and their song, and shared their lives fully and openly with us, despite their poverty. Like the old man said, we were treated like granddaughters of the tribe, even if only visitors.

Part 3: Tropical Paradise

So finally our orientation was over and so we do this thing called prosessing and reflection. Basically what this actually meant was five days on the beach in what I consider pure paradise. We even lived as simply as possible, while still swimming in crystal blue water of a perfect temperature and laying out in the gorgeous sun. We got to snorkle and see giant clams and watch the sun set over the mountainous islands around us.

The strange thing is I have very little to tell of events. There were mostly tourists there, but not many at all, and they all seemed to be German. It was a little strange. The beach is secluded even though it is just across the rocks from White Beach, which is REALLY touristy and kind of trashy. There are a lot of stores trying to pass off items as uniquely Filipino and give Henna tattoos. You have to walk along the beach and past these rocks, which apparently make the other side look inhabitable, to get to the resort at which we stayed called "Tamaraw". It took a three hour car ride and a one hour boat ride to get there. If you want to find out exactly where we were, we were off the Southern coast of Luzon on an island called Mindoro. The are is called Puerta Galera, and the beach, again, is Tamaraw.

It was really great to process the things we had been thinking, and I can only be thankful for the scenary in helping with this process. Some things were really hard to talk about. The most difficult for me was still unpacking the first immersion, even though it was so far away. I found myself still having trouble with my thoughts, and really telling the others for the first time what I wrote in this blog.

But agian, processing was very helpful and we also discussed how to deal with culture shock, or as we now call it culture cancer (ask me if you need clarification), beacause it is bound to happen.

I thought that section would be a lot longer, but as I said before, I can't think of much to recount that isn't so specific to our discussions that I shouldn't talk about it. Let me just say that the water is more beautiful than I have ever seen and the coral was divine. Pineapple shakes are about the best refresher, and I have not only a lovely tan, but also a renewed energy for the next two months.

As I said before, I leave early tomorrow morning for Cebu. I'm a little worried, for mostly the fact that I have finally got my bearings here in Manila, and I won't know anything about getting around there, how to act, or what to do. There will also be no one to really talk to, especially no Americans. I remember, even with those comforts here, how scared I was just to go out to this very IC, and now I think of how rediculous I am for ever thinking that. I guess that's the remedy and hope, that soon, I will feel just as silly there for feeling so out of place. Send me love and greetings and I will keep you all posted.

Goodbye Manila. Hello Cebu City.

Peace, I hope

A minor lapse

WOW!! Sorry for the delay in writing. I haven't had much time at the computer. And sorry again to dissapoint, but this is just to let everyone know I am still alive and kicking and that I have a huge blog in store. One last trip for orientation...to the beach! A new blog awaits you after my return...I'll make up for some lost time....

We're still fighting it...

Peace, I hope

An expected surprise?

How can that be? I left the IC (internet cafe) the other night, having just finished almost four hours of work with updating and checking e-mail and the like (and I still didn't get all the e-mailing done I needed!), and went back to the special projects house. I was singing along to the Rent soundtrack playing on my ipod, in quite the positive mood. When I walked in the front door, I was surprised to see what looked like a small business being run from our kitchen/common area in the form of what look like ribbon art.

In fact it was a little bit like an assembly line, but the workers weren't making anything for profit.

There's a vigil tonight. Another church leader has been killed. We're making ribbons for it, want to help?

The funny thing is that the supplies that we were using to make ribbons, which by the way read "Justice for Bishop Ramento", Becca had baught in bulk because she had done this before and was sure she was going to need them again.

An excerpt from the fliers handed out at the second vigil we attended:

"The Iglesia Filipina Independiente (IFI) has once again made a precious offering in the continuing task of proclaiming the Gospel fo Jesus Christ with the brutal killing of the Most Reverent Alberto B. Ramento, the 9th Obispo Maximo of the Church.

"The good bishop was slain by faceless assassins who broke through the rectory where he was staying at around four o'clock in the morning of October 3, 2006, in the Parish of San Sebastian, Tarlac City. He was awakened in his sleep when the assassins had entered his room and stabbed him seven times to death. We denounced in the strongest possible terms this barbaric and dastardly act against a man of the cloth within the premises of his own church."

And that's just the beginning. The statment goes on to talk more about his life and his work, and his death. The sad fact is that the police were gone and done with their investigation after only one hour's work, having left the scene open to any passerby, neglecting to put up what we would equate with yellow tape, contaminating the scene. Their initial report deemed the incident a case of robbery with homicide. Yet nothing in the church was missing. Only his ring and his cellular phone had been taken. And why would anyone want to hit a poor church in a poor community? And let me assure you, it was a very poor community. It may seem hard to believe, but it is easy for the Filipinos involved and associated with the church to know that this killing was one carried out by the military: a political killing.

Can you imagine that in our churches in the States? That any church leader who speaks out in the community is in danger of being slain? Who would stay in a church when their lives where in danger? The Filipino bishops and pastors live that reality, and that faith and fate, everyday.


"I know they are going to kill me next, but never will I abandon my ministry to God and my duty to the people."

-Bishop Alberto B Ramento

So we worked diligently for a few hours, making ribbons, writing "JUSTICE" over and over again. At six o'clock that night, we travelled to the NCCP (National Council of Churches in the Philippines) office in Quezon City, just next door to the UCCP headquarters, for a night vigil. Everyone carried candles, held posters. We passed out our red ribbons for everyone to wear and joined in solidarity during such a time.

The most striking thing was this. There is no moment of silence for the departed. Instead everyone gathers together with noisemakers, whistles, and shouts, to raise a loud ruckus in defiance of what happened. A man handed me a wooden clapper and we screamed and yelled.

I couldn't understand the Tagalog words being spoken. Granted I couldn't really hear them from the small megaphone being used in place of a microphone and speakers; the NCCP was still without power from the typhoon last week. But being with everyone, and standing with them and watching such strength, well...I got a little choked up.

Now please don't get me wrong. I don't cry that often. But I'm not afraid to admit when I do cry. This isn't a statement of trying to sound strong or whatever ego-driven statement you could think of. It is simply to show this: being in such a reality, not just hearing about it, was the most moving thing I've experienced here thus far.

But I didn't cry. At the same time I was being moved by the crowd, I was feeling ashamed. I felt so intrusive in their time. This wasn't my fight. I don't truly understand the Filipinos and their cause yet. I didn't feel like I had a right to cry or to be moved or to even participate with them during their vigil. I'm not sure I can fully explain it. It was like I hadn't yet earned the privaledge to be such a integral part of their simulatenous grieving and defiance.

Afterwards I was thanked for coming. They thanked us, the foreigners. More shame. And when we went the following night to another vigil closer to our house, we were thanked again, and recorded by all of the camera crews there. And as a topper, mentioned specifically by one of the speakers. But he put it this way. It helped to have people from other nations there. It helped to show that even though we are of different nations and different colors, we are of one heart, he said. I finally felt allowed to be just as sad, and just as angry as the rest of the people there, simply by his hidden and brief invitation.

I can't really make you understand what living in a reality like that is like, because I haven't fully realized it myself. First it's hard to think that most bishops and pastors know the risk. The old bishop who welcomed us on the second night said he wondered when his time would be. But it's harder to believe, even for me, that there can be any motivation for a government to murder leaders of the church. Bishop Ramento was a simply a minister who spoke for the workers and for the poor. He was involved in negotiations between the government and a worker's rights group. He spoke out against the political repression and human rights violations in the Philippines, and denounced the extra judicial killings of militant leaders, social activists, lawyers, journalists, church people under the GMA administration. What any good Christian here would do.

I guess they thought that was reason enough.

Peace, I hope

Playing a little catsup....

So I've been trying to update some of my past blogs since I started trying this whole uploading picture thing. The problem is it takes quite a long time to upload them all and in the pauses between adding to different posts, I've been "busying" myself on things like Facebook, which just makes me stay here even longer. Unfortunately as I've said, Internet costs money here, and I don't have a lot to spare. So keep checking back for added photos in past blogs. And, hooray! Look forward to more pictures in upcoming posts. Whoo-hoo, right?

Some things I've overlooked....

1) I would like to please clarify the last post about the typhoon. I'm not sure of the media coverage in the states. I haven't really gotten any comments about it, but I have guilted myself about it. So to clear my conscience.... The lighthearted nature of the past post was only because it was a little funny to the eight of us that there was a level three typhoon going on and we had no idea. Beth and Sara, two of the other interns, had gone out that morning and were commenting on how oddly windy it was. I have to simply laugh at our oblivity. However, the storm was actually a very serious thing and, least of all, put many people out of electricity and water for days. How we were so lucky to get ours back the next day I'll never know, but most people only recently are able to see at night. The cable just returned last night, not that it's as important, but for reference, that's how long it's taking to rejuvenate the city. We were visited the other night by Jed from the Tondo community, who was telling us the damage caused to our friends in Parola and Beseco. I can only briefly imagine what the situation must be like for my host family who live right on the water; briefly because I can only think how horribly awful and indescribable it must be. Many people were also killed in this storm. Some reported dead weren't even from the storm. I overheard Becca explaining the other day that some people are "dissapeared" during natural disasters like this and use the destruction as a cover up for political killings. Yes, it is that horrendous. Also, a landslide in a town we have recently visited was a direct result of all the water from the rains. And my mother has informed me that another is potentially on its way.

2) I can't believe I never posted about Taal!!! Is this true? I was trying to upload photos and wondering where my blog about our trip to the volcano was. I read through past ones and couldn't find it anywhere. Could I be so careless? I guess it's better to describe so late afterwards because I refuse to spend much time on it. So here goes...(if I'm repeating myself, my apologies)

Pretty close to the beginning of orientation, even before our first immersion, we took a trip, with Ate Marie as our guide ("ate" means "older sister"), to the volcano of Taal. I heard a fact that you're never more than 30 km from a volcano in the Philippines, and after seeing the large Relief Map in Rizal park yesterday, I'm inclined to believe it. We travelled to the city of Tagaytay (side story: when I called Apple before I left about my ipod, a luxury here and I guess in the States as well, I spoke to a Filipino boy who told me to visit Tagaytay, weird), and rode down winding roads to the shore of a lake. Let me just say it was the first truly gorgeous site of the Philippines. There were moutain heads springing from the lake in every direction. We rode boats to one of the "islands" and proceeded to climb (after a brief rain delay) to the top of on of the islands. As we reached the top (which was actually quite the hike) we looked over a ridge to see another lake in the center of this island with another small island in the middle. Apparently it's one of Becca's favorite jokes to describe this view as "an island, in a lake, on an island, in a lake, on an island". The strangest thing to see was little vents of smoke rising randomly out of the ground everywhere. The sites were gorgeous, and the buco juice we were given complemented the view quite nicely.

So "quick" updates from past blogs. Sadly no one has posted any questions. I'm starting worry, readers. Not to discount the few comments left to me, which I can't even beginthere's my to describe the meaningful-ness of, but this makes twice my pleas for comments have been ignored. I'm kidding of course, but as Filipino kidding has the frequency of doing, there is a little truth in every joking jab. So again, I'm asking kindly, for some responses. Mostly because I'm a little too excited about the idea of a Q&A and would hate to be so pathetic as to make up the questions myself and pretend they have been sent from someone else.


Ok, so this great lovely weekend deserves a post. Even though it started off on a bad note, and there is still a little hurt residue from the effects of the beginnings, I would have to say it was a very fun and successful weekend.

So without further waiting....

I woke up Saturday morning feeling much, as the crude phrase goes, like shit. Unfortunately we were scheduled to leave quite early for a much anticipated weekend worshop of the theater variety at a UCCP church in Cubao. "Great," I thought. This was simply perfect for me. So I tried to push aside the feelings, which I hate to say got the better of me by the time we arrived at the church. So for most of the day we were supposed to be spending learning about the process of the church's theater group, I was busying sleeping in one of the pews. Truth be told, I spent most of the day in the pew, sleeping. So I missed all of the processing and the creating of an exhibition we were set to perform the next day. To my luck, I did feel much better that night when we started a seminar on "native instruments".

Now my friend and fellow intern, Beth, points out that I use "uneccessary air quotes" far too often, and apparently I'm using quotation marks here in quite the random fashion. But I always explain my rationale to her, even if I use them just for my own amusement, and I will explain why I use them here. I'm a little confused as to all of the intruments they showed us and taught us to play on their title as "native". Most of them it seemed to me obviously came from elsewhere. So I thought about it and again came to the realization that the Philippines is semi-colonial and most of its culture comes from the infulences of its colonizers. So the "native guitar" comes from the influence of Spain. They also showed us rain sticks (whose origins I'm not sure of), water chimes (goat horns suspended from a carved stick), bamboo flutes, and the ever popular and awesome djembe. Now I'm almost positive the djembe comes from Africa. So how it is "native" to the Philippines I don't know. But to let the point go, I don't really care, becasue I got a few free lessons in playing one, and got to play it frequently enough this weekend to develope not only a love, but some sore fingers. Let's just say that I was pretty amazing for a beginner and got to play throughout our entire performance, more due to my sickness the first day during the "acting" portions, than to any nautral abilities or at least learned abilities at the djembe. Oh well.

The reason I mention the residue from the weekend, which resulted from my sickness, is because it will give you a little itty-bitty view of Philippine culture. It can be quite easy for Filipinos to have their feeling hurt by foreigners. It is a Filipino cultural characteristic to be very hospitable. So it is quite insulting to have their hospitality or their culture insulted or devalued by foreigners. According to Becca, it has happened in the past where foreigners have "checked out" on their own accord without rhyme or reason. They have the mentality that listening to Filipinos is a choice and often a waste of time. So apparenlty it wasn't conveyed to a late-comer leader that not only I, but fellow intern Helen, were laying down because we were sick, not because we simply chose not to participate. And in typical Filipino fashion, this person went to talk to a third party, Becca, about her concern. Now, the difference is that typically there is a point of reconciliation from the "benefit of the doubt", but this person refused to accept our reasoning or believe our truthful circumstances enough to forgive us and gave us dirty looks through most of the performance.

The performance itself went very nicely and I have to say I had an amazing time. Saturday night was great, in spite of and maybe as a result of being plunged into almost darkness since the church was still without power from the typhoon. We played instruments in the candlelight and had quite the time. And most of the time on Sunday before our performance was spent simply hanging out and "jamming" to some familiar American folk rock tunes. (Read Eric Clapton). I have to say that I'm in love with a lot of the people at this church and really jealous of Martha, whose placement is working with this church and their drama program. I have met my favorite character thus far in the music director of the church named Provee. She is an insanely good time and I haven't laughed so hard in quite a long time.

We also got to celebrate another birthday yesterday. I can't even remember if I posted about celebrating Helen's before we left for Macalamcam, so if I didn't I apologize to her. But of course we would go back to the same restaurant, Don Henricos. The Italian pirate who loves Philippinized-Italian food. But as our luck would have it, it started to pour when we were planning on going home. So we were soaked, and me with my white shirt. That's typical Philippines during the rainy season, though. Always raining. Actually, its raining right now.

So that's been my life for awhile. We're getting some much needed rest since our next exposure has been cancelled. We were supposed to have a Moro (Muslim) immersion, returning to Beseco, but they are currently observing Ramadan, so working out the details and the times never really worked out. I will be harshly honest in saying that I am a little relieved. One because it means we have a lot of rest time before our next long immersion. We will have a smaller one here in the city with the 'Red Light' district, but of course we won't be spending the night anywhere and we won't be travelling far since we live right in the midst of such a sad situation. I'm sure there will be another slightly preachy, but hopefully informative blog will be soon on its way.

Until then....

Peace, I hope

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