Warped thoughts at McDonald's

Some CaliFilipina girl's warped thoughts at McDonald's

I barged inside the almost bare McDonalds in De Soto Avenue. The first thing I noticed was my friend Trina on the counter, with her unusually loud voice greeting the customers. She beamed when she saw me come in. I have only been here twice, always ordering McFlurry and French Fries. I'm planning to repeat that routine today, even as my conscience is silently being tortured by guilt since I haven't exercised for a week -- totally opposite from what my family probably thinks I'm doing.

Click to enlarge. And so I discovered Instragram. Haha!

I have now been here in California for two months, and it's been great for me, relatively. I am so positive that any other international student moving alone to the United States, or any other country, would be experiencing emotional breakdowns at this time, or at most, maybe they're already recovering. But I was prepared for this. Well, except for the last minute crying at the airport because I wasn't able to hug my mom before I left, and those times I almost always resorted to dating sites because I was totally alone at my house, and I haven't had friends at that time. But I'm okay now.

Before coming here, I asked God to prepare me and my environment, and give me great friends. Lo and behold, there was divine intervention. A girl named Czarlene read my tweet about UCLA and decided to befriend me at Twitter while I was still in the Philippines. I hate to admit it, but sometimes Twitter can be helpful. Next thing I know, Spring Semester starts, and I've got buttloads of friends on Day 1 at Pierce. They were all Filipinos, and they were like a call for me to come back to earth -- figuratively, that is. There's just something about getting together with people of your own race in a foreign land. And I don't even have to worry because Filipinos are everywhere (LOL). Somehow, the idea of being with a set of people who are naturally cheerful with voices you can hear even if you are 20 feet away is comforting -- like a dose of anti-loneliness-and-depression mantra you should give yourself if you're walking in a labyrinth and you start losing yourself. But that doesn't apply to some Filipinos. I get a sudden flash of disappointment when I discover that they can't or they refuse to speak their own language, or when in their liberation, I find no traces of conservativeness (what an awkward word). Again, it still depends on the person.

Them OSAM friends I love. :) When we celebrated my 18th Birthday. 20 Feb 2012. Credits to Len for the photo.

Then there's my church. I am so blessed to be surrounded by godly men and women in my walk with Christ. It feels like home to have people of different races, ages, and genders looking at me and not judging me, and accepting me with open arms, no matter my past. For that, I am extremely grateful. It made me confident that wherever I go, I have a family in God. Perhaps that's how it will look like in heaven -- filled with different people of all colors, races, tribes, and languages worshiping the one true God.

So let's get down to the point of why I'm writing this. What triggered the writer in me today -- after a very long time -- were those surprised and weirdly happy expressions on Trina's Filipino customers when she'd talk to them in Tagalog. That, and I'm also trying to impress my crush who works on the counter. I am currently stalking him, and throwing looks at him when he's not looking (*spying skill: master level*).

Kidding aside, I have really marveled at how few the customers are in McDonald's branches here compared to the ones in the Philippines which are crowded and filled with all kinds of laughter and noises. One thing they have in common? Filipino families. At some point, it made me feel as if maybe nothing much in my world has really changed after all. And maybe Filipinos come here to feel the same way, too. To pick up something that's left to remind them of their native land -- just with the negative implication that the Filipino culture has been commercialized and dominated by alien market (haha!). Or maybe, there's this unconscious thought of bumping into one of your "kababayans". Di na nga lang uso yun. But most probably, it's because they sell cheap stuff. :P

At the very least, this place reminds me of home. Plus, who knew McDonald's could be a writing haven anyway? (And a sleeping place, too!) Then again, maybe it's just McDonald's, or maybe it's just me.

Rainy Nights

Internet Photo

Last night was like this. I came home from a party when it suddenly rained harder. My best friend walked me home, and we both didn't have an umbrella. The streets were bare, and I've always enjoyed the rain at times like this. The lamp posts were lit up, and you could see through the orange lights how the tears of heaven trickle down the road. And you wouldn't hear a single thing except the beat of dripping water from the skies, and the rhythm of our own laughter.

I didn't catch a cold. Haha, I'm kind of immune when it comes to the rain. I would go out at 5:00 in the morning just to soak myself up. I would dance Jai Ho as kids run around the neighborhood splashing rainwater all around. When I was in Korea, and my black Grosser Schaten umbrella got stolen (boohoo!), I gladly walked by myself in the heavy pouring rain even when the night was cold and I knew I was going to ride an airconditioned bus for the next two hours.

There's just something special about the rain that I can't explain. The most special moments of my life happened on rainy days. Do you have crazy theories or inspiring stories involving the rain? Go on, tell me. And I might just tell you mine.

Either comment below or email me at rainfallfrustrations@gmail.com

Back to Basics

*Had a hard time with grammar on this essay. Ugh, please correct me if you find any wrong grammar lurking somewhere here. I would appreciate it. Submitted for my Creative Writing Travel Piece assignment. I love Baguio, and you don't know how much I really want to come back and study in UP Baguio again and see my spiritual family from Victory Baguio again. T_T

-----------------------------------------------------------------

I have a thing for cold, melancholic nights, when the temperature drops to 15 degrees Celsius and my feet won’t stop shaking. My first nights in Baguio were torture; I wanted to cry every single day. The wind told me that my ten-month stay will be very long.

At first glance, the summer capital seemed to be a very normal place giving you the unnecessary hassle of walking up and down the steep roads, not to mention the vehicles that would blow too much smoke on you every once in a while. The water was ice cold, and you won’t really need a refrigerator that much. I didn’t like SM City Baguio, and all the buildings standing there trying to transform the city into a very industrialized place. A lot of people also warned me to watch out for thieves in crowded places like the public market and Session Road. But despite of that, the locals of Baguio were very nice. Unlike the typical busy Manileños, they would really stop and listen to you for any queries, as if you’ve been friends with them before.

I stood in front of McDonalds one rainy night, wondering what I was doing in the north, miles away from my family. I found myself hailing for a taxi, as numerous snob drivers ignored me. There was always traffic lurking in Session Road, and I had no choice but to walk home. On most mornings, as I walked to school, I could literally see the air I breathe out. It must have been the low temperature.

I visited the pond near the Oblation statue frequently. There was peace and quiet in that place, away from the noisy students of UP Baguio. I met ate Len there, a campus minister from the church where I came from. She introduced me to people who became my friends; they made my succeeding months in Baguio seem too short. We ate together at fast food restaurants or carinderias every lunch and dinner. And did I mention that the locals cook very delicious food We often went down Session Road to buy the famous homemade frozen yogurt sold by a bar called “Rumours” where, people said, UP teachers hang out a lot.

I heard my classmates talk about partying ‘til they drop at Nevada. I’ve never been there, anyway. When our block had bonding sessions, I came with them to places such as Teacher’s Camp, The Mansion, Diplomat Hotel, and other baranggays, and discovered how big Baguio actually is. There was even a valley in Benguet called La Trinidad, which has quite a different temperature than Baguio on mornings, but way colder on evenings.

At days when boredom struck, I usually take the jeep to Loakan, and visit the Philippine Military Academy. They kept a historical account of the Armed Forces of the Philippines there. Soldiers were not my thing, but at least history is. I roamed around the museum and sometimes wished I could be one of the female marines. In late February, you would find no space at all. They closed main roads as people watched the famous Panagbenga Festival. I decided not to join, and had a photo shoot with my friends at Camp John Hay instead. The place was perfect for contrast in photos, because the historical place still had its original texture.

The cold, melancholic nights seemed to disappear as time passes by. Maybe I was getting used to it. If not, my resolution would be long walks late at night, with no idea of the direction where I was headed. After I got tired of walking, I just traced back my steps and went home. Recently though, my friends had kept me accompanied in coffee shops or competed with me on eating contests during buffet dinners at Ate Len’s house. Riding the jeep was the best part of getting to her house; I got to see all the shining lights at the bottom of the mountain from Marcos Highway on the way to Balacbac.

Before I went back to Makati, I went to Minesview Park first. That’s where you could find the cheapest strawberry jams and ethnic costumes, and that was when I was reminded that Baguio was not as normal as it seemed. The scenery was breathtaking, plus the feeling of being on top of the world. There was no place like Baguio. I guess it only got lonely when I was still a stranger in that cold land, but the people were nice, food was always great, and Baguio still had the knack of keeping me silent by way of nature.

The last time I went there, a private van drove me home, it was three in the morning, and there was no visible industrial light down Kennon Road. It felt good that at least some cities in the country still had traces of primitivism. People still walked as far as a jeep would take them. Igorots still paraded their costume -- their sense of culture. Flowers still bloomed amidst vehicle smoke. People still went to Burnham to jog on cold mornings despite the stink. They still spoke Ilocano even if Koreans or the Tagalogs were dominating the place. They still sold sundot kulangot, which was almost nonexistent in Manila these days. They still took pride in the beauty of the mountains, which was slowly diminishing.

I lasted for ten months in Baguio without even missing the mall, the internet, or the commercialized things I once got used to in the lowlands. I bet I’m more surprised right now than you are. So I stuck my head out one last time to see the way of life in Baguio and be reminded to go back to basics. I am definitely going back to that place again.