Matt and Kristin in the Philippines

Call it whatever politically correct label you want, but here in the Philippines I am a white American.

Really, it wouldn't matter if I came from another country because white skin is automatically American until proven otherwise, and I have no evidence to contradict this. I am still a gangly, tall, increasingly tanned, but white skinned, Americana in a land of rather short, dark Filipinos. There is no hiding, not even in the dark.

Being white means never eating rice, or so many Filipinos seem to believe. Often, I assure Filipinos we do eat rice in the US and I like it very much here along with the rest of the fish, chicken, and beef prepared for us. I'm not a big fan of the raw tuna-cucumber combination though. But these are the same Filipinos who serve us the very best of what they can, a freshly slaughtered, non-GMO chicken, copious amounts of rice, fish, eggplant, mangoes. Food is very central to this culture regardless of your color; we eat all the time.

Being white means a whole lot of staring, pointing, laughing, whistling, shrieking, yelling, mostly from children and men. The women tend to stare, giggle, and whisper conspicously as we pass. Being white doesn't mean I can't transcend these outbursts, because I work with some amazing people who see me for who I am, not what color I am.

Being white means Filipinos laugh when I try to speak their language or when I tell them "buong ka", you are crazy, when their words spill out faster than I can catch them, when I need them to drizzle like our faucets in the morning. They teach me, and I can conjure some pretty decent conversation starters like, "What is your name?" Good, huh? :) But then they say something like, "Kanus-a aka na abot?" and I'm lost. "Pasaylo ako!" (I'm sorry)

Being white means P's are P's, F's are F's, B's are B's and V's are V's. Amusingly, these are switched in Filipino English, P becomes F, F to P, B is V, V is B. I just returned from a short trif to a fastor's house in Santa Cruz. We ate rice and pish for vreakpast everyday, sometimes eben coppee (spelled 'kape') with loads of sugar. The foorer feofle here lib along the coast and pish for a meager income. Or in the mountains parming just to peed their pamilies. Soon, I bisit Matt and the fastor he's veen libing with. I am bery excited, though not por the long vus ride. Mayve you hab ovserbed how this makes communicating pun! And hysterical.

Being white means a barrage of beeping from tricycle, jeepney, and taxi drivers who offer their services in the middle of my jog. But then when I actually want to go to my placement site, a crisis center about 20 minutes away, I am repeatedly denied because I refuse to pay 20 pesos when I know it is only 10. Yet, I have never had to walk, usually a friendly older man relents without too much haggling and we ride in silence.

Being white means finding other white people, or non-Filipinos, a simple task. Depending on where we meet and who they're with depends on our interaction. In the mall close to where we lived in Manila, the corridors teemed with white people, as Manila and our particular part of town is a popular tourist site. But no other white person ever greeted me there. Let me re-phrase that: no other white man. And not because they were looking a different way. Our eyes would meet and acknowledge whatever commoness lay between us, color, but their heads would drop or quickly focus on a new target. I began to wonder if this was a move of shame since they never traveled alone, but rather with a MUCH younger, Filipina companion. (Look for an upcoming post on the sex industry, I'm in the middle of an excellent book that I want to supplement my experience and writing. But suffice it to say, prostitution and the sex industry in general are tremendous here).

Now, not every older white man is here with or for a younger Filipina. Because being white means the white man in the grocery store here in Davao has permission to ask, "Are you American?" Yes. He is too. But he's married, and just had a child and has lived here for the past year and I am inclined to believe he is, in fact, in a committed relationship. Then there's the black man from Connecticut, another American in this land, who has been here 5 months and settling on this side of the globe presumably for his girlfriend.

Being white means I am propositioned by a 60 year old white man as I cross the street at the tail end of a women's empowerment march and rally. Here's our conversation:
OWM (Old white man): Where are you from?
ME: US
OWM: Me too. I'm American, British, and Australian.
ME: Wow, that's quite a mix
OWM: Do you have a boyfriend?
ME: No, I have a husband.
OWM: Oh! Well, then you're no good to me. (Laughter)I'm divorced, can't you tell? There's a smile on my face!

Being white means I can't find one pair of pants in any one of the "ukay-ukay" (secondhand) stalls. None. Even the imported brands. No, this body of mine is too long and too curvy and too big all around to be friends with the little people jeans.

Being white means while everyone enjoys a shady sidewalk during the AIDS Day rally, my head is still frying in the sunlight because the shade won't cover my height.

Being white means explaining not every American owns a fancy house and car or is free from rape, abuse, poverty, or drugs. That Hollywood is NOT reality.

Being white means I have power and privilege simply by the color of my skin and country of origin. It means I have a choice. Which is more than many Filipinos have. Being white means I am no longer anonymous. Being white means I am different. But not so different that I can't find love, laughter and friends here. I am white, but I am still Kristin, and that matters more than anything to most Filipinos. It hasn't prevented women sharing about unfaithful husbands, being prostituted, breast lumps, abuse.

A woman said to me, "Your life is so simple." I didn't know how to respond because I think it might be true. I am not a single mom raising three children because my husband won't pay child support after he abused me, cheated on me and left. I am not unemployed, desperately seeking a job that can feed my family, I am not living on the bank of a river amidst rank water and trash, I am not afraid of being paid unfair wages or receiving no benefits or paying for a blood test.

I have a lot to learn, I have a lot of listening left to do. I will always be tall, round, and white here in this country, but I will stand with the people as best I can.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!