Gracious

gra·cious (grshs) adj.
Characterized by kindness and warm courtesy.

Exactly what I experienced yesterday at the grocery picking up lunch of rotisserie chicken and ribs from Cold Storage at Great World City.

I approached the counter and looked over the selection and made my choices. The attendant had her back turned from the counter and was still busy cleaning the oven and so I waited. Looking to my left I saw that another customer had arrived and was checking out the offerings of the day.

After what seemed to be 45 seconds, I directed an "Excuse me..." to the lady behind the counter. She quickly turned, said hello and assessed the two customers who were in front of her.

She asked what I wanted. I asked for a whole chicken cut into quarters. For a moment she had a look that I could only describe as "how troublesome." She then said, "You wait, ah." Then in Chinese she must have asked the man beside me what he wanted.

Speaking in Chinese the man must have told the lady to attend to me first since I had arrived first. I can only guess this as I don't speak Chinese. But the lady did say to me, "Really sorry ah. Anything else?" I asked if she could give me a serving of ribs.

As she took the ribs and packed my food orders, I quickly turned to the man on my left to thank him. He said, "So, you're from overseas." I said, "Yes, I am Filipino." He smiled geniunely.

As the lady put my orders on top of the counter she again apologized, "Really sorry. Really sorry ah," to which I said "Thank you. No worries."

Putting the chicken and ribs in the basket, I turned to this gracious middle-aged man to thank him. As we said our goodbyes, I could only think about what a kind gesture of giving I just experienced. So to him, again I say thank you. Food eaten and digested. The gesture relished and appreciated.

I will remember to pay this forward.

I am Filipino

I finally got my IC early this week. My permanent residence application in Singapore was approved and I had to do the needful to complete all the tests and paperwork for the IC.

When I approached counter 36, the immigration officer told me that the ladies at the back were playing a guessing game as to what my nationality was based on the name on my folder. Apparently the entire list of the United Nations had been recited and no one guessed that I was Filipino until they noticed my middle name: Aquino. (Thank you, Cory, for making the name known.

I am Filipino and proudly so. I remember that in high school a friend of mine, Eileen, said that she'd like to be an extraordinary Filipino rather than just an ordinary Filipino. Another friend had just said the he was just an ordinary Pinoy when asked to describe himself.

What Eileen said that day has stayed with me since. I try to be the best that I can be everyday, in everything that I do. I do this, too, because I live outside the Philippines where Filipinos are stereotyped.

I first "represented" the Philippines in a cultural exchange program sponsored by the Lions Club of France in 1991 for French-speaking youth from all over the world. I was the first Pinoy that the Lions Club had ever invited and I knew this having been told by my professors at Alliance Francaise where I had been taking French for close to 4 years. I was so proud of the accomplishment. In Paris, I was hosted by the mayor of a small town. In this little village in the South of France called Hyeres, a family with a fantastic house and an awesome yacht listened to me sing in Tagalog.

Taking on a regional role out of Hong Kong in 2000, I had to manage a multicultural staff and agencies. I had to show them work in the Philippines can translate and be used as a measure regionally and implemented in local markets.

I took it upon myself to do good and show something different. I didn't want to be stereotyped. And that holds true until today in Singapore. You know how it is, rightly or not, one major mistake and you're dismissed as just another Filipino. I think am on the right track having had my work acknowledged not just regionally but globally as well. I have trophies to prove this claim. :-)

Am dark but not pango (thanks to the Quesada bloodline, my lola on my mother's side). Growing up I was always conscious of my skin tone. So, hello Eskinol. It was only when I moved to Hong Kong that I started to appreciate the color of my skin as more and more people were giving me compliments. Kasi naman sa Pilipinas the general measure of beauty is that of being maputi. Now I call that maputla. So now, I don't have a concern with the color of my skin. I embrace my ethnic exotic color.

Having to travel for work, am often mistaken for Japanese when am in Taiwan and Japan. Thai when in Bangkok and in Jakarta. Vietnamese when when in HCM or Hanoi and during one trip to Vegas. And a band singer in Hong Kong (a taxi asked me that once). In Singapore, the immigration officer asked me if my family were originally from Greece. She wasn't the first one to think that. I remember taking my California driving test in the late 80's when the instructor asked me if I were from Greece after looking at my last name on the record.

Am a big fan of OPM. My favorite song is Ambon by True Faith. And I have Tina Paner's original version of Tamis Ng Unang Halik in my iPod. I eagerly follow Philippine Idol and check YouTube everyday for updates. I like Pow and Mau.

I kinda lost the plot here with the rambling. I guess my point is that though I live elsewhere and have experienced travel and been exposed to many different cultures, my sensitivities are still truly Filipino.

Circa 1999

I wrote the short piece below 7 years ago when I started the Yuppinoy column for the Pinoy portal I was managing.

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If it were not a crime to inflict physical injury on others, I would’ve done serious damage to females with ugly toes who continue to wear open-toe shoes. You and I know that we have no control about the shape and size our feet take when we are born. We, however, have reason enough to know what is unsightly. Then again, not a lot have good judgment. Fat, bursting-out-of-the-strap, forcing-its-way-into-slim-open-toe-shoes, dirty, chip-nailed, unkempt, swollen-vein-filled feet are disastrous and make me violently ill. I mean, if I had feet like those I’d rather not have feet. If I had a cleaver every time I entered Glorietta after office, there’d be a bloodbath.

Step on them! That’s what I’d do if it were not a crime every time some girl walks by with the smallest toes on both feet hanging out of the straps of her awful open-toe shoes. I wonder if those dangling little toes have aerodynamic effect. God! They’re like wings. Ugly wings! Grr! Mercury had wings. Mercury didn’t have dangling toes. That’s because he didn’t wear open-toe shoes!!!! Step! Step! Step! Step on them like you’d do a cockroach. Squoosh those darned dangling toes until their guts and toe nails fly all over.

Makes me think. If there are nail cutters, may I have a toe cutter?
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This was written during my "angry" days. :-)
I've changed and I've become more accepting.

Fill In The Blanks

Come on, guys! Let's all be honest here. It's so easy to ------ ------!
We can have them ------out of the ------of our ------.
If I really wanted to, I could easily ------ ------ with ------. He's already allowed ------ to ------ his ------.
Among the ------ of you, I really want to ------ -------!

Am amused by the liberating effects of alcohol. HAHAHA! Watching your friends can be really amusing. I wish I had it all on video.

26 August 2006 is officially named LET'S ALL BE HONEST DAY!

I guess the chardonnay called Broken Shackle did its part.

Genius!

And less than a week after my first posting, I've figured it all out. I now have a Comments link.
Sometimes a little patience helps. 15 mins of understanding the Help guide also helped.

So comment on! And just ignore previous plea.

Frustration

A little past 1 in the morning of Friday. Trying to figure out how to put the Comments link in my postings. Am no techie and therefore helpless with language I don't speak.
So help. Please.

Call or email.

Noelle, baka naman you know how. Send me a step-by-step rundown to make this blog work better.

Thanks!

This is for Noelle

I don't know much of her except that she is a mother, journalist, wife, and friend of a good friend. I see her from time to time in church. We met at a party I hosted for press in December 2004. And that was that. There've not been any other social gathering where we could've bumped into each other to talk and learn about the other more.

Maya once told me that Noelle would see me in church seriously praying. Yes, I do pray. But most of the time in church I give thanks - seriously thanking the Lord for what He has given and where He has placed me.

It was also from Maya that I learned that Noelle had asked her if I had a blog. And to that I reacted with a simple high-pitched "Really?" in blushing amusement. That someone actually asked about me is titillating. So here I am, Noelle, a week after my 37th birthday, starting my blog. I don't think I've thanked you for coming into my life. So, thank you, Noelle.

One of the things I believe in is that people come into our lives for a reason. Today I know that Noelle is the reason I have started a blog.

So for future readers of this whatchamacallit, you have Noelle to thank. Her blog, if you are interested to know more about her, is at http://notestonowhere.blogspot.com/