More than twenty years have passed. A stretch of time, long enough to own a diary of funny bone-tickling thoughts. An episodic plot for a pinoy expat continually adapting to the nuances of a language. Surprisingly, he does cruise with an American driver’s license. Living with American job skills but in the mold of a culture left behind. You can’t stop remembering the humor in being an expat for a decade or two.
Am I dyslexic?
I grew up using the Pinoy vernacular to point out directions. Most of the time, the sun is my compass. But what about when the sun rises? The house has West through the patio. I’ve set my position pretty straight here. It’s the driving that makes you laugh most of the time. Scared of driving on freeways, I skirt back roads where driving exceeds my speed limit. Driving the main streets with lights directing my time to work is easy, isn’t it? When the road is straight, and it’s the secondary roads, I see a procession of cars behind me. When they finally pass my lane, I hear horns and voices. I don’t understand; they sound like noisy slang! And, I don’t yell back. Americans don’t make eye contact. They are not conflicting. So I stay put, watching my driving, praying that I’ll soon be where I’m going on time. Yes, I need to be an aggressive driver!
Where is my GPS?
I finally got the highway hustlers out of my way. My written directions work better than a GPS. When it falls silent, I’m afraid I’m totally lost on the paths I least take. Knew I flipped through it on my google maps (boss says mapping is out of date), but for me, it works, I’m a bookworm! With my index finger, I keep playing until I know why McDo or Walmart happened on my standard drive. So the drive runs smooth. Realized I needed an update for my Apple iPad mini (the boss is jealous!). The new version has a built-in GPS (they said that Samsung did an intellectual hack, who was the first then?). Both the mapping and the GPS need an update; They can’t seem to meet my needs on the way!
To each his own
I have never been friends with my dishwasher until recently. It had given the most laughs as far as I can remember. From oozing soap scum (wrong TIDE soap used) to weird noise (silverware got into the spinner and struggled on its own to work). Sometimes its use is a confirmation that I will never own it. The wash becomes cloudy. So many times I saw the same cutlery that I had just washed in the sink (4-6 of them). The head of the house couldn’t have used so much in such a short time! Then when the speech is light (he sees it’s not confrontational (again), he knows when to get to the tiger when he’s tame!), he’d comment on what I did with the dishwasher. Again I would be silent. Deep down I cringed. After all these years, I have never really mastered washing silverware the right way. Nothing happens, I wash them by hand, except when I’m in a hurry. Most of my laughs come when my cousins are around. Polite, they take over the dishwashing, but always complain that there is too much in there, they can’t wash! Hey, if I leave it full or empty it’s none of your business, it’s my dishwasher and dryer!
The Gourmet is going to cook
I am a Food Channel addict. I could move my X-Men radar when Rachael Ray is in that big tube doing her 30-minute meals. Andrew Zimmerman collects a scorpion outside of Malaysia. He then he is ready to soak in a vinaigrette overturned with a thousand spices; he does not modify! Yes, I know to be with him in most of the BIZARRE FOOD FINDINGS. I never took notes on the food that I seem to like to make. You see that I want original recipes. If I like what I see, I would move it and still bow as if it were mine. Everybody does that. My friend modified my recipe and posted it as her own after including me in her FB contacts. Can I fight a newly found family member? But again, when writing needs to level up, I hate data scaling. Without fail, the theme talks about my victories; I can go on and on and be nice with my keyboards. Treating a cookbook is a no no for me. I would buy one and let it sit in my kitchen for display. The head of the house jokes about how I can cook without one. If I make the same dish over and over again, wouldn’t I have memorized how to do it after the second or third try? I don’t need a cooking bible to perfect one. Repetition is the teacher of perfection!
I could go on and on, and the laughs get the best of me. I tolerate my heckling because the Pinoy in me is still me!