Where is home?

PAROS, Greece – I am a morning person. Mornings have never been a problem for me – not when I was a child, neither when I grew older and realized the power of the alarm clock. I’m not the lightest of sleepers, but somehow my body always knows when it’s time to awaken from its slumbering state. It usually takes me a split-second to feel energized and prepared to face the new day.

Recently, however, I’ve been waking up to more and more mornings feeling dazed, unsure of where I am. The huge white archway in my room has become a startling reminder in this disoriented state that I am finally, actually living in Greece. This disorientation frightens me sometimes, for I know that this is in part caused by the dreams I’ve been having – all confused, a mishmash of images from the various people I’ve met and places I’ve been to in the past few years. Dreams are often an extension of reality, and the ones I’ve been having seem to be a manifestation of my travels finally catching up with me.

Traveling opens a person in more ways that one; it allows one to see, think and experience as never before. But lately I’ve been feeling that the further away I go and the more immersed I become in foreign cultures, the more effort it takes for me to remember that the Philippines is home. It’s one thing to live in a foreign place with fellow Filipinos for company; it’s an entirely different matter to be living in a place with people of entirely different backgrounds. The past month or so, I’ve found myself rarely talking about my country. When I do talk about it, it’s always with pride but mostly focused on stories about family and friends. For how does one exactly describe the Philippines to an outsider? Does one ignore certain bleak aspects and emphasize the beauty of the land, Pearl of the Orient?

My dad is forever the optimist; he’ll only talk about the great things the country has to offer. Being the great speaker that he is, he’s invited a great number of foreigners to visit and be awed by the country’s historical sites and natural wonders. Maybe I should be more like him. But it’s hard to ignore reality when you’re in a different place and start comparing it to home. Maybe it’s actually better to focus on depressing subjects, as many local writers do. Perhaps it is their duty. Just as it is the entrepreneur’s job to uplift the economy by providing jobs for the people, so it is the writer’s job to shake people and make them face the perils of society.

Truth is, beyond the pristine beaches of Boracay and Palawan, the Philippines is still a country torn in two – the South as much in isolation as it is in coexistence with the North. Despite the abundance of local mouthwatering dishes, there is an apparent absence of Filipino restaurants in foreign shores. Despite intermarriages that have locked the Filipino and Chinese cultures, there is still a lack of true multi diversity and intermingling that other places claim to possess. The main cities revel in their modernity, but it is still questionable as to how much this modernity has been internalized by the people. In a country with new clinics with fancy equipment, little research has been given to illnesses such as depression and disability. In a country dominated by Catholicism, the lack of genuine interaction between classes of society is appalling to some degree.

Living in Greece has taught me to love the outdoors; it has taught me not to mind physical labor and dirt getting on my hands and feet. I wish that I could say that this love will continue even when I go back to the lush, tropical country of a thousand islands that I call home. But how can one go back to a land where there’s no enjoying the rain, for it signifies a loss of homes from floods due to an insufficient irrigation system? The mere act of sitting in a garden possesses a deadly threat sometimes, if one is to be bit by a dengue-carrying mosquito, possibly brought about by lack of cleanliness in squatter areas. The mere conception of poverty to the point of certain people living on a mountain of trash would be impossible if not seen with one’s very own eyes. It’s hard enough to be an artist in general due to the lack of compensation the profession provides, but it’s harder to be one in the Philippines where an appreciation for Western art forms overshadows that of local work.

It is sad to even attempt describing a people, blessed with so much raw talent and foresight, but sick and tired from too much corruption and too many revolutions. Does one talk about such things unpleasant to the senses? In a sense, it might help, for with more people becoming aware of the situation, the Philippines will cease to be merely a spot on the map of Southeast Asia. And maybe it is the case that Filipinos are no different from the Greeks – they love to complain but are actually quite happy and content, despite apparent cracks in society.

And so I go on with my day, still holding home close to my heart, yet leaving space for this enchanting Greek island to take root too. I wonder, however – where does one draw the line between thinking about home and moving forward to new places? When does one stop caring so much about one’s country and start living his own life? Or is there no drawing the line at all?

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Thanks for writing! For more comments or suggestions, e-mail me at stephaniecoyiuto@yahoo.com.