Getting Roots One Square Foot at a Time

I've always wanted roots, mostly because I equate roots with home and I never had much of one after my mother died. I want to give Alex "roots so deep no one could ever pull them away from her." Because of this, I want to buy a house. I frequently drag the hub to "trippings" so we could look at houses that are within our future budget range. Tripping, or the act of showing potential buyers the properties that are still available, is too trippy a word for such a grown-up activity. Still, I'm not surprised. Showing people empty lots at noon, with the sun scorching every uncovered surface of skin, is guaranteed to dehydrate real estate agents and fry their brains.

If there's one thing all those trippings have shown the hub and I, its how horrendously expensive a good house is. The units we want, we cannot possibly pay for even if we rob a bank. The units we most likely could someday afford, we feel no connection with. Still, if there's any consolation in all this, it's that it's even more expensive to buy homes abroad. For example, I read that someone named George Lindemann Jr. paid $2.23 million for a 4,984-square-foot home on Biscayne Bay. For that price, he essentially paid $466 per square foot. The lots we looked at before ranged from P1,500 to P10,000 per square foot. Clearly, if the number game is all that is to be played, it's easier for one to buy a house here than it is for foreigners abroad.

All things factored in, however, it will take the average Filipino years to purchase a home; and there's no guarantee, even, that this home will remain standing for years. The news is rife with accounts of construction firms using substandard materials and housing units cracking or crumbling down months after the new owners move in. What a painful occurrence that must be, to sell all your goats and carabaos to meet initial payments on your house; and then your house falls down like a stack of dominoes and you're left not with a small, cozy home to call your own but a mountain of bills and months of repair work.

Caring for the Past, Raising the Future

There are many things I wish this country would have, decent socialized medicine, for one, and nationwide government-subsidized education, for another. It's true we have public schools, but middle class parents would rather cut corners on the household budget than send their children to these public schools. Who can blame them? The story of our public schools is one that will break hearts. One underpaid, overworked teacher, twenty books, forty chairs, sixty children, two ceiling fans, and only one of them is functional. The sheer absurdity of the math alone will make you weep.

The same is true of our geriatric healthcare. I often hear it said that we don't have nursing homes because the Filipino family is so closely-knit we take care of our own. We don't foist them on institutions, like East Bay nursing homes in the U.S, for example. It's true we take our elders in. But taking them in isn't akin to taking care of them. I frequently hear stories of bedridden grandfathers being sorely neglected by grandchildren who spend the afternoon gossiping with neighbors. There are stories, too, of grandmothers locked inside rooms because it's tedious to clean up after them after they're let out.

I cannot emphasize this point often enough to the people I know. This country needs to take better care of its young and its old. We have no right to treat shabbily the Filipinos on whose backs the present was built on, and the Filipinos whose fingertips will shape the country's future.

Wily Woolgatherer

If I ever find my way to where T is, the first thing I'll check out are the restaurants San Diego has to offer. Then, I'll visit their clothing stores, then their libraries, then their theaters, then their tourist spots. But wait, who says I'm going to San Diego?

I frequently daydream. For hours on end, I gather wool, and I've become so good at it I could do it while officiating a meeting, for example, or orienting new hires. I am inordinately proud of this skill because it takes special ability to look alert and intelligent even when one is ankle-deep in Caribbean waters or is taking sips of white wine while touring the vineyards of Ribero del Duero in Spain.

My daydreams have three recurring themes: money, the acquisition of special powers, and travel. When I daydream, I engage in more than the suspension of belief. I engage in the suspension of belief in an exaggerated manner. So, I don't just see myself winning the lotto; I see myself winning P689 million in lotto. I don't just see myself lifting heavy objects with my mind. I see myself lifting objects with my mind and then dropping these onto the non-Filipinos who annoy me. Lastly, I don't just fancy myself traveling to, say, Thailand. I envision myself lugging suitcases to Thailand, Italy, London, and yes, T, San Diego so I can drop in on you unannounced and we can go fall in love with the cheap pseudo-furniture at Ikea. I have never seen a pseudo-furniture and the image that comes to mind right now is that of a chair made of cardboard. 

On Botox

Elizabeth Hurley, tabloids claim, has had Botox. So has Joan Rivers and Arnold Schwarzenegger. Don't you dare ask me what Botox is, or I swear I'll yank your hair and do you physical harm for making me feel like the shallowest, silliest, most Hollywood-hungry piranha in a cubicle.

Botox has been touted a miraculous fix of sorts. See, it temporarily reduces frown lines, forehead creases, crows feet, and thick bands in the neck. Many swear it's a painless and efficient way to subtract years off the face.

The most common deterrent to Botox use is its cost. Do you know how much Botox costs? I don't, but all the hoopla about the wonder injection made me curious enough to go on a surfing spree.

I don't think I'll ever get Botox injections even if, one day, I'll have the means and the courage required. While it's great to look young and unlined, it feels better to wear one's face proudly - scars, wrinkles, freckles, and all!

Houses and the Rule of Two

"Check out this Real Estate Magazine," my 280-pound Uncle Boy ym'd. "Real estate is a very big business here. It won't be difficult for you to find a job."

Uncle Boy is 43 years old. He has two kids, two jobs, and a second wife. The U.S is his second home and selling properties is his second job. He frequently pokes fun at the odd coincidences that shaped his life. "Most things in my life come in twos," he'd laughingly say. "Two kids, two wives, two countries. Even my weight follows the rule of two. I weigh enough for two people."

Uncle Boy is always telling me to migrate to the United States. "I won't tell you this is the land of promise, but it's certainly a country of many chances. You will never run out of opportunities here."

It is always a struggle for me to talk to Uncle Boy, and I find myself always at a loss for words; how, for instance, to turn his invitation down politely without being ungrateful or sounding defensive? I could say, "I'll miss my family," but that reason would grate on his ears, maybe even the soul, because what would that say about him? That he never missed his?

"I earn enough," I could tell him, but even to me, that sounds not so much a reason but a weak fact.

Ignoring the thoughts running around in my head, I write: Thank you, but I can't go. I need to stay here.

Two sentences, one reason. For a girl who makes her living writing, this is highly unusual. There's an unwritten email in my head I wish I could send to my Uncle Boy.

"My life, unlike yours, doesn't follow the rule of twos. I need to stay here because I have only one home. I would feel lost without it, or away from it. When I tell you I need to stay here, I mean it. It's a need, and deep down, I think you understand this need, too. I've always believed you enjoy selling homes to people is because deep down, you've never forgotten that you left yours."