A Journey to the Motherland

Wasting no time, I flew out to the Philippines just two days after leaving my job at jhr. I’ve been planning this trip for a while now because lately, there’s been this sort of longing inside of me to visit my country of origin. I was born in the Philippines but moved to Canada when I was just four years old and all my visits back have been too short to really get to know the country. And I guess more than anything else, I was too young back then to really appreciate the wealth of culture and history this country has to offer. The Philippines has always been a place where family was and nothing else outside of that mattered.

But lately, there’s really been that itch to go back and learn about the history of my native land…something I think every person should do. After all, it was our national hero, Jose Rizal, who once said, “he who does not know how to look back at where he came from will never get to his destination”.

And so begins my journey to the motherland… I’ve been here for just a week now and it’s really been overwhelming. So much has happened in just a week, so much of my thoughts, conceptions, and feelings has changed that I honestly don’t even know where to start. It’s like I’ve been thrown into this entirely new world that’s so different from all that I’ve come to know and yet it’s all still so vaguely familiar.

the jeepney. just one of the many modes of transportation hereThe pace of life here is something else…it’s painfully hot (45 degrees with 90% humidity on most days), the traffic is intense, and there is just this unapologetic chaos that seems to permeate every aspect of life. I was half expecting to be taken aback by all of these things, especially considering I haven’t been back to visit in over six years. But I think I’ve adjusted pretty well…I’ve commuted on my own to a relatively far away city, which I know from a North American standpoint sounds pretty trivial…but trust me, commuting here is a whole other beast. There are jeepneys, tricycles, FX vans that you can take to get to your destination and each has its own system and routes...and like I said, the traffic...oh, the traffic!! It'll take you 5x the time to get anywhere around here.

A day after arriving, I started working with a non-profit media monitoring organization (like I said, I don’t waste time!) and the transition in thinking and speaking from English to Tagalog (the main dialect here) has been pretty smooth. Learning about the press system here and the culture of impunity has just been a whole other experience on its own. It's where my passion lies, especially considering what I've done and where I've worked in the past and to be able to contribute something of my skills to my country of origin feels just...right.

And yesterday I visited Intramuros and Fort Santiago, the heart of our colonial past and actually the only remaining physical remnants of it. That was something else too. To see our country's roots and the very obvious physical--not just cultural--Spanish influences...well, that was a side of the Philippines and of Manila that I've never seen before. More on that experience later...

And of course, I've been able to spend time with my family. Very important people in my life that I haven't seen in years, some of whom I haven't even met yet. Spending time with two nephews who have pretty much become my tail has been fun (so far, at least!)

So in a quick blog post, that's been my week. A bit fragmented and all over the place, but nonetheless, incredibly enriching in every way.

Every day is a new adventure here and my thoughts run faster than words could ever capture...

Problematizing Voluntourism

So today I went to an exhibition that connects youth who want to study, work, and volunteer abroad with organizations offering just those sort of opportunities. It should come as no suprise as to why I went. It was an interesting event, to say the least.

I walked around the fair scoping out all the different organizations offering internship and volunteer opportunities, picking up a few pamphlets. And then I attended this seminar by Projects Abroad on the different initiatives they have going on in so many countries around the world. I began to feel really weird as I walked around the conference center. Because everything there came with a price. Want to volunteer to build a school in Cambodia? No problem, just drop $5000, no big. Want to intern at a rural hospital in Ethiopia? You've got options! For one month, it's only $4000...add just an extra grand if you want to stay another month. Is this really all benevolence or just another form of consumerism? What I saw today, essentially, were a bunch of organizations literally selling an experience with the sales pitch of "doing good" and a lot of young people just eating it all up. And "voluntourism", as this industry is so cleverly called, has really become this booming billion dollar market (not an exaggeration).

Now I'm not actually as cynical as that last paragraph might have sounded. I think it is fantastic that more and more people are interested in learning about global cultures and making a difference in the world in some shape or form. I do not doubt people's intentions or their drive to do "good". I am one of them, after all. And I think this drive is something positive that we should be harnessing and tapping into. But my educational background forces me to look and think beyond the rhetoric of benevolence.

Today the everyday language of voluntourism accepts it simply as necessary and inherently good without looking deeper and recognizing the very many nuances that exist, the socio-political structures that underlie the different countries and communities that volunteers are so eager to be a part of.

I listened to the people at the booths who were "pitching" their projects overseas, my fellow youngin's asking their questions, and the speakers rah-rah-rah-ing everyone in the crowd. And I heard the same thing all across the board. There was this sort of glamour, romance, and novelty being attributed to working abroad in some rural community in the developing world. One young woman even asked if she could do two, two week projects back to back -- one in South America and the other in Asia. And I couldn't help but ask myself, what fruits could that possibly bear? Both for herself and for the communities that she would be working with? What could one possibly learn in two weeks about another country, city, or village? And how does volunteering in such a short time affect the people in these places?

Pico Iyer said, "travel is the best way we have of rescuing the humanity of places, and saving them from abstraction and ideology" -- in my own interpretation, of breaking down that distinguishing line between the Self and Other that has caused and continues to cause so much misunderstanding and strife today. But when we participate in these volunteer programs, many of which are really short term (weeks, sometimes even just days) do we really accomplish that? Or because of the shortness of time, do we only heighten the difference, painting an incomplete, more incomprehensible picture? Can a mere glimpse into another world really allow you to understand it?

And going back to the whole payment situation that was (is?) so bothersome to me. To take part in these programs is to be in a position of privilege. To be able to pay thousands of dollars to get involved in such initiatives presupposes privilege. And with that, there are some real power relations that need to be unpacked. What is the effect of having volunteers (mostly Westerners) come in and out of communities? What is the effect of this on the people of these communities? Is our "help" even needed? We need to ask the role of the self in all this. Why are we (as individuals) doing this? Why are we invested in volunteering and engaging? Is it a commitment to social change? Because if it is, two weeks caring for children in an orphanage or building a school will not usher change. To do so requires addressing the structural mechanisms that work to maintain and reproduce the current systems of injustice and inequality.

Now don't think I'm passing judgment on and criticizing everyone at this expo. It's as much a reflection on myself as it is on the whole industry of voluntourism and its relationship to development. I put myself through this same kind of scrutiny everyday too. I ask myself, why do I want to be in the nonprofit sector? Why am I so keen on studying international development? I interned at an NGO's head office for eight months without pay and continue to work there part-time at a not so glamorous rate because I can afford to do so. That is privilege. What are the implications of that? I live a more than comfortable life, am able to take time off to travel leisurely, and then safely come home to advocate against human rights abuses in post-conflict countries. What are the implications of that? Are there contradictions there? What is the role of my self in this broader political context?

These are the questions that I ask myself all the time...questions that I struggle with and try to come to grips with. But I don't have the answers. I spent an entire semester in a community engagement class discussing, debating, and unpacking similar issues. In the end, we did not come up with any definitive answers either. It's tricky. But I think voluntourism is here to stay. And where we take it, how we approach it will determine if it will be a force for "good" (another concept that needs unpacking ;-)).

Having A Coke With You

"is even more fun than going to San Sebastian, Irún, Hendaye, Biarritz, Bayonne
or being sick to my stomach on the Travesera de Gracia in Barcelona
partly because in your orange shirt you look like a better happier St. Sebastian
partly because of the fluorescent orange tulips around the birches
partly because of the secrecy our smiles take on before people and statuary"

- Frank O'Hara

If there's one thing I've learned while traveling, it's that who you travel with is just as important (if not even more so) as where you go and what you see. It makes all the difference in the world to be traveling around with someone who shares your travel style, who can withstand your "quirks", who's interested in seeing the same things you are and who revels in the same simple pleasures as you do...or even better, somebody who can teach you to open your eyes and heart to something new. Basically, go find yourself a friend like Sylwia to travel with and you'll be good to go ;)

Saudade

Have you ever found yourself at a loss for words when trying to describe how you felt? Where it seemed that despite the extensiveness of our English language, there wasn't a single word in our vocabulary that could do justice to whatever emotion was knocking at our heart's door? And for awhile, you were trapped in this sort of limbo trying to figure out how to explain it to others but since you couldn't, you didn't bother.

But then, by chance, you came across that perfect word that captured the feeling in its entirety?

Well, I have. And there's this immaculate joy that comes in that moment when you figure it out. It's kind of like finding that perfect song where each line's lyric just speaks to all that you're going through. And you're astonished, really...like damn, that is exactly what I'm feeling. There's this sort of relief to know that someone somwhere at some time felt what you're feeling here and now...to know that you're not so crazy and misunderstood as you once thought you were.

Anyway, my word is saudade. And it's not even English, it's Portugese. It's "a somewhat melancholic feeling of incompleteness...due to the absence of someone or something, to move away from a place or thing, or to the absence of a set of particular and desirable experiences and pleasures once lived". It's how I feel when I return from traveling. I tried to explain the feeling in this blog post years before I discovered the exact word for it. There's this sort of melancholy, nostalgia, yearning that comes over me...though those words alone are not enough. It's simply saudade. 

Which brings me to another point. How is it that there are just some words that can't be translated from one language to another? When if you try, you lose its essence. Why are there words that just can't be translated? Is there something in the history of the people who speak a certain language -- a history so unique -- that only they could create a word to capture a moment, a feeling?

Oh words, what clumsy but complex things you are.