Variations on the Single Theme

photo by me from the "water" set

An anonymous reader posted a thought-provoking comment to my previous post about the book He's Just Not That Into You and how it's sort of pegged my hopes (not that high to begin with) even lower to a new level of low when it comes to men.

So by accepting the "new all time low" are you deducing it's best to "not waste the pretty" until it wastes itself?

Very good question - to which, at the moment, I honestly have no clear answer.

"Wasting the pretty" is very closely related to the concept of settling. Basically, the premise is that women should recognize what they're worth and shouldn't settle for someone who isn't going to treat them way they deserve to be treated. Neither should they stay in a relationship that is half-baked just so that they can be in a relationship. The book's premise is that women shouldn't waste the pretty because they are going to miss on the opportunity to find someone who is more worthy of the pretty.

Of course those of us who have been more or less single all of our lives know just how easy that actually is. All I have to say about that is one big, "Whatever." But I digress.

I am enjoying my single life enough to know that even if I am single for the rest of it, it wouldn't end my world. It is possible to be alone and be happy. And in that sense, choosing not to settle - ergo, not to waste the pretty - and holding out for the real deal that may or may not come along is hardly letting the pretty waste itself.

I started this year writing about choosing to be a quirkyalone - "a person who enjoys being single(but is not opposed to being in a relationship) and generally prefers to be alone rather than dating for the sake of being in a couple. With unique traits and an optimistic spirit; a sensibility that transcends relationship status."

But to be honest, there are days when I sometimes feel that I am just trying to convince myself that I am happy being single. Having been brought up and socialized the conventional way, I have been conditioned to want the usual things - to meet a decent guy who I'd want to settle down with, get married, start a family, etc. I won't deny that I still want that, even if I am enjoying living my current "out-of-the-box" life.

But I also refuse to settle for anything less than what I could have or deserve to have. There's still a part of me that holds on to the hope that there is someone out there who fulfills all my non-negotiables and is being prepared by Fate or by God just for me, for real, forever. Maybe these are unrealistic expectations for someone like me at this stage in my life, but I still choose to hold on to them.

So, yes, underneath all my cynicism I still choose to be an optimist - at least for now.

Will my answer change in a few years, when those creeping fears about growing old alone come more often in the night? I hope not. It's hard to say with finality what it is that one would choose to make compromises on in the light of trying to get something you really want. I guess it also boils down to what you want for yourself in the long term. But I sincerely hope not.

I guess there really are no easy answers to this kind of question. I know that if I think in terms of odds, they aren't really stacked in my favor. Yet I choose to think in terms of faith right now - faith that no matter how things turn out, whether or not I find a guy who is worthy of the pretty or whether I live the rest of my life as a fancy-free single lady, it will be what really is best for me.

In the end, happiness and fulfillment really depends on how you choose to live your life - and I hope to continue living my life as fully as I can regardless. And, as I have already said, choosing to make the most of every day I am given is hardly letting the pretty waste itself.

Besides, I'm finally beginning to realize that I do, in fact, have a lot of pretty to spare. And that's a pretty great lesson to begin learning at this point in my life, don't you agree? :)

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Feeding the Cynic

Knowing my already ambivalent attitude towards men in the context of a romantic relationship, my friends were the first to tell me to stay away from this book. A long history of disastrous (non)relationships and unrequited whatevers, watching the romantic disasters befalling my friends, and being around "real guys" much of the time have turned me into too much of a cynic as it is. The last thing I needed was more fuel to the flame - and "He's Just Not That Into You" is just that.

Being the contrary person that I am, I read it anyway.

Often times harsh, occasionally laugh-out-lout funny, but always very honest, Greg Behrendt decodes the motives of guys who disappear, guys who don't call when they say they do, guys who just "want to be friends" but with benefits and other variations on the same theme and give us puzzled women the bottom line in no uncertain terms: "He's just not that into you." Liz Tucillo, who co-authors the book and stands for all the other single women who have ever been in this boat, tackles the reason why it's so hard to swallow Greg's advice - and why we should.

It's a "he-said-she-said" approach that is no-nonsense and gets the message across. And, when all is said and done, the real message that they want to send across is that women should not "waste the pretty."

As I flipped through the pages of the book, I couldn't help a wince here and there as I recognized myself not just as a person on the receiving end of "he's not just that into you" behavior, but as the friend who has spent hours on end with another friend analyzing her relationship problems and throwing out myriad, hope-inflating what-if speculations. True, even before the book, I was always more the hold-your-horses-are-you-sure-you-can-trust-this-guy devil's advocate when my friends would gush to me about guys they are excited about, but being a closet romantic, I was capable of optimism.

I may be a master of not getting my hopes up, but this book sort of sets the standard to an all-new low.

I think women have always really known the bottom line, we just haven't been happy to accept it. So there is a certain degree of freedom gained by being slapped all of this in the face and seeing everything in black and white. Then again, there's always something to be said about living in denial - it's a lot less painful there.

Okay, okay, I know relationships are a lot more complicated than that, it's impossible to generalize, blah, blah, blah. Maybe your guy has a good excuse for not calling. Or maybe he really just isn't ready to put a label on your whatever-it-is. But I think that this book's premise is worth looking at specially if you've been putting your life on hold for a good long while - it just may give you a new perspective.

I, for one, am planning on getting some post-it, writing "Don't waste the pretty" on it, and putting it up somewhere I can see it every day. Maybe if I repeat it to myself often enough, I'll get it.

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Discovering "A Fine Frenzy"

I haven't been able to sate my music addiction for quite a while, even if my battered iPod (which I must replace before it completely falls apart) has been my constant sanity-saving companion through this journey so far. But my need for new work-out music (yes, I have gotten off my lazy bum and started exercising again - more on that later) and a reason to procrastinate from studying (can you blame me? I've been studying for something or other for more than half my life) led me to this delightful new sound to add to my ecclectic playlist.

Knowing my fondness for indie/singer-songwriter artists, Jean - travel companion and fellow music addict - first introduced me to A Fine Frenzy while I was marooned in Amanpulo and told me their single "Almost Lover" would be perfect for my beach soundtrack. The song was injected with just the right amount of angst and wistfulness to accompany a solitary sunset with no one but the sea for company - and I loved it.

On the basis of that one song, I've managed to hunt down the rest of the tracks off their album, "One Cell in the Sea," and with the exception of a couple which I chucked out, I have loved most of them. Lead singer, Alison Sudol, has a haunting voice that just grabs at you, and the artful arrangements of piano and guitar provide a great foil for it.

But one of the things I like most about her music is the honest and heartfelt storytelling that comes in every song. I'm a sucker for "I can so relate to that!" lyrics - which means that, on occasion, my playlist does descend into pure sentimental pap. I'm a sap - so sue me!

My current favorite track from this really great album is "Whisper." Aside from the catchy melody and great guitar, it kind of tells the story of my present life in less than five minutes. Other gems for me are "Near to You," and "Ashes and Wine."

I never claimed to be an expert in music, just someone who loves it - so maybe you should take my review with a grain of salt. But if you have time to spare and are looking for a new artist to add to your personal soundtrack, you really should give the music of "A Fine Frenzy" a try.

Whisper

Running the race
Like a mouse in a cage
Getting nowhere but I'm trying
Forging ahead
But I'm stuck in the bed
That I made so I'm lying

But if you keep real close
Yeah, you stay real close
I will reach you

I'm down to a whisper
In a daydream on a hill
Shut down to a whisper
Can you hear me still

Eager to please,
Trying to be what they need
But I'm so very tired
I've stopped trying to find
Any peace in my mind
Because it tangles the wires

But if you keep real close
Yeah, you stay real close
I will reach you

I'm down to a whisper
In a daydream on a hill
Shut down to a whisper
Can you hear me
Can you hear me still

The sound tires on my lips
To fade away into forgetting

I'm down to a whisper
In a daydream on a hill
Shut down to a whisper
Can you hear me
Can you hear me

I'm down to a whisper
In a daydream on a hill
Shut down to a whisper
Can you hear me
Can you hear me still

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Water

the vivid colors of the indian ocean

It's not always easy being essentially alone in a city full of strangers. Being away from your usual support group makes it necessary for you to find ways to cope with the stresses that shake your world and the sporadic loneliness that comes with knowing that you are very much on your own. Some people get their fix from some retail therapy, others from comfort food. Some escape reality by watching a movie or indulging in a good book for a few hours.

Since I've been here, I've done a little bit of all of the above. But when things go really, really wrong and my mood can't get any lower, what else can a forsworn beach addict like me do but seek the water?

I've always loved the water. There is something about it that has always drawn me. Just being near the water is, for me, a major pick me up. There are some pseudo-scientific theories that say that this may have something to do with negative ions generated by the water splashing on the ground - who knows how true that is? Bottom-line is that I simply love the sound of the waves crashing on the shore, the brisk breeze coming over the water, the horizon that stretches out to forever and hints of possibility.

swan river foreshore in burswood park

One major upside of being in Perth is that it is so easy for me to tap into this unconventional, life-giving idiosyncrasy even if I don't actually live in a suburb anywhere close to the water.

I can hop on a train and be on the Swan River foreshore in a matter of minutes. In a little over an hour by public transport, I can be on any point of the magnificent Sunset Coast, a pristine, raw-sugar sand beach that stretches for miles and miles in either direction as far as the eye can see.

the sunset coast towards south to freo as seen from scarborough beach

When I am by the water, for that space of time, life's complications fall away. Loneliness gives way to a peaceful kind of solitude. It's hard to stay stirred up in the face of something so much larger than myself, ever-constant and ever-changing at the same time. After watching the rhythm of life played out on the water for endless hours, my beauty-loving soul is recharged - and the life in this city of strangers is just that more bearable.

Fate couldn't have chosen a better place for me to be while I am adjusting to life away from home than this beautiful Australian coastal city on the water.

(all photos are taken by me using a Lumix point-and-shoot camera.)
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Back from the Tag Grave

Due to my status as an adjusting ex-pat, my blog life hasn't been quite as active as it's been. I am touched and gratified that people (Manggy in particular!) continue to visit and comment despite my being so delinquent. As a way of saying thanks, I'm playing a bit of tag with some of you - using something I've blatantly tagged myself from Abaniko's site.

The tag: Post 5 links to 5 of your previously written posts. The posts have to relate to the 5 key words given. Tag 5 other friends to do this meme. Try to tag at least 2 new acquaintances (if not, your current blog buddies will do) so that you get to know each of them a little bit better.

Family.

Friends.

Myself.

Love.

Anything.

I tag Panaderos, Ris, Em Dy, Woobie, and Ness for this one.

Okay, now back to regular ex-pat-Pinay-doctor-adjusting-to-life-abroad programming! :)

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Spring Promises

The mornings and nights are bloody cold, but numb toes are a small price to pay for the fine, sunny days and clear cloudless blue skies. Mild mid-day temperatures and a brisk fresh breeze accompanies winter as she gracefully exits stage left and gives the center stage to spring. The Western Australian landscape - which keeps its green through the cold winter - celebrates the coming of a new season by putting on a show of colors.

And I, addict of all things beautiful, am enjoying having a front row seat to the spectacle. It's hard to feel morose when the weather is warming up and the outdoors beckon.

Weekend wanderlust trumps need the to study any day, and, in true Perthite fashion, I decided to spend the day outside in the sun. In a city like Perth, you can never run out of parks to picnic in - but I couldn't resist the lure of King's Park just coming alive in the spring.

It was definitely worth the return visit. The wildflowers are just coming into bloom and the park is awash with color. King's Park is such a sprawl of space that begs you to just pick a spot for the day and dream.





With my bag of sushi take-away, I picked a shady area under one of the tuart trees and settled in. And wondered what the hell all the other picnicking locals were thinking when they picked a spot to picnic directly under the sun. I found out all too soon the answer to that particular question - despite the deceptively sunny weather, the wind in the park blew pretty damn cold.

It's hard to believe that a dyed-in-the-wool city girl like myself I would actually enjoy just sitting around on the grass with a book in hand and be content just watching the world go by. But I loved every minute of it. Who needs the mall when you could have all this beauty and atmosphere at your disposal for free?

Yes, I am definitely falling in love with spring - and Perth with it.

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On Flying Solo

Breakwaters at Cottesloe Beach

I hit my 2 month mark abroad this week, and it's beginning to sink in that this is not a mere vacation ending in a few more weeks but my "real life." As I settle into the routine, sometimes I wonder if by coming here in a bid for change and real independence, I got more "on my own" time than I've actually bargained for.

So far, I've been quite happy to explore my new territory alone, inspired by the beautiful locale and being somewhere completely foreign. I've always been used to doing things on my own and am capable of being quite happy with my own company. Still, I think that I may have reached the limits of my solitude. I am now yearning for the company of the motley crew that populated my life back home more, and it's also sinking in that they are, in geographic terms, completely out of reach - at least for the time being.

Don't get me wrong, it's been a great experience so far. Some people will say it's too early to tell, but I can say with conviction that the decision to come has been a good one. It's shoved me out of my comfort zone and has forced me to come out of my shell by necessity. It's teaching me a lot - about being self-sufficient, not taking myself too seriously, being open to and making the most of new experiences, reaching out and letting new people into my life.

Yes, I have already begun meeting people here and sowing seeds of friendships that will hopefully grow with time. To be honest, I am still quite amazed at how kind people can be to someone struggling to get her bearings in this unfamiliar place full of strangers. I've been pretty lucky in the people I've met here so far.

But I guess I just miss being around people with whom I have a shared history. Being able to hang around with people who know the inside joke without my having to say a word. Even if we all had our busy lives at home, I always know with conviction I could drag any of them out for coffee and a heart-to-heart if I sounded desperate enough.

Part of realizing that this is now where I live rather than somewhere I am just visiting is also realizing that I don't really have anyone here like that. At all.

And sometimes I'm afraid that in my bid for a drastic change in my life and some real independence, I've just traded one kind of loneliness for another.
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Keep Left!

photo by Roger C.

Learning how to drive on the left side of the road with a right-hand drive car pretty much encapsulates the experience of adjusting to life abroad. It's all about having to concentrate hard on doing things that you used to do without thinking.

Being of a more cautious temperament, I opted for proper driving lessons before braving Aussie rules traffic, optimistically thinking I'd only need a couple of sessions since I've been driving back home for a few years. After my first experience on the driving on other side of the road, I am convinced that switching from right to left is much easier said than done.

The hour started out with my narrowly avoiding a disaster. The driving instructor picked me up at the hospital, which is located along a major highway. A mere five minutes into the lesson, I was blithely attempting to cross the highway to get to the other side of the road - and I would have succeeded if my instructor hadn't floored the brake pedal on his side of the car. That was just the beginning.

I quickly discovered that driving in Australia is a far cry from the chaotic, every-man-for-himself driving I was used to in Manila. The cars here go so much faster - 50 kph in built up areas, 60 in main roads, 70 on the highways, 110 on the freeway. And these speed limits are not mere suggestions - you are obliged to follow them to the letter. Speeding has never been one of my myriad bad habits, but driving fairly leisurely is - something that is also not allowed here.

I also fell victim to another peculiarity of vehicles here - the indicator light switch and the windshield wiper switch have been swapped around. Every time the instructor told me to start signaling for a turn, I'd flip the switch and see my wipers start up instead of my indicators flash. Short of time, I'd hit my indicator switch and turn into the next street - all the while with wipers going until I'd have enough time to switch them off.

And don't even get me started on the confusing rules governing roundabouts and intersections without traffic lights. I still haven't figured out when it's acceptable to go straight into your turn or when you should make a full stop and give way, even after I've read their road rules handbook cover to cover several times. There are so many nuances that it just gets too darn confusing.

I would love to take a full course of lessons before I finally get my own car, but each hour is so unbelievably expensive that I can only afford so many. My work situation is also making it more and more necessary for me to drive around as soon as possible. With shifts that start at 10 pm and others that end at 11 pm, even getting a cab could become quite difficult. Walking at that time of night alone would be, of course, completely out of the question.

I guess the only real choice would be to confront the driving issue with the same aplomb that I've approached everything else in this adventure so far. There's no other way to learn but by doing. And just hoping against hope that I won't end up crashing in one big splat.
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The More Things Change...

In the few weeks I have been here, one question that's often asked of me is, "What made you come here?"

I find that it's easier to tell them about the dismal working conditions, the laughable salary, and the feeling that I am getting nowhere fast on my career track and let them draw their own conclusions about me (i.e. "what kind of mercenary so-and-so is she?"). It would be more complicated to explain to them about my compulsive need to turn my life upside down in an effort to get unstuck and maybe get my life going. Which, to be honest, it has done.

Still, one thing I am quickly beginning to realize is that one brave thing does not necessarily lead to another. And the overused cliche, "The more things change, the more they stay the same," is obviously a cliche for a reason.

My friends have all sung to me about the benefits of living abroad - even temporarily. It's supposed to be my fresh start, my chance to get out of my shell, to learn to be confident in my own skin, maybe to even reinvent myself into the person I've always wanted people to see me as but was too entrenched in my own pattern to do so.

The truth is, reinventing myself may be a good idea in theory, but apparently I am simply incapable of doing so. I would love to be able to channel the vibe of my friend, Y, who is sassy and mysterious and uber-confident, or, E, who is sweet, adorable, and exudes a "let's-take-care-of-her" air. Instead I can only be me, equal parts ditzy and capable, gung ho, no-nonsense, snarky and easy to get a rise from, chicken and self-conscious, and very what-you-see-is-what-you-get.

Still, maybe it's only early days yet. Then again, that's part of what worries me. Just a few weeks into my big move, I'm already sliding (kicking and screaming on the inside, believe me) into the same role and persona I have tried in vain to shed every time I have moved from one stage of my life (and one group of friends) to the next. And all I can think is, "WTF am I doing wrong?"

Obviously, they can take the girl out of the Philippines, but they can't take the Philippines out of the girl.

So, does anyone want to give me tips on how to claw myself out of this potential rut before I'm actually stuck in it again?

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Comfort Food

my miracle rice!

Thanks to one of my co-residents, I've finally found the one thing that has cured me of my aversion to cooking rice for one... a microwaveable rice cooker. Just measure the grains, add water, pop into the microwave for 12-14 minutes, and voila! Real. honest-to-goodness fluffy rice! Almost as good as what we have back home.

And just in the nick of time, too. Being here has apparently altered my definition of comfort food. Thus encouraged by my new culinary discovery and prodded by a sudden onset case of the blues, I finally overcame my reluctance to cook for one - resulting in my first real home-cooked Pinoy dinner since I got here. And what dish is closer to home than the all-time favorite adobo?

Adobo is a great Pinoy comfort food because you can get the ingredients for it from practically anywhere. (I couldn't find pork cut the way we have it back home, but I did get some pork rashers that worked as a substitute.) Add vinegar, soy sauce, and garlic, and everything is all set!

Unfortunately, I had decided on cooking adobo without considering the logistics of not having a car and getting everything I needed from the grocery. In typical impulsive me-fashion, I just put everything I needed into my shopping cart (in big bottles) on top of my regular grocery shopping. This resulted in my eco-friendly reusable shopping bag containing a cumulative weight of about 6 kilos at least - not taking into account the rest of my groceries. I had to lug this heavy bag plus a lot of other semi-heavy bags from the grocery to the bus station, then, once I got off the bus, from the bus stop to the house.

By the time I reached the house, my back and arms were killing me and I could no longer feel my feet - because I also happened to be wearing heeled boots coming from work. I was so exhausted by just bringing the ingredients home that I wanted to scrap the entire project, but after all the trouble I'd been through, I was absolutely committed to going through with it - and it was a good thing that I did.

As I ate my pork adobo and rice last night, I realized that the effort was well-worth it. It's simply amazing what simple adobo and rice can do to raise one's spirits - just that was enough to make an absolutely dreary day end on an up note. Definitely the taste of home away from home.

No, this definitely does not mean I plan to cook hot rice meals for myself regularly - frankly, I don't have the energy to do that on a regular basis. But I'm glad that my new miracle rice cooker gives me that option in a hassle-free way. And I have enough adobo now to last me for at least a couple of weeks - so my comfort food is all ready for any return bout of the blues.

my adobo on the simmer

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Car Dunce Seeks Car

one of the models i'm considering: a mitsubishi mirage

I admit it - I am the quintessential lady driver. You know, the kind that most (chauvinistic) males drivers roll their eyes about and in whose presence they wonder (aloud) why women were ever allowed to get behind the wheel.

I have a fairly stuffed sense of direction complemented by an occasional tendency to be indecisive about what route to take. I do know (in theory) how to change a flat, but I know absolutely nothing about the mechanics of a car. Frankly, I don't really mind that I don't, as long as it runs when I put the key into the ignition - awful, I know.

It's quite easy to understand why, as I am beginning my foray into the world of second-hand car hunting on a budget, I feel like I am jumping off the deep end into water teeming with sharks.

Sometimes I wonder if I really do need a car, specially since I am thinking of staying only a year (for the moment). To be fair, I've been getting on okay with walking and public transport.

On the other hand, weekly grocery shopping has become a bit of an Olympic sport for me - a hybrid of long-distance walking and weight-lifting every time. I've also been drenched fairly regularly by motorists cruising down the highway, as I, the lone pedestrian, plod to work in the rain. And, since walking along the fairly deserted highway late at night is hardly a wise idea under any circumstances, I've had to endure taxi waits of over 2 hours from the end of my shift.

In an ideal world, a car dunce like me would be best off buying brand new, regularly bringing the car in for prophylactic servicing, and then selling it off before it has any serious problems. Unfortunately, I don't live in an ideal world - but I need a decent car on a very modest budget that won't cost me more to service it than the price of buying it.

I'm not really looking for anything fancy - just a fairly well-maintained little hatchback that won't kill me with fuel expenses and car repairs. I've been doing a bit of research, and I've already zeroed in on certain makes and models that may suit. However, given my current automotive know-how, anyone could hand me a lemon of a car and I'd probably drive it away with a smile on my face - until it refuses to take me anywhere and needs to be towed to the nearest service station as soon as I've bought it.

Frankly, I can't think of any solution around this dilemma at the moment. While I have made a few acquaintances here, I'm still a bit wary about dragging any of them car shopping with me - not only because I wouldn't want to impose, but also because I don't know who might have the best amount of know-how to help me out. Short of taking a crash course in appraising cars, I'm not sure what else I can do. Of course buying anything that pre-owned always comes with risks, but despite my desperation, I wouldn't want to throw away my money on a dud.

If there are any natives out there reading my blog - I'd love to hear some suggestions. (Or maybe you have trusted friends who are considering selling off their cars!) As for my readers from back home and elsewhere, let's just all cross our fingers together and hope I don't get gobbled up by the sharks alive.

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Not Cooking for One

Adobo on rice *sigh*

This photo by River Rats

One of the things I miss the most from back home? Hot, homecooked meals.

I may be living in a house with a kitchen, but it just takes too much energy to cook for one.

I have done my best over the past few weeks not to fall into the trap of eating too much "take away" (a.k.a. "take out" back home) - which is both horrendously unhealthy, not to mention expensive. I've mostly succeeded, but gastronomic options become quite limited when you don't want to be bothered with cooking.

Don't get me wrong, I can cook. I actually even enjoy it under different circumstances. But the idea of having to take out the pots and pans, prepare all the ingredients, then putting everything away and washing up after - it's just too much effort to make for a meal just for one person. Whereas when you nuke a frozen meal (invariably a meat pie or a box of Lean Cuisine) in the microwave or prepare a sandwich, you only need to wash one plate after. Peeling an orange or biting into an apple means you don't even have to wash anything at all... a good thing when you're dead on your feet from work and walking the three or so kilometers home.

As for a full, hot breakfast? Out of the question. I barely have time to eat my cereal in the mornings as it is! When I get out really late, I have breakfast on the go - walking to work while munching on an apple.

Maybe when I've saved enough money and settled into the rhythm of things, I may get one of those electric skillets on which I can do a little bit of grilling (would you believe I've been here a month and not have had a bite of steak?) and a stir-fry every now and then.

I will only consider whipping out my culinary skills only if I'm going to be making food good for more than one portion. In the meantime, I'm sticking to bread, fruit, cereals, and frozen food. And if I get the urge to eat rice - there's always Indian or Chinese take away, which I indulge in once a week.

Can anyone here think of other alternatives? I'd love to hear them.

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Nosebleeding in English

Yes, I have been raised bilingual. Yes, I have been instructed in English since I've been old enough to read. Yes, I have used it in academic discussion for just as long and everyday conversation for even longer. And, yes, I probably read and write better with it, maybe even express myself with it, than I do with my native tongue - and I have a body of work, a thriving blog, and academic IELTS scores to prove it.

But my first month abroad is quickly teaching me that despite my background, I am, as someone who uses English as a second language in an English-speaking land, still prone to frequent "nosebleed*" moments.

Despite having fair command language, I often find myself suddenly bereft of words to express certain thoughts or questions quite unexpectedly. I find myself stopping at mid-sentence when I would frantically grab for an English word in my otherwise good vocabulary only to find Filipino words floating to the surface instead. At times, when my mouth is running faster than my brain, the occasional Tagalog integrates itself into my stream of thought, only to be met by puzzled glances.

In fairness to me, I've been complimented quite often at how fluent I am in English relative to how long I've actually been living here. My English has been good enough to get me through the basics of day-to-day interaction - asking for directions, following instructions, striking up conversations with complete strangers at bus stops (yes, this actually happens quite often in Australia). This country has become such a multi-cultural place that Aussies take my occasional grammar and pronunciation flubs in stride - and are often way more forgiving than many people are back home would be if they heard me.

But the biggest adjustment so far has been in my interaction with the patients I see at work - something other overseas-trained doctors who work in English-speaking countries probably grapple with as well. Although I was taught medicine in English and my conceptual understanding of medical knowledge is in English, I have gotten used to conducting interviews and asking questions in a way that would be better understood by the patients I used to see back home. All of a sudden the metaphors and the analogies that have served me well for so long no longer work. Explanations of common conditions I've used for years quite effectively must now be reworked for my English-speaking audience. New subtleties and nuances have to be relearned.

I don't think that makes me a worse doctor than I used to be. It just means that, for now, I have to make more of an effort to be understood and to understand. Knowing that I have to keep on my toes works in my favor, and it's that effort that I put in that closes the gap. It's slow going, but I like to believe I'm getting there and getting better every day I come into work, every patient that I interview. It's all just part of the growing pains of practicing medicine in a foreign country.

Nonetheless, no matter how fluent I get at speaking English, I know the nosebleed moments will probably remain a fact of life. And while I may have no real, formal knowledge of Filipino and my actual Tagalog vocabulary is shallow at best, not speaking it for long spells has made me realize that a heart-deep connection with it exists - and I miss using it, in a major way.

(*For people not in the know, the term "nosebleed" is Filipino slang for something exceedingly difficult or takes so much effort that it makes your nose bleed. It is often used in the context of someone trying to conduct a conversation in straight English and struggling mightily with it. I don't know how widespread the term's use it and how accepted is the term's use is in this context - so please free to correct me by posting a comment if I am wrong. :))
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Walking the WOC

See one, do one, teach one.

There is only so much medical knowledge that you can glean from reading the books. An internist's clinical eye can only be developed by actually seeing. A surgeon's hands can only gain their skill by actually doing.

And for doctors just at the beginning of our journey, the quality of practical knowledge often rests on the guidance of our teachers' wisdom and expertise. Our mentors spend time every week to see our patients with us, and share valuable clinical pearls with us - and many of them WOC - without compensation.

Having worked only in a training hospital and been reared in a culture where teaching is the norm all my years as a doctor, I admit that I never fully appreciated the time and the effort that our consultants put into our rearing.

It boggles the mind how these doctors, now leaders in their fields with busy practices, give precious hours of their time to teach despite the lack of financial return. How surgeons who charge a hefty fee for each procedure serve as first assists to surgical trainees doing a complicated procedure for the first time - and do it for free.

What's in it for them? Cynics will say that the prestige of being associated with a university with such a well-established reputation is motivation enough - but given how easy it is to get the hospital tagged to your name without having to give anything back, it cannot be the explanation. Maybe there are just people who simply love to teach. And then there are those who believe in paying it forward.

Whatever their reasons, these teachers continue to inspire and spur on struggling trainees to reach the standards they have set. And in doing so, they pass on their love of medicine and of teaching, so that despite the many challenges of a medical career, there will always be those who will walk the WOC with them.

* * * *

This is a contribution to The Blog Rounds 16 - Unsung Heroes hosted by Doc Gigi.

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A Rainy Taste of King's Park

Any fine day in winter is too precious to be wasted, especially on a day off. So, undeterred by a dysfunctional camera, the lack of a car, and my growing pile of laundry, I decided to spend my Friday exploring one of my adopted city's most famous landmarks - King's Park. Between going outlet window shopping in the city despite not having much cash versus gorging on photo-ops despite not having a proper camera, there really was no contest.

Armed with my trusty folding umbrella, the Perth guidebook I brought from home, and the bus and train schedules, I was all set. My inner wanderlust was looking forward to a great day drinking in some serious natural beauty in the gargantuan sprawl of genuine bushland and manicured gardens that remains outstanding in this city where parks and open spaces seem to be a dime a dozen. At over 400 acres, it is reputed to be the third biggest inner-city park in the world.

Even without a car, King's Park is quite accessible by public transport. There are buses you can catch around the city that can take you straight into the park - Bus 37 - and all hop-on-and-hop-off guided bus tours will also take you around. But for people with a limited budget and no aversion to walking, the Red CAT bus - one of three bus services going around the central business district which you can ride for free and can catch right outside the Perth Underground train station - works just fine. Just get off at the Havelock Street stop and follow signs pointing the way.

Which is what I did. But as I was walking down Havelock Street, my fine day suddenly took a turn for the worse - and I had to scramble for my umbrella to keep from being drenched by a cold winter shower. Undeterred and commited - there was no point in turning back now when almost half the day was gone - I plodded on, my lesson on fickle winter weather and having a sense of humor when traveling well learned. The bone-deep chill of walking in the winter rain was quickly forgotten, though, when I found myself under the canopy of Fraser Avenue's magnificent lemon scented gums as I walked into the park.



From its perch high above the city on the western side of town, the park offers magnificent views of the Perth CBD skyline, the mighty Swan and Canning Rivers, and all the way the hills of Perth in the horizon. Bemoaning the loss of my camera, I took a couple of photos with my camera phone for posterity. I even got a nice old gentleman, who was decked in full raingear with his wife in a matching set, to take my picture against the backdrop of Perth city in the distance.



Under the shelter of my little umbrella, I oohed and ahed over the lush greenery, the magnificent old jarrahs and breathed deeply of the smell of rain and the hint of eucalyptus. I followed the walkway and marveled at the strange, exotic looking plants whose names I didn't know but were pockets prettiness that warranted a picture. The wide open spaces were nearly all mine with the exception of a smattering of fellow tourists.



There are volunteer guides who take interested visitors around the park at certain times daily for free - anyone can get a brochure with the schedules in the park tourist information center. There are different kinds of walks - some which go through the botanic gardens, others going as far as the heart of the park's bushland - lasting about an hour to two hours depending. The kinds they offer also vary on the season, with more lengthier walks offered in the spring and summer when the park is alive with people.

I wanted to the visitors' center with the intention of joining a group doing the walk on the scheduled time - only to find myself all alone in front of the sign announcing the guided walk schedules. Apparently everyone else must have known about the weather forecast and were sane enough to stay in the warm indoors instead. Torn between cutting my losses while the rain had ceased temporarily and sticking to my guns, I was forced into a decision when the guide for the afternoon - a lovely lady named Inge, who must have been about 65 at the least because she says she has memories of what Perth looked like 50 years ago when she first came over - asked me if I wanted to go on the guided walk. Unwilling to deprive her of her solitary audience, I agreed and was glad that I did.

Inge took me around the botanic gardens and told me many interesting tidbits about the highly specialized native flora of Australia planted through the garden. Australian plants have had to develop unique survival tactics in order to exist in the continent's poor soil and harsh conditions, and my inner nerd really enjoyed hearing all the interesting factoids about them. There were also many pockets of prettiness that just begged for a picture - like this one, at the Water Garden section of the walk.



One of this guided walks' highlights was going on an elevated walkway about 60 meters above the ground, which cuts through the trees and lets you see the canopy at eye level rather than from the ground. The vantage point is amazing, and it literally offers a gorgeous bird's eye view of part of the park.



There are certain tree-lined streets within the park which have been made into Honour Walks. All the trees along these streets have been planted for or dedicated to young Australian soldiers who have died in both World War I and II. There are small plaques in front of each tree in remembrance. I think it's a wonderful kind of living memorial that goes on after you have passed. I would love to have someone plant a tree in memory of me when I am gone, too.



There's a section of the botanic garden dedicated to the memory of the pioneer women of Western Australia. (Did you know that WA was the second place in the world where women were allowed to vote?) In the paved walk going through it, there are inscriptions and replicas of sculptures made by prominent Australian artists that represent what women have given to their society over the past two hundred years and more. Among all of them, this one was my favorite.



My guided walk with Inge lasted about an hour and fifteen minutes, and at the end of it, I knew one thing for sure - I am definitely going to be back. Inge says the best time to go will be in spring, when all the wildflowers are in bloom and everything is gorgeous and even greener.

Anyone who comes to Perth should not miss a visit to King's Park. A day spent under the wide, vividly blue sky, surrounded by open spaces in this oasis of green in the heart of the city is just what one needs to refresh the spirit and make one realize just what a wonderful world it is we live in. Seriously. Rain or no rain.
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R.I.P.

For some weird reason, all of my gadgets have started acting up on me ever since I flew them over here. Just last week, my CD drive suddenly disappeared from my laptop... my Palm PDA refuses to hot sync with my computer at the worst possible time... now, to top it off, a traveler's worst gadget nightmare has happened.

My digital camera has apparently kicked the bucket.

I got my Cybershot as a medical school graduation gift from my parents, and it's been a constant travel companion eversince. It's been with me through far and wide, high seas and mountains (not a lot of these, though), good and bad weather, drunk and sober times (yes, this is relevant). I've never had much trouble with it over the past three years and change I've had it - so its demise has come as a complete shocker.

Well, maybe not a complete shocker. It's been doing that flickering LCD thing ever since Aman - which I initially put down to overexposure from the blinding white sands of the beach. I thought it had had it when we were in Anawangin after it got caught in the rain - after my last sunset shot, it flickered and died. Thankfully, it came back to life after I charged it back home, so I thought it was probably just the battery.

I've been going around my adopted city these past two weeks with it in tow, but being a traveler alone makes it tricky to take too many pictures. It seemed alright the few times I brought it out - I was even able to get a picture of me and my landlady at the bed and breakfast I was staying at last week. So imagine my dismay when I tried it out right before I left for a day exploring King's Park the other day (more on that another time).

When I turned it on, I was treated to a laser light show complete with hissing sound effects instead of a functioning LCD and zoom lens. I took out the battery and put it back in, then turned it on - and the retractable lens just peeked at me, moved out halfway, then died. I plugged it into the wall, in an attempt to charge it, but when I turned it on, the anti-red eye orange light blinked several times, the flash went off once - then it died.

It has since then refused to switch on since. Not even for a flicker.

Given labor and repair costs here - which are atrocious - it may be cheaper to throw it out and get a new one. You can imagine just how distressing this is for me - I'm living in a foreign country and just itching to take photos as I explore it for posterity, I am trying to save up and my first paycheck is already accounted for by expenses even before I get it... and this happens! I wasn't planning on a new camera until after a year... only then, I was planning on getting an SLR. So much for that!

Besides that, it feels like I'm saying goodbye to a really good friend. *sigh* (Now you have an idea why I am such a pack rat.)

So long, my little Cybershot! :(

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Lucky Country

the healing hands fountain in front of the hospital where i work

(photo from flickr)

I've been working here just a over week, and I still can't get over how lucky "public" patients here are. I know that all medical systems have their flaws, and Australia is no exception, but compared to back home, they don't know just how fortunate they really are.

I work in a public hospital (government funded) in one of Perth's outer suburbs, a fairly small one relative to my old medical home. It's a 200 bed hospital that's just inching its way towards secondary hospital status - by Australian standards that is. We don't have an ICU and as a rule (strictly enforced) we cannot have intubated patients or toxic patients here. We don't have complete specialist cover and have to refer some of our patients to the bigger centers in Perth who need consults.

Despite this, in this little hospital, we have access to diagnostics and resources that my fellow co-residents and I would have killed for. All you have to do is order them, arrange for a schedule, and most of the time you get results within 24 to 48 hours. For blood work, you can get them as fast as half an hour. I know this must sound routine to someone who works in a first-world insititution or even a private hospital back home, but for us, it was all but a wistful dream. To top it off, puiblic patients don't have to pay a single cent.

And the drugs! All you have to do is write it in the chart, and it's all provided for. Antibiotics are given regularly, without fail. No need to run around looking for donors, worrying about where you are going to find your patient's next dose. And this covers discharge prescriptions as well. No need to wrack your brain cells and make up unconventional combinations looking for the cheapest option.

I'm often given amused smiles by my fellow residents when I'd give a delighted, "Oh, you have that (can do that/can give that) here? Wow! I've never seen that done (given to a patient) before!" Believe me, I've said it so often, it's become almost embarrassing.

On the other hand, they can't wrap their head around the idea of relatives who ambu-bag patients who cannot afford a mechanical ventilators, let alone patients who ambu-bag themselves. The concept of young patients dying simply because there are no medications to be had is unthinkable to them. And treating empirically based on a clinical diagnosis is almost akin to a joke. Yet these are realities that I and fellow doctors who work in government hospitals in the Philippines lived with every single day.

Being exposed to all this excess, I can't help but being a great deal envious in behalf of the many needy patients back home. And sad, because given the place health is given in our national budget, to have something like this back home is something of a pipe dream. As it is, the government cannot even pay trainee doctors a decent wage for service hours rendered; it is never going to have enough to cover the health expenses of even just the Filipinos who find their way into the hospitals across the country. The ever-upward spiraling prices of health care in the world makes the unlikely almost impossible.

Whenever I hear someone here griping about how lousy their health care system is, I'm always tempted to make the retort, "How about I send you to the Philippines in place of one of the patients we have in the wards?" Just a day in, and I'm sure they'll realize what we all know to be true - they're still pretty damn lucky.
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Blue Monday

those i'm friend-sick for

People warned me it would catch me unawares. And just like that, it did.

I've had a bad day at the hospital today. I can't go on a comfort shopping spree because there's nowhere open after five. I can't watch a movie because I don't have a car and it's not a great idea to commute at night. I can't even drown myself in ice cream because I missed the last open grocery - which closes at six.

But most of all, it's hit me that there is no one here I can just ask over to whine to... to have some retail therapy with (besides, the shops are all closed!) or have a soothing coffee with or get wasted with. No one to gripe with about the unfairness of life over lunch or dinner. No one to make unsubstantiated and totally unlikely scenarios of vindication with.

I've been in constant communication with my parents - and that had helped a lot - but there are many things about my job that my non-doctor parents will never understand, and bad days at work are among them. Besides, I'd never try to get wasted with my Mom - got to keep up appearances, after all.

My other workmates try to be supportive, but it's early days yet. Nowhere near "Let's-get-drunk-so-all-this-can-go-away" or the "let's-shop-and-comfort-ourselves-with-the-joys-of-materialism" just yet.

I miss my batchmates. And just like that, I suddenly miss home.

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Did You Say Walking Distance?

photo of Minnawara Park (in the summer) by Clarion

I've been in Armadale for almost a week. It's a very picturesque and quiet area, and being into the whole "beauty of nature" thing, I am drinking everything in. But one thing I'm learning very fast is that the phrase "walking distance" is relative to Western Australians - probably something they develop because the state they happen to occupy is so vast.

I'm currently staying at a bed and breakfast that is walking distance from my hospital - which actually means it is about 1 km far from it, and about a 10 minute walk. It's also walking distance from the shopping center and the lovely park shown above - about 1.5 km far, and a 20 minute walk.

Over here, because it's a quiet suburb, buses stop at stations on schedule and only come every half hour at their most frequent. If you're late one minute for the train, you'll have to wait 15 minutes for the next one. There are also no buses that pass along the highway where I live after 730 at night. This poses a bit of a problem because I have shifts that end at 9pm and shifts that start at 830pm.

Walking is lovely during the day and the sun is out, but quite a different matter when it's dark out, cold, and it's raining. Everyone out here has a car, it seems, as I've gone walking home at 6 pm (and it's already dark here because of winter) and I'm the only one on the road on foot. The locals say it's a relatively safe neighborhood. But when you're a woman walking alone in the street and there are dark vacant fields thick with trees in intervals beside you, it's a bit forgivable to be a bit antsy when you're doing it.

I am definitely going to have to save up and get a little car ASAP. In the meantime, there is always the expensive but safer option of calling for a cab.

We're pretty spoiled in Manila with our public transport that goes everywhere, you can hail from anywhere any time of day, and will drop you off wherever you want. The trade off is horrible traffic and unspeakable pollution. There is no such thing as the traffic jam we see back home over here - but then again, I don't live inside the city, so I could be wrong.

But this new way of getting around is just one of many new things that I am getting used to.

I have yet to get my own internet connection - so forgive me for being such an irregular chronicler these days. There's so much to write about, and I have quite a bit of time to write about them - only I don't really have a means to get on line at the moment. Just wanted to let you guys know I am still alive and I haven't forgotten my blog in all the fuss of moving.

More soon! In the meantime, keep those good vibes and wishes coming - I start work tomorrow and need all I can get!
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Here Goes Nothing

my cousin Jazz and I at St. Kilda Beach

This is the last few hours of my reprieve in Melbourne, and reality is finally sinking in. By this time tomorrow, I will be completely be on my own.

It's been a good visit to my family in Melbourne; and being around them has staved off the onset of homesickness. It's a nice reminder that I will have people to call on if I do get into trouble.While it's a 4 hour flight away, at least there are people can fly to my rescue who don't have to get a visa. It's just a bit frustrating that with all the relatives I have in here, I end up in a city where I won't even know anyone.

Anyway, I've pysched myself to tough it out - at least until I can pay off all my credit card debt! But I'm optimistic it will be a good year.

Time to repack my stuff and prepare for my "one brave thing!"
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