I went to the Philippine consulate again today. Again because each time an OCW travels to Manila, he/she has to secure an Overseas Employment Certificate (OEC). In English that means a piece of paper that confirms your OCW status so that when you travel back out of Manila (1) you don't get hassled and (2) you don't pay terminal fee.
As you can imagine, this is a complete waste of time, energy and money. But I go nonetheless because going to the consulate feels better than going to mass. I feel like I belong. Seriously. In the middle of the madness and the throngs of young women getting their domestic helper contracts renewed, I feel comfortable, secure. I feel at home. Seriously.
You go there and you're magically transported to the chaos of Manila. The long lines, the uneducated masses, the poverty, the fun. The classicism is there as well. I get special treatment for the sole reason that I am an ATTORNEY.
What's brilliant is that after I've had my fill of home cooked bureaucracy and inefficiency, I leave, walk to the train station, swipe my electronic card through the turnstile, and get whisked back to my hyper efficient, anonymous life.
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