I'm Coming Back to the Philippines

One of the perks of this new job of mine is travel.

Travel to Manila.

I work the Philippine desk of an American firm based in Hong Kong. This job requires me to go to Manila about once a month for meetings. I've been with the Firm almost a month, so this first trip back is just about right.

I've managed to have meeting set on a Monday, so that means I can spend the weekend at home: where food cooks itself, clothes magically appear pressed and folded, and I get driven around all day.

Hmmm.... why did I move again?

Out of Touch, Out of Time

The other day I was browsing through CNN.com and there was an article in the Entertainment section that headlined, "Fergie's Solo Album". I immediately clicked on the link. I hadn't heard that the Duchess of York was in a band, much less was venturing out on her own as a solo artist.

I hadn't heard about Sarah Ferguson's latest forays into the music industry because she doesn't have a career in showbiz (apart from being the spokesperson of Jenny Craig). The Fergie they were referring to was this hot mulatta I could not recognize to save my life.

Someone I have never heard of made it to a CNN.com Entertainment headline.

It's official: hell has frozen over. (That and I'm back to 16 hour days.)

And for those who don't know either, Fergie fronts the Black Eyed Peas.

Social Sin vs. Self-Actualization

I learned about social sin back in college. If I remember correctly the concept of social sin concerns individuals participating in behavior that has become socially acceptable although morally questionable or downright wrong. Like apartheid or slavery.

By living a certain lifestyle, individuals can participate in (or commit) social sin, even without committing traditional, specific act oriented sins. The concept of social sin goes into the social dimension of each of our actions. Everything we do affects other people and vice versa.

I know, I know... this stuff is not for everyone. But I grew up reading Thomas Aquinas and I actually believe most of this.

Self-actualization is a concept made popular by Maslow. You know, the hierarchy of needs guy. And if that doesn't ring a bell, please remind me why we're friends.

According to Maslow, self-actualization is the highest level of human development. Something attainable only after your basic physiological and emotional requirements have been fulfilled. It is what people strive for after they have the attained a certain level of status; self-esteem.

Now you might ask, so what brought these ideas into the frontal lobe of your little brain, Jona?

The answer: I went house hunting today.

I went to check out serviced apartments with the Firm's appointed realtor, Y. Y. is a short, pushy, noisy Chinese lady. I love that Y is on my side.

Rent in Hong Kong is exorbitant. Much higher than in New York (my only other first world reference for rent). A 700-900 square feet (70-90 square meters) one bedroom goes from anywhere between HK$ 22,000-35,000 (that's about USD3,200-4,500 or P165,000-over P220,000).

Yes, I know. It's crazy.

Y. has taken me around the island a few times since I got here, showing me the low-end places as well as the unbelievably high-end ones. After a while, they all look alike. But today, I walked into an apartment I felt I just had to live in. To say that it was luxurious is an understatement. Sarah Jessica Parker could live there. No. Gwyneth Paltrow. No. Michelle Pfeiffer.

I'm not really the glitz and glamour type, but this apartment reeked of success. You had to be someone to live there. And I want to be that someone.

I've worked hard in school and even harder the first few years of practice. I think it's time for me to step up and live a lifestyle I've always wanted and can now afford. I deserve to live in a beautiful apartment. Plus with the Firm's housing allowance, I can actually afford to live in a beautiful apartment.

But should I?

If I live in the showcase apartment, would I then be falling into the abyss of materialism and consumerism? Would I be permanently putting a magnet to my inner compass? Is this the start of a life I never wanted? I've always looked at materialistic people with pity. I feel sorry for them since they've lost all sense of what's important in life. All they want to do is acquire. As if having expensive things makes you better than everyone else. And if you think that, well, that's just silly.

But then I think I could be living in this:

Weekend Report

My first weekend after joining the Firm was spent at work. I was in before 10 and was hacking away at the document I was ordered to hack. Hack into what is really of no consequence. Work is work. And my coming in on my first weekend was no surprise.

After you've spent some years doing the same thing, you get an idea of how a 300 page document is supposed to flow. How the provisions fall into each other, like a well designed clock.

Oh, and I painted this.

The View From The Top

This is what I see when I look out my office window:

Pasensya na, I've never had a window room in my life.

Being the New Guy

I hate being the new guy at the office. The new guy has no friends, no people to have lunch with. The one who is always getting lost on her way to the pantry or the copy machine. The one who asks too many questions on how to retrieve or save a document. The one who smiles at everyone but has no idea what people's names are.

The new guy is dressed too well. Always comes in before everybody else, but gets to go home early. The new guy has a sparkling clean office. Gets taken out to lunch by all the partners on her first week. The new guy gets one of the newly issued computers, just because she's new, even if everyone else has put in a request weeks before.

You can't talk office politics in front of the new guy, you don't know her. You have to be nice to her, otherwise she might freak out and quit like the last dozen new guys.

God I hate the new guy.

My First Day of Work

As with most things in life, my first day of work at The Firm was not as remarkable as I thought it would be. I came in too early, sat through 6 hours of orientation, met a lot of new people, set-up my e-mail account, made a couple of calls and then went home.

To celebrate, I went to this hole in the wall and ordered myself half a roast duck. It was superb, but I had three pieces then was too suya to eat anymore. Been drinking hot water since 8 to melt away all that fatty goodness.

A few things worth noting: I have a kick ass view of The Peak and a fruit basket the size of a mini cooper parked on my desk. I guess I'm having fruit for lunch for the rest of the week. I also have my name on the door. There's something about that whole name-on-the-door business. Makes you feel important, like your occupancy of that space is worth printing a metal nameplate for.

On the train ride back to the serviced apartment I call home I looked at the other weary travellers and thought,

"Man, that guy in the blue shirt is cute."

Out For A Walk

In HK, people drive on the left side of the road. It is a pretty simple concept. Keep left. The thing is, retards who come from places where they drive on the right side of the road cannot seem to latch on the idea. So to avoid stupid people like me from getting plowed down by a speeding car, the government of HK has deemed it wise to paint signs on the road such as this:

I went walking around Sheung Wan today, the district where my serviced apartment is located, the place I will call home for about 4 weeks. Went to a couple of temples (didn't take pictures, I have this thing about not taking pictures in other people's places of worship) and a couple of parks.

Throughout my walk I thought: 1) Man, this place sure is hilly; and 2) Hong Kong really is China, with some western influences. Narrow street after narrow street I saw Chinamen plying their trades (noodle makers, coffin makers, antique sellers). You name the Chinese trade, they had it. Furniture craftmen, stationeries, incense makers.

I always thought HK was this really cosmopolitan town teeming with expats. And it is, to some extent, but it's really more of a quite Chinese trading center. Which is how it really was, before the Brits came.

Before heading home I came across a shop the piqued my curiousity. I took a picture:

You're On Your Own, Kid

After you use them, dishes need to be washed. Food does not cook itself. Clothes need to be laundered. You need to walk to the curb to get a taxi or to the train station to catch the MTR.

Then there's all this waiting. Things don't just lie and wait around for you all day. You queue up for the bus, you wait at the bank, the dry cleaners, the grocery.

I seem to vaguely remember all these things from my NY stint a few years ago. But somehow the almost 3 years back home made me forget all about living on your own. I still know how to cook, thankfully. But just thinking about the laundry I need to do by the end of the week makes me depressed. Then there's grocery shopping (I really really hate this one) and the hours spent doing a multitude of errands other people used to do for me before.

When I get depressed like this I turn on my 42" Plasma TV, glance at my view of the water and think happy thoughts.

The First Day of the Rest of My Life

A young man in a bad suit held a cardboard sign with my name on it. He takes my bags and weaves me through the Hong Kong airport, to an exit with a row of shiny Benzes on the curb. He opens the door to one of them and motions for me to get in. I do. The young man puts my bags in the trunk. The driver appears shortly, greeting me by handing me a bottle of mineral water. I take it.

He drives fast and after a very impressive system of suspension bridges and tunnels, I am delivered to my new doorstep. A serviced apartment by the water. I have only one thought as I check-in: God I hope The Firm got me a two bedroom with a view of the water. Please God. The man at the front desk walks me through the housekeeping rules. The gym is on the fourth floor. He hands me my keys. I pocket them.

Bellhop was on a break so I had to take my luggage up. Each maleta weighed 30 kilos. I paid $35 in fees to get them here. I push and heave and drag. Finally I get to my room at the end of the hall. 801.

I swing the door open. Two bedrooms.

I leave my bags at the door and look out the window. Water.