He Loves The Nightlife                                                          Cebu-Philippines, August 2002

Majority of Tom's short visit to the Philippines was spent in Cebu. The nice thing about being with a foreigner in a bigger city was that doubletakes or prolonged curious looks were kept to the minimum compared to non-touristy small cities in the province like my hometown. Back home even when having dinner at a hotel you could feel the stares of personnel, other diners or even the waiters themselves boring holes on your back. We had more privacy in Cebu. Not to mention Tom enjoyed the nightlife and the crowds. If only the beaches were closer this Queen City of the South would have been perfect.

One weekend night a close friend from college, Binky and her husband took us out dancing. Unfortunately it was a Sunday and the good clubs were closed. We were left with this one cheesy danceplace called Slabadu. They had a live showband who picked Tom out of the crowd and asked him where he was from. Caught off-guard Tom turned to my direction, "are they talking to me?" I nodded in amusement to confirm. So he called out, "Illinois!" "Ah Illinois," the lead singer repeated into the mike with an exaggerated american accent, "I'm from Paaah-lowm-pown (Palompon)". The audience laughed. A puzzled Tom blurted, "why are they laughing?" Poor Tom, he just experienced his first dose of filipino humor.

As the evening progressed Binky was aghast and embarrassed for Tom at the behaviour of the women dancing wildly that night. To make matters worse, there was this european guy in his late 60's dancing with a pair of young, scantily clad filipinas - to the trained eye of the locals it was easy to tag them as a DOM with DIs or GROs (dance intructors or guest relations oficers, if we had to be PC about it). But Tom enjoyed himself immensely that when my friend suggested that we leave at 12 midnight, he had a hard time masking his disappointment. When Binky and her husband dropped us off, she apologized profusely for subjecting him with what she thought were a low-class crowd in that bar. Tom was perplexed, he saw nothing wrong with the place nor with the people there, in fact he voiced envy at the old guy and wished he knew how to dance like him.

Airport Goodbyes

Eventually the fun had to end, he had to leave. With a heavy heart we took a taxi going to the airport. Good thing we had a loquacious taxi driver to take our minds off the approaching painful goodbye during the drive. The driver relayed to us the incident about a hotel japanese guest who performed Harakiri the day before, gave us a sample of his collection of japanese phrases, complained about his 2 sisters in the US who were incommunicado ("one lives in Tennessee, Texas" ) and as we reached the departure area of the airport, after he saw the tip Tom gave him, he called out "Sir, don't forget my face sir!"

The past two nights had been very emotional for us, Tom and I had to do the inevitable and talked about the future among other things. It would have been very tempting to have thrown caution to the wind, just be romantic, enjoy the short time of being together and not mar it with talks of reality. Fact was, 10 days spent physically together was still 10 days. Was this enough time to judge if both of us were capable of a lifetime commitment? Should we wait for a second or a third trip or was it really more practical that way? If we got engaged, which was a big step in itself, will 3 months of being together on a fiancee visa in the US be enough to be certain if we were for each other? If I did go to the US and if it didn't work out coming back brokenhearted was one thing, having to face and explain to people why the relationship wasn't viable would have been another. But then again, do we even have the luxury of time for a status quo? At that point both of us haven't uttered the 3 letter word yet, so how could we talk about getting married for that matter?

Aside from the prospect having to part at the airport, all these unanswered questions raging in our heads made it harder for us to say goodbye. There still were so many uncertainties hanging in the air. Before his trip, we thought that meeting face-to-face would give us the answers, instead it just opened for a barrage of more complicated ones.

When his flight number was announced over the PA system we were left with no choice but to hug and wish that day didn't have to come. We tried to hold each other as long as we could but there were taxi drivers who were persistently asking if I needed their service which made it impossible to enjoy that one last bittersweet physical contact in private, so we reluctantly had to let go. I couldn't bear the thought of watching him leave, so I turned away first, walked briskly towards the exit - never looked back.

                                                                                                                               click for the conclusion...

First Lamaze Class

Last Monday night, for 2 1/2 hours Tom and I attended the first of the four day series of Lamaze class. Surprisingly my husband was the one insistent of taking them. I'm glad we did, there was so many things I learned, like the step-by-step of what to expect (knowledge is power as what the instructor would say), what terms like the "bloody show" meant and that the pushing was actually the "easiest" part during the delivery compared to the waiting and contractions.

What I found most interesting (aside from the video of 2 women giving birth) was the positioning for labor. Drawings above show a few of the positions the mother can take during delivery. A far cry from the limited supine position and feet in stirrups back the Philippines. When I told Tanya about this she said that the hospital that she went to had a delivery room with a homey feel and design to it that it felt like you were in the living room in your own house. 

Tom was pleasantly surprised to see a friend of his younger brother was one of our classmates in this class. It's their first too.  Aside from him, was also a Chicago Bulls Player Tyson Chandler and his very pretty wife Kimberly. Even if Tyson was 7'1" tall, it was his wife that caught my attention. I commented to Tom how beautiful she was, and Tom told me a multimillionaire like him (said to have been awarded a $68 million contract) wouldn't have any trouble finding a very attractive wife. And I thought PBA players were already paid a lot. Mr. Chandler, can I take your photo?

Currently listening to: Bach's Brandenberg Concerto
Currently reading: Frank McCourt's Teacher Man
Currently watching: Harry Potter and The Goblet Of Fire