It’s the last thing I put down at night, and the first thing I pick up in the morning. It’s a no-brainer. My cellphones.
I have two cellphones: one that I use for calls and messages here in Sydney; the other is my Manila phone—my Globe line—that connects me directly to my former life back home. When I moved here, I was advised to get a local SIM card for my local calls. It was excellent advice. But I was not about to give up my direct line to Manila on my Globe phone. So I bought a second-hand iPhone for my local needs. I just have to remember to use it, and not my Globe phone, for local transactions, or there will be hell to pay.
As you can see, I have not been able to let go of my direct connection to the homeland, my circle of family and friends, and the very active socio-cultural and political scene there. I read theater reviews. I follow the news at home. These past few days, I have been glued to the hearings in Congress regarding the impeachment of Sara Duterte.
Truly, my heart is in two places. Physically, I’m in Sydney where I have chosen to live in the comfort of my daughter’s home in the suburbs, where I keep myself busy with housework. I do my laundry, and sometimes I offer to do someone else’s, considering I’m the only one who isn’t in school or at work. I cook using easy-to-follow recipes on a popular app by a chef who goes by Nagi, that many women here use. I look forward to meals with my daughter and my three grandchildren—ages 27, 24, and 15—who are always appreciative of the effort, though not necessarily the expertise, I put into a dish.
I’ve almost given up on gardening. The calamansi bush and the lemon tree are fruiting profusely without my help, and that’s good enough for me. But I enjoy pruning the hedges and battling with wild vines that grow over the fence from the neighbor’s yard. The other day, I spotted a fat vine with squash flowers crawling into the yard. I think we will be harvesting a couple of those in the coming weeks.
I watch the 6 o’clock news while preparing dinner, although I have a hard time understanding what the newscasters are saying, Their Aussie drawl is so thick, I am often behind, deciphering their accents.
It is a calm and quiet life here. Besides housework, there are regular trips to the grocery to buy supplies for the week, and visits to the medical clinic for consultations. There is a public library that I have only started to explore. And there is the mall where little seems to have changed over the decades.
I am now comfortable with the bus and train systems, thanks to a wonderful app that tells me the bus and train schedules, from what time to start walking to the bus stop to catching the next ride. It is accurate to the minute.
I have not had the chance to make friends in my neighborhood. The neighbors are close by, but there is practically no one out on the street. I figure they must all be at their jobs, but really, there is little interaction with the community here. There is the occasional dog walker, a runner, and a mom pushing a stroller on the path around the man-made lake where I sometimes walk, but my cheerful good mornings are usually met with a nod or, at most, a half-smile. So, in my solitude, I catch up on my prayers when I remember.
And then there is Church. It feels strange that on Sundays, the church in our area is full but I don’t know anyone. The first few times I went, I teared up missing my parish in Loyola Heights where neighbors wave at one another and exchange greetings of peace with smiles and eye contact. But there is another church we go to where my daughter sometimes gives Holy Communion, and we join a Filipino choir that enlivens the 10 am mass. A true taste of home!
But life here is made lovely by hugs and kisses and wise and silly commentaries from my 15-year-old granddaughter Maya. I find it strange how she scours her 79-year old grandma’s wardrobe in search of something to wear to a party or a trip to the city with her friends because, she says, I have cool clothes! Go figure!
My Manila phone is my lifeline. Living in the suburbs with only the television as one’s source of news, much of which is local, I am not in the thick of things, except for the weather app which is important in planning one’s day. The app tells you if the sun will shine all day, what hours of the day it will be cloudy, and even when to expect rain, thunder, lightning, and hail. And that is how important decisions made. Should I do the laundry when there is a 20 percent chance of rain? Should I wear a sweater or a jacket when I go out on a somewhat chilly day? Then, all snug and warm, I go to the shopping center and see a lot of people in shorts and tank tops!
It isn’t that the weather app is wrong, it is that locals take to the cold better than I and other Asians I encounter here.
To be sure, everything works in Aus. Life is almost totally predictable. But I am missing the chaos that is Manila where mentally, psychologically, and spiritually, I still belong. So I should probably be forgiven when I talk about someone or something happening in the Philippines, and I invariably say “here,” until someone asks, “Where?” bringing me back to reality in Glenmore Park, Penrith, NSW.
