I have been witness to the inherent goodness and decency of humanity in my lifetime. And yet I’m still in disbelief that so much malice and rudeness can coexist at the same time.
A Malaysian guy who allegedly works for an ex-immigration official, posed as a “visa agent” who was supposed to facilitate our family’s expat and dependent visas together with our nanny’s extension of length of stay. He ran off with our nanny’s passport instead. He singled out her passport probably because it was a Filipino one, and he endorsed our family’s Dutch passports to the proper agencies because those were obviously Dutch.
On the one hand, I breathe a sigh of relief that my family’s passports are safe; on the other hand, our nanny is not just any dispensable house help one may replace at any employment agency at a moment’s notice, though that would have been the more convenient alternative. Nanny is part of our family, her mother has been working for us for almost two decades and she has watched over my daughters every time we go and visit the Philippines. And despite other more enticing job offers, they have always chosen to stay with us. That kind of commitment and loyalty is hard to replace so I take this personally.
While I battle with the outrage on how this could have happened and while I wrestle with the conflict this has caused between me and my husband whom I blame in some ways for letting this happen – maybe unfairly perhaps, a thousand other questions run through my mind.
cc Image Courtesy AlexBobica ❘ Flickr
How is it possible for any human being to think it is okay to fool one into giving him money in exchange for a service that he was never intent on delivering in the first place? How does one look at another in the eye and act legitimately having already the full intent to screw? What is it in a person’s background and upbringing that makes him turn out this way?
In the course of the investigations and as things slowly begin to unravel, the modus operandi becomes clear. For every lost passport and for every day of overstaying as a consequence, the immigration office charges RM30 per day. So for as long as the impostor agent continually promises to deliver the “approved” visa and passport and doesn’t show up, and for as long as there are gullible people who think this is okay and accept this as just part of the norm -– then business is good for those involved.
Except for the poor and distraught victims of this kind of scam, of course.
How do civil servants of government agencies arrive at the thought of organising themselves to exploit the very position they are supposed to carry out with honour and integrity? When did it become acceptable practice that anyone who works for the government is synonymous to be corrupt? And majority of the people take this resignedly with a shrug of their shoulders.
We accompanied our nanny to the Philippine embassy in Kuala Lumpur to file the necessary papers to apply for a replacement passport. A guy in his fifties mans the lost passport counter. When my husband’s turn came, he was professional and pleasant while my husband was explaining the situation. Then he asked, “Where’s your maid?”
Our nanny, who was standing from behind my husband all this time, stepped toward the counter. And just like that, as if the clouds opened up and showered its ire on him, Mr. Philippine Embassy raised his voice and bellowed at her in Tagalog, condescendingly, like a dog, “Where’s the copy of your lost passport! You come here and step forward because this is your problem!”
Nanny cowered in fear. Taken completely by surprise and not quite understanding what brought on the assault, Nanny lost her voice prompting the guy to shout again, “do you have a copy of your lost passport!”
I was watching the proceedings all this time and something exploded in me. I moved towards the counter, stood next to Nanny, looked him in the eye and asked him point blank and as loudly as he did, “Excuse me! Why are you talking to her like that?!”
All eyes in the waiting room and those of his colleagues turned towards us. Mr. Philippine Embassy looked at me as if someone doused his face with cold water. He shifted his gaze down and started shuffling papers on the counter and replied, “That’s my natural, that’s my natural”… but in a much more subdued tone. Nanny was addressed with much more respect after that.
How twisted is it that it always has to take outrage before those who are in the position of power and authority wake up to the indignities and injustices they are inflicting on the citizens they should be serving?
My two fellow writers in The Hague became full-pledged authors with the recent publication of their memoirs.
Niamh Ni Bhroin’s The Singing Warrior is a haunting account that chronicles her journey on finding happiness after a past filled with sorrow. Niamh was nine when the father of her school friend raped her during her first sleepover. The nuns in her catholic school called her the whore of Babylon because she was left-handed. She writes about all the other abuses that follows and how she coped with it through her singing. It took her fifty years to face the demons of her past and resolve to live a life of happiness despite all the pain. It is a heart-wrenching story of resilience and strength.
Carolyn Vines is an award-winning blogger who writes movingly about growing up being a black American amidst the backdrop of her family’s economic and emotional hardships. The events surrounding her tragic childhood have influenced greatly how she perceived herself as a black woman travelling and living abroad -– and how those events somehow stand in the way of her fully embracing the graces coming her way. She writes all these in a matter-of-fact, retrospective way devoid of self-pity in her book black and Abroad. It is a journey of triumphant self-discovery.
cc Image Courtesy eflon ❘ Flickr
Their stories and countless others are testaments to how our childhood shapes our choices and the way we perceive our identities in adult life. It also reminds us how the pains we inflict on children, knowingly or not, lead to lifelong scars.
No matter how grown up you are there will be moments like when you are standing at your kitchen sink and memories from your childhood will flash before your eyes. At times they are funny and they make you smile. But the worst kind are those that make you cry. Bittersweet recollections of a scathing insult an aunt hurled at you unendingly, a mother’s absence and that feeling of emptiness accompanying it, or a father’s unfulfilled promises. They all come in waves. Caught off guard, they feel as hurtful as the day they were inflicted on you. They lie down low but they never really go away. They linger on and stay with the child in you.
It continues on to this day. Somewhere out there are religions and political opportunists claiming to represent the rights of the unborn child proclaiming each sperm that unites with an egg must lead to ovulation and reproduction, regardless of the consequences. As if bearing a child out of poverty or of unfit mental state is a lesser crime. And what happens next? A six-year-old son is made to perform a lewd macho dance in the guise of comedy and entertainment in exchange for a quick buck. A mother, out of desperation, drives her children and herself into the river to drown. And behind every dictator is a deprived, traumatized or abused little child.
If we want to have a better world, we need to start by treating children right. Children deserve the best opportunities that enable them to become the best persons they can be. They deserve the kind of childhood that makes them look back and smile at their fondest memories. It isn’t right to burden them with our pains; they will have their own when they are all grown up. It isn’t right to make them work at such a young age; they will have to work for the rest of their lives.
Kahlil Gibran once wrote: “The things which the child love remains in the domain of the heart until old age. The most beautiful thing in life is that our souls remain over the places where we once enjoyed ourselves.”
And so it goes too for childhood sorrows. So bless the child, honor her and give her a happy life.
The last three months have seen our family shuttle from one continent to the other. We left the coldness and winter of The Hague in December and were happily ensconced in the warmth of Cebu. The weather wasn’t always sunny, but who’s complaining? It was a beautiful time spent with close friends and family. It was also a needed transition before our move to Kuala Lumpur where we are at now.
Friends who have been living sheltered lives wonder how we do it. While it is easy to travel with young children for vacations to other countries, relocating the entire family is quite a different experience. And of course, it isn’t easy.
It is never easy to get out of one’s comfort zone. Most of our life goals are geared towards attaining a certain level of comfort and achieving the kind of contentment that gives us little to worry about and minor changes on status quo. When things are going just fine, why rock the boat?
Relocation, expatriation or moving abroad, however one wishes to call it is a conscious decision. Embracing a new way of life and culture is such a major upheaval especially when there are young children in tow. It’s like one of the tsunamis in life that we knowingly go through. Learning a new language to get your point across, choosing between international education systems best suited to your children, driving on the left side of the road as opposed to the right that you’re used to and just basically building a new life all over again. Without your supportive network and close friends, everything just becomes so overwhelming at times. But why do we choose it?
You have to have a thirst for adventure and look forward to something new. The world has so much to offer, and if you get the opportunity to live and bask in its different parts, turn your life upside down, and be delighted in all your senses, you go ahead and grab the chance. Nothing compares to the heady feeling that greets you when you arrive in a whole new country with a vibe so exciting it makes you feel like a spinning top on the universe. All your senses start to tingle and you feel alive.
Over time, your new home will totally change you and your perception of who you are. It will challenge your core beliefs and change the way you look at yourself. You will experience the magic of watching a Bali sunrise and be transported to a distant memory of a Scheveningen sunset all at once, having witnessed both in your life. If you used to shiver in disgust at the thought of eating a chicken embryo or pork blood stew, or sliding a fresh raw herring down your throat, you might change your mind on your first try, or develop a new found respect for the people who do.
It teaches you humility and it will hammer your ego to a pulp. Where you once thought that the universe spins around you, you will realize that you are nothing but a tiny speck in the entire continuum and the only thing that matters is doing good after all. It teaches you to take nothing for granted.
My children may be too young to understand but I am excited for the lives they are going to lead. When you’ve stayed long enough in a foreign country, the lines blur between where you come from and what you become. Meeting different kinds of people will strip away your prejudices and give you a different perspective on things.
In the end, isn’t that how we resolve conflicts and create a better world?
Starting this blog was like embarking on an unplanned journey. I wanted to chronicle the different places where the mind and the heart can wander so I stepped on the writing train to see where it took me.
I thought perhaps I’d write about the beautiful scenery along the way or the people I’d meet and the places I’d see, the happy and festive sides of life. Maybe there would be sad tales as well; shantytowns and the lonely parts of cities, walls covered in graffiti and hearts in distress. There are stories lurking in the shadows too.
I didn’t have a plan but I had the fire in my belly and the impatience to begin.
I am fascinated about the human condition. I am a keen observer of how we conduct our lives, neither in search of perfection nor criticism, but to gain awareness of both the visceral and the reasoned dimensions of our existence. I figured I was on the road, there was much to be seen, feelings to explore and stories to be told.
Cc Image Courtesy aussiegall ❘ Flickr
I never meant for this to be an expat blog. But as time went by and in the manner that water finds its form, the writing took shape and a thread about the expat life found a place somewhere along these musings. So it was mixed reactions of surprise and joy that I received an e-mail from Stephanie Katz, editor of Expat Arrivals, informing that I was shortlisted in their roster of Great Expat Blogger Awards.
There is something fulfilling in being recognized for one’s efforts. However, my writing is only as good as the company of writers I keep and the expat network that supports me. So with this recognition I am obliged to give credit where it is due.
Jo Parfitt, author, mentor and publisher, started our writing circle in March 2007 and I’m quite certain half of the things I’ve done and whatever I’ve achieved I owe in large part to her, whose purpose in life is to inspire and bring out the best writer in you. And from then on, I’ve had the wonderful opportunity of meeting the most brilliant and prolific writers who have become dearest friends and great dining and laughter companions. Check out their work listed on the right side of this blog’s home page under The Hague Spelt Muffin Literary Society.
I am extending much gratitude to the dynamic duo of Suzy Oge and Lisa Rouissi at the Women’s Business Initiative International. They both took away any excuse I had for not starting a blog during the Global Entrepreneurship Week Social Media workshop back in November 2009. They made me believe anything is possible and they made it sound so easy. I left that workshop armed with their encouragement and, unbeknown to her, Lisa’s number on my speed dial and plunged into the Word Press blogging society.
Lisa is extremely helpful for all things technical and web-related; and a great companion for a good plate of poffertjes and Tunisian recipes. The members at the WBII are a treasure trove of inspirations and courageous stories of women who acted upon their dreams.
Thank you to expat publications www.thehagueonline.com and www.iamexpat.nl for giving expat writers the space to scribble away our thoughts, and for looking the other way when deadlines are missed!
Most of all, to my husband, Arnout Roos, who understands the many ups and downs I go through being a trailing spouse, my need for independence and my fight for the time and space to write. I have become this intrepid traveller, albeit weary at times, in large part because of him and the work that he does.
I dedicate all the beautiful things I have done in my life and will continue to do, to my lovely daughters, Laura and Kirsten, my unending sources of joy, inspiration and love; as well as exasperation.
We are truly only as good as the people who surround us, whose encouragement and cheer drives us to pursue our hearts’ desires. So I thank you, readers of this blog, for taking the time and attention, for subscribing and for joining in the conversation in the comments section. You make it worth our writing while.
To Stephanie and the people behind Expat Arrivals, for the gracious work that you do, if only to remind us that someone out there reads the stories that we weave, and who don’t hesitate to let us know if we’re doing it well. Thank you.
Proost!
My friends and I, straight from yoga practice, went for breakfast at the country club one morning. We were happily chatting away when there was suddenly a commotion and one of us saw the club’s manager, a heavy set, tall and white Caucasian man, being bullied by three local club members.
“Go, open the door!” a short, pudgy-looking Chinese-Filipino guy haughtily commanded while shoving the manager’s back. Bits of food sprayed out of his mouth disgustingly. They were apparently having breakfast when the manager walked by and they all stood up to confront him, but the manager kept walking.
The other two members were also trailing behind and one screamed angrily, “Do you know who we are? We have been long-standing members here! Open that door or I’ll have you removed from this job!”
The manager retreated into his office, mumbling inaudibly.
The issue, we found out later on from the service staff, was that the manager decided to close the club’s back door entrance, which adjoined the parking lot, and so the members had to walk ten meters to use the main entrance as opposed to the five meters they were used to. Ironically, these golfers found this difference in walking distance a huge inconvenience and it ticked them off big time.
cc Image Courtesy CarbonNYC ❘ Flickr
There is something quite disturbing about watching three educated and wealthy, successful businessmen in their sixties behaving this way. Never mind if the manager is not entirely faultless, but to see men acting arrogantly in a public space over such a fickle matter makes me wonder what it must be like for their household staff and employees.
If the older members of any community behave in such a manner, there is no doubt about it, the younger ones, their children will follow suit. This sense of entitlement has become part of a long legacy of a misplaced sense of identity on the basis of one’s social and economic status.
Wielding power by pushing your weight around and expecting people to bend the rules for you doesn’t make you any mightier than you think. You may think you are a big fish in a small town, but in reality, we are all nothing but tiny dots in the entire universe. The behaviour you choose to define yourself shows how well bred you are or if you are totally lacking in decency.
Tyler Durden, Brad Pitt’s character in the movie Fight Club, said it all:
“You’re not your job. You’re not how much money you have in the bank. You’re not the car you drive. You’re not the contents of your wallet. You’re not your [f…ng] khakis.”
But you might become the best person you were meant to be if you learn a little bit of compassion or spend some of your wealth in learning some etiquette at Miss Manners’ school, perhaps?
