...for three years in the tropical paradise and home of my parents, The Philippines?
This seems like a question I've answered innumerable times.
I made up my mind this past November that I needed a change. I needed to grow and evolve and I wanted to feel connected to people. Not just the way that I've been connected here in the States - where I have a large social network, lots of friends, many different social circles, etc. - but I wanted family. I wanted to be in on something that's bigger and better than myself, and to be sure that I belonged there. I wanted acceptance and understanding and hope that in my later years of life, I won't be plagued by indecision about my closest compadres. I didn't want to continue asking myself if my friends are "good enough people."
And maybe it's my fault that I have to take it there, with all the questioning and worrying and analyzing. But I do need to take it there. I've been played for a fool by people that are close to me, and I've done the same; there's no way for me to just relax and socialize. I have to constantly be questioning the goodness of people; I have to constantly be wondering what peoples' motives are. Very seldomly do I meet people with whom I can let down my guard - and when I find those people, I let them know that they're special to me. That I really love them, would walk over hot coals for them, would kill/die for them because they're that special.
Those people are my family. And I will admit, I do have some of those people here in New York, specifically, and the States in general.
Maybe that's why it's so hard for me to make up my mind...
Let me recap the last 6 months, in terms of my trip:
In November, it became apparent that my family and I are really broke. And I mean really broke. We couldn't make enough to pay the mortgage on time (if at all). We were struggling to put food on the table and gas in our tanks to go to work. We were going to extremes in order not to feel/seem full-out poor...
My mom (who is an LPN) had twisted her ankle and couldn't work. She wasn't out of work long enough to collect disability, but she was long enough to miss a substantial number of paychecks. When the union finally got their act together to get my mother paid, it was many, many weeks after she should've gotten paid, and we were already in a huge financial hole.
Add to that that my father was in the Philippines, so he was getting vacation pay. Vacation pay, for average people, is a blessing. However, my family needs to scrimp and save and work at least two overtimes a week in order to make end's meet - and that's under normal circumstances. Each of us - my mother, my father, and I - work ourselves to the bone in order to make as much as possible. But with my mom out of commission and my dad not raking in as much income as he normally would, things were really bogged down.
My brother was starting his schooling overseas. He'd decided that he didn't know what he wanted in terms of higher education, and my parents used that fact to foist upon him the opportunity to learn more about our homeland. It being a third-world country and all, the cost of living is dirt cheap, and my brother could simultaneously mingle with the relatives and absorb some of the culture.
I had at least another year left in school until I earned my philosophy-creative writing degree, and I wasn't even sure what I wanted to do with it once I got it. Ever since I was 16, I've been earning a substantial paycheck (my annual gross is oftentimes larger than my mother's or father's), and it seemed to me that with the recession looming, the odds that my liberal arts degree would help me earn more cash was nil. I started to hate going to school. What was the point? I was reading reading reading on my own and talking to informed/knowledgeable sources all the time. I was writing up a storm and earning a good paycheck by teaching at afterschool programs. I was a respectable adult with responsibilities, and that flimsy piece of paper which said that I could talk with hifalutin condescension was not gonna help me be a respectable adult with responsibilities.
What would help me be a respectable adult with responsibilities? A job that assured me I was helping people; one that paid well; one for which I would not have to pay large sums of cash to gain accreditation/a degree; one that guaranteed a career, recession or no recession.
So I turned to the medical field.
I knew off the bat that I don't want to be a doctor.
My career has to be something that has a set-in stone schedule. I can't be dealing with any of that "on call" nonsense. I don't want to stop fucking someone, or stop an intense conversation, or stop writing, in order to save someone else's life. I'm not that selfless.
The idea of nursing bugged me because, like I've said in previous posts, all Filipinas are expected to show an interest in nursing. I have a natural aversion to all things expected of me.
So I thought about physician's assistance. I started looking up schools and programs, getting used to the idea of saving lives, et al... And then I found out that physician's assistants are also on call - just like doctors - and that put me back at nursing. Sure, I would fit a stereotype - something I completely abhor doing - but for my family, I'd set aside my pride.
The question then became: "How will I become a nurse?" There are lots of programs to choose from, but seeing as I have no money and my grades took a fall after I was diagnosed with cervical cancer, I had limited options. Should I try to get into a private nursing school? Should I transfer to Hunter (a public, city university), which has a very good nursing program? Which would offer me more money? Which would take the shortest time? Which would guarantee me a better job upon graduation?
At the same time this was happening, I was plagued by my usual worries about life: my writing, my family, my friends. I was feeling very distant from most people. I was (am?) constantly uneased by social interaction. Like I said, there have only been a handful of people that can settle the voices in my head; most of them don't realize that they do that; and a lot of people who think they can do that, don't. It's easy for me to seem comfortable in a social situation, but it's hard for me to feel comfortable in a social situation. My mind doesn't shut off.
Around this time, my brother came back to the States to celebrate the holidays. It was decided that he would take some time off from school in the Philippines; I decided I would join him when he went back.
*****
I've only been to the Philippines twice since I hit puberty, but on each occasion, I was greeted by warmth and understanding and love. There was no rivalry - overt or covert - between anyone. There was no reason to knit-pick or nag or question or analyze. Things were refreshingly straightforward: you lived, you loved, you laughed, and you went to school and worked, too. Bills got paid (for the most part) and ends got met (albeit sometimes barely), but somehow, none of that mattered. Maybe it's the culture, or maybe it's the country, or maybe it's my family, but things got done and people struggled - and, somehow, happiness and mental/emotional health were still intact.
My father's side of the family has always been very closely knit. Despite the fact that my cousins' ages range from early teens to late 40s, all of then know each other and make it a point to hang out. My fathers' siblings (there were 11 of them) are tried and true friends. And it's not forced. They spend time together and laugh and cry and act the way you would expect a family to act after watching Family Matters and Full House and all of those other TV shows that feature functional, happy, healthy households.
I decided that I wanted a part of that. I wanted to experience that kind of lifestyle at least once while I'm young. I wanted to earn a BS in nursing, too, and have some tropical adventures, and bond with my family.
But on a more sinister level, there was great pathos in my decision. I've never easily completed any stage of my life. I've always jumped, head-first, straight into whatever was ahead of me. I didn't wait until the timing was right or anything like that, either. The moment I caught a glimpse of what lay ahead, I dove right in.
This has caused me to be a very rash and persistently evolving individual - and for that, I am grateful. However, there are times when I question my inner motives. Could it be possible that somewhere, deep inside my psyche, a part of me wants to abandon things before they abandon me? Could it be possible that a fear of failure drives me to leave off on things, before a conclusion can be reached? Could it be possible that, in all seriousness, I have no idea what I want to do with my life, so I wait for the wind to shove me in a direction? (And if the last is true, is that what everyone else really does, and does that matter?)
Looking back on November, all of these questions, I'm certain, were true in their acknowledgements of my deep character flaws.
But that was my decision: to leave the country, start over, become a nurse who has close bonds with her extended family (at least, on her father's side). That was the plan.
I told everyone my plan, I was so excited about it. My uncle in the Philippines asked if I'd be interested in working at an orphanage, as a teacher and counselor; I agreed to take on the role. The date was set for April - and then I got sued by Chase Bank. I owed money, wasn't able to pay it, and thought it best to stick around a few more months and scrounge up the cash to pay off my debts. I didn't want to burden my parents with that responsibility, and I knew that there was no way I could pay off my monthly minimum balance with Filipino pesos. So I delayed my trip till September. In order to keep my spirits up, however, I bought my ticket. It was really happening. September 2nd was the last day I'd be in the States...
Then my case went to trial, a judge said that I can't leave the country until I pay off my debts, and my whole world was rocked. I consoled myself with addages and platitudes, the most potent of which was, "Perhaps it simply is not time for me to go."
And, despite all of my excitement and enthusiasm over leaving the country, this sentiment certainly rang true. I still had those voices in my head, analyzing my reasons for leaving. How did I know that I didn't want to go simply because I'm used to bailing on situations/lifestyles? How did I know that I simply wasn't afraid of going back to Brooklyn College, facing people I don't really want to deal with, and having to make do with the fact that my grades have slipped? Besides, I was (and still am) a teacher, with students I love and a work atmosphere that is awesome and beneficial to my soul and mind. Didn't the excellence of that experience warrant more of my time?
All of a sudden, everything good about my present life seemed to hint that the potent platitude was right. I cried about my lost opportunity, but quickly shook it off and rearranged my plans. My mom told me that her union would pay for me to attend an accelerated nursing school, so that in the better span of two years, I'd be a registered nurse (something my mom's never achieved). I would go back to Brooklyn College this August, reconcile all of my flimsy grades, show myself what I'm made of, and then cut back on classes so that I could simultaneously attend nursing school. I would work only two or three days a week (if that), so that all of my waking hours would be spent on schoolwork or pay-the-bills kind of work, but in the process I would prove to myself that I'm not a quitter, that I'm not just looking for an easy way out, that I have character and morality and ethics.
While I worked that out, I also worked out a bunch of my other issues. I finally shed the skin that was my relationship with Rob. I started to feel good about exercising regularly. I fell in love with the teaching profession. My dad's lawyer took up my case, so that I didn't have to deal with my finances. Meetings with credit counselors were scheduled. I got laid off from one of my teaching gigs, but my favorite boss lady took it upon herself to offer a hand - in every way possible. I started writing academic papers to offer to professors (so that I can turn my incomplete grades into actual grades). I wrote letters to people who I've wronged, and felt a little more at ease about my past.
In short, life was good. My head was clear. I was being productive and more mentally and emotionally healthy than I've ever been.
And then, this morning, I got a call from my dad's (mine, too, I guess) lawyer. He clarified some ins and outs of the judge's ruling, and has filed several motions on my behalf. In a matter of weeks, the case and my credit should be worked out in a plan, and apparently the odds are in my favor. Today, also, I learned that after much heeing and hawing, my brother has decided to return to the Philippines this coming September. And, on top of all that, I did research and found out that my mom's union isn't exactly willing to pay for my nursing education; they're willing to reimburse me for it. This, of course, stipulates that I have the funds to pay for it in the first place - which isn't the case.
I hate see-sawing on whether or not I'm going to leave the country. I hate being ambivalent and unclear. This whole process has forced me to confront a lot of my mistakes and flaws, and I've become a better person for it all. But does it lead me to a true conclusion, as to what the best course of action is?
Yes, I think so...
