40 years ago this week (December 8 – 13, 1974), I spent the first days alone with my host family in the Philippines. I was the only female Peace Corps Volunteer assigned to the province, with four male volunteers.
The following are excerpts from letters and journals and poems written at that time.

 

December 9, 1974 – Letter to my sister
Dear Charence,

Here I am, pen in hand once again. I have now arrived in Bugasong (boo-găh’-song), Antique (ahn-tee’-kee), my home for the next 2 years. I am staying with the Rivero family. They are lower middle class in income—but very well educated. We have no electricity, no running water, a squat toilet (outside), and the shower is a matter of pouring buckets of water over your head (however, the “helpers” pump the water for the buckets ahead of time.) The Grandparents are quite old—the grandfather however, was a music teacher for 42 years and is going to teach me the mandolin (my handmade, dark-wood, inlaid mandolin with case should be ready on Dec. 18, for 200 pisos, or just under 30 dollars). There are 5 children of the grandparents spread over 30 years. There is a 14 year old girl in high school, a 23 yr. old daughter who has a medical technology degree, a 33 year old son who is a doctor and whose wife is my rural health doctor, a 40 year old son who is a civil engineer, and a 43 year old daughter who is a teacher of the local 6^th grade. The doctors then have a little girl who will be 1 on December 21^st. She already points to me when they ask her “where is Auntie Marilyn?” She’s really a beautiful baby.

Today I met the priest here—he is Austrian but has been in the Philippines for 14 years. He reminds me of Karl Malden. Anyway, he’s the only other white person most of the people of Bugasong have ever seen. We’re way far removed from “city life”.

It’s going to be weird here—even more remote than I expected. Thought my back would break on the bus ride here—spent most of my time mid-air between bumps in the road. I’m still in pain 36 hours later. Good thing I won’t be doing that too often. I’m moving here permanently on Jan 8.

VOCAB LESSON #2
(1) utot (ūtōt) = to fart, e.g., “nag-utot ikow” (you farted)
or “ma-utot ako” (I will fart)
(2) Pating Nga Manaba It Lupad = Prostitute (= “Dove with low flight”)

Hi to the kitty and Josh.—they’ve got 2 dogs, a goat, a baby goat, ducks, roosters, mice, etc. here.

Love Maranan

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December 13, 1964 – (Journal entry)

Apprehension

Apprehension is perhaps the one word that could describe my emotional state the most consistently this past month. That is an emotional mid-point I am designating between fear and excitement, between frustration and optimism. Of course, in actuality, from moment to moment I’ve been juggling emotional extremes like fine China dishes. I have made conscious efforts to minimize fear and frustration while maximizing the optimism and excitement. Perhaps this sounds wide-eyed and unrealistic, but for me, it has been necessary to survive my first month here in the Philippines. Rural Southeast Asia is a far cry from middle-class America, and the enormous changes imposed upon me cannot be ignored. Yet, at the same time, change should be welcomed as a virtue—a means of avoiding stagnation of the mind (the dreaded disease of Middle America). And like all the things worthwhile, this experience of change and growth is both happily exciting and incredible frustrating.

As for my excitement and optimism here—it has been easily expressed and reinforced. In fact I arrived with very little excitement because I had no expectations; I was in the dark. But my excitement has grown, smiles and laughter have exploded outward a thousand times—and have been shared with others of the 28 new volunteers of our group. In no time I became incredibly close to those other volunteers—loving their conversations, their smiles, their eyes. I accept them in the same way I have finally learned to accept myself—with all those faults and eccentricities. And these people have been a source of strength to me……an explosion of excitement or optimism is contagious and becomes magnified when shared. We talk together, laugh, sing, and drink together—then we share and reassure and touch each other. The old volunteers constantly warn us against too much excitement….they have warned us of the hardships and have predicted our fall into depression (culture shock) within the first week, then after 1 week, then they predicted our depression after 2 weeks, then after 3 weeks. We have been continuously warned of how difficult and slow everything will be. Yet all these warnings and predictions have only increased our general optimism and idealism because we are continuously surprised at how much more easily handled are the situations—than was forewarned. And so I see growing, in the members of our group, an idealism and excitement (with apprehension) of their life in the Philippines. Now there are emotions and ideals coming into focus where last month there was only curiosity.

As for my fears and frustrations, I have dealt with them pragmatically. Writing letters has been an enormous outlet for me. My letters become abstract or philosophical or humorous, or like poetry…they bring the changes around me (and within me) into focus. This past month seems to be filled with a year’s activities, therefore I feel often very far removed from my friends back home. But when I write them about the changes within me, it somehow seems to lessen the distance between us and keeps me in touch with the life I had lived for 22 years. In fact writing letters is actually a means of keeping in touch with myself more than of keeping in touch with the people left behind. The people that are real to me are those that are here now—Filipino people and the other volunteers. The other volunteers lessen my fears and frustrations merely by having the same fears and discussing them with me. Knowing other people have the same problem somehow lessens the problem—and once a problem becomes smaller in my mind, it also becomes smaller in reality. However, this week I am alone for the first time on my pre-assignment visit, and even the other volunteers are not real to me this week. This week, more than any other, my fears and frustrations have surfaced. My frustrations are what should be expected—I want to know the language, for without it I will never accomplish anything in my work. This frustration is being greatly lessened by the town people—I realize they want to teach me and have already begun speaking to me in the language. If I am willing, the Filipino people will help me. And as for my fears, they seem to center around my questioning whether I will ever be able to feel at ease in this complex social structure. Again these fears have been most lessened when I allow myself to be lost in the people. A hundred times when I have felt awkward, the people have invited me for a walk or a scrabble game or a boat ride—suddenly my upset ceases. Perhaps my muscles have been tight this week, but all in all, I have talked and laughed and mostly been myself with these people. It should begin to get easier now.

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Undated, from journal scrap of paper………

Changes are intensely underway
to the point that I can rationally deal
with none of it yet I feel compelled
to cry or scream frequently—and
sometimes cannot withhold
the tears—
I’m like a sensitive child
without any answers today
but a long-lost child’s innocence
is also overtaking me as I stumble
haphazardly over some of the questions
which plague me now and I wonder
where I’m growing

yet just now I see myself so poorly
that I beg this change to hasten
as I know it cannot
I’ve been taken to deep, dark places
to learn selfishness where before
I could never see self at all
And I come to the climax
with extraordinary defenses and
fun-filled games
dangling lovers and
notches on my thigh bone
the liberated independent
self-reliant floundering
whisp of femininity  by convenience
confused within the maze I’ve built
seeking not to find the exit but to
reconstruct and rediscover
simplicity in design

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Culture Shock
December 14, 1974 – – (Journal entry)

This first week visiting the town of my assignment has been unusual for me, culturally speaking. As a matter of fact, this may be what they call “cultural shock”. I was wondering when it would come and how I would cope.

Last Sunday, at 4:30 A.M., we left our training site for the Cebu airport. We landed in Iloilo City airport (on Panay Island) at about 7 A.M., had breakfast, and boarded the 76 Express Bus—bound for San Jose, the provincial capital of Antique where 5 of us were assigned. The bus was immediately stopped for about one hour because of a town fiesta. I didn’t know how lucky we were—to be stopped. Then we got on the way, unfortunately. The back seat of the bus was a true pain in the derriere—rising about 8 – 12 inches off the seat then forcefully crashing down again. Of course I was already having cramps. But alas, I survived the epic and was served lunch at the capital in San Jose. Dog—just what I always wanted to eat for lunch. Then after the meal everyone gave speeches, including the volunteers. I was teased about being the only woman and introduced as “the thorn amidst the roses” (foreigners don’t always get American clichés quite right.)

After lunch, while waiting for 1½ hours for the ride to my town, one of the Regional Health Officers had a heyday asking me all sorts of personal questions. He said (1) I was too shy and didn’t look enough at people in the eye when giving my speech (I did no worse than the boys), (2) I was too excited, (3) I talk too fast (he retracted that one later), (4) I should get married in the Philippines, and (5) It was wonderful that I am Filipino size” (5’4”). Chuckle. Chuckle.

Then we finally headed out to Bugasong, my town. I rode with my doctora and her husband (also a doctor). We went directly to their home where I will be staying for the next 2 years. There is a large family, with the doctor’s parents, 3 sisters, 1 brother, and a 1 year old girl (and the doctora is presently pregnant—due in 4 months). One of the sisters is 14 and one is 23, just a year older than myself, though I thought she was about 16 when I first saw her. The eldest sister is 43. The father kept insisting from the beginning that he would think of me as his daughter. He kept offering this and that and said he would always have a chaperone for me. I tried not to listen too intensely so I wouldn’t feel stifled. And I try not to feel self-conscious with a thousand eyes always staring at me—asking me to “eat again” or “rest now”. A few games of scrabble and my first day was over.

So I woke up in the middle of the night with menstrual cramps, a backache from the bus ride, abdominal cramps, and diarrhea (probably from “the dog”, as I was vegetarian for the 2 years prior). I couldn’t make my way past the dogs and the servants to the outdoor squat toilet, so I suffered all night. When I visited the toilet 4 times before breakfast, the doctor catches on and gives me medication for diarrhea. And the day begins—we visit all the important town people, walking around in the hot sun all day. The doctora tells everyone in town that I have LBM (“loose bowel movement”). I guess that’s the way it flies—they didn’t seem to think anything about it. Anyway, it was a good excuse for me to eat less—they keep being bugged by my small appetite. I’ve never eaten so much in my life! During the afternoon I was a judge in the children’s Elementary School Christmas Program. I really loved it; kids are great everywhere.

Tuesday through Thursday we had barrio clinics and the “town clinic” day. I began to get acquainted with the people and the peacefulness of barrio life. I loved the barrio clinics—the people were friendly, generous, and gradually willing to help me learn their language. At the beach barrio we drank a lot of coconut milk, ate snails, strolled on the beach, gathered flowers, and went for a boat ride. In another barrio we went to market, were given all sorts of cake and peanut candy (homemade), they talked with me in their language, and they gave us dozens of coconuts to take home. If my effort is as great as theirs, getting to know these people should come easily.

Then the week began passing somewhat more easily—like finding the time and energy to write in this journal (usually I’m sluggish because we get up at 5:30 A.M., eat all the time, wait around a lot, and it’s so hot.) I mentioned getting a bike and the grandfather got out a bike that wasn’t being used. It felt so good and free to ride down this rural dirt road—alone and getting exercise. Sometimes I feel stifled by social structures and lethargic from the pace and eating customs—but riding a bicycle alone seemed to give me a release both physically and psychologically. I think a bicycle and the beach will be my biggest refuge here.  So the week got better and I became better at the nightly games of scrabble.  My moods fluctuate with the newness of everything and I learn to cope. And the people here begin to realize things about me: I like their food but eat very little, I like to sit alone and write sometimes and other times play scrabble.

Then on Friday we went by jeep up to the town of Valderama, in the mountains. This was no simple jeep ride. There were no bridges and we literally had to drive through the river half a dozen times. There was a current, though the water was only about 1 – 2 feet deep and seldom came into the jeep. Everyone kept talking about the times they had gotten stuck in the river. Several times I thought the jeep would overturn for sure. In the town we visited the rural health center and all the doctor’s relatives. We were fed again and again. The judge asked me if I was 16 (everyone thinks I’m young). He mentioned that he was a Mason just like President Ford—I made the mistake of telling him my grandfather was also a Mason. He practically offered to adopt me. He talked to me for hours (mostly about the Masons. I got so tired of listening and listening and adapting and socializing. I’ve always loved people and gotten along well, but I’ve never cared for social-type contrivances. So I went back to the house and to my room to be alone for a while. Shortly after dinner I was summoned for scrabble. I could hardly make any words because I had nothing but consonants. Then we started another game, and just when I was going to use up all my letters on “VACATION”, I was serenaded by the local town males. Thoroughly embarrassed, I was told that I had to invite them in. When I did, the host family became completely ashamed because the serenaders were not formally dressed and several were drunk. Slightly nervous, but laughing at the whole situation, I sat and listened to their music and compliments. I refused when they asked me to sing—I said it would embarrass me and it was just not natural for me because of my culture. The sober serenaders politely said it was all right, but the drunk ones were persistent. At this point my host family got angry and my visitors finally left. The situation would have been merely humorous except for the endless apologies. I get so tired of discussing the social restraints. Once again I was aware of how long it would take for us to fully adapt to each other.

Saturday morning I had to go to church for a baptismal service. I was about to become a Godmother for my first Filipina child. I was already feeling some residue frustration because everyone was still talking about the previous night’s serenade. Sitting in  the hot church for an hour and a half was frustratingl. My God-child said it all as she peed on the pew. She is a little doll and her mother is beautiful. It was a good experience to have, but I wouldn’t want to have to go through it every Saturday—though they say it will probably be the case. First of all, I couldn’t afford to pay 5 pisos every week and buy so many Christmas and Birthday gifts. Most important, however, is my need for Saturday to myself. Baptisms followed by luncheon parties could really eat into my free time. I’ll have to use the excuse of not being Roman Catholic, or something else equally tactful. Time will tell if I can easily weasel out of this one or at least limit the occasions to the families I know well. Just one more frustration to solve…the need to live some of my life separated from crowds of people. I need to make arrangements with other volunteers from my island to get together now and then.

Especially here in Bugasong I find myself writing frequently—cultivating on paper the thoughts that are not easily understood by my new family, colleagues, and friends—and, of course, I the same, do not understand many of their ways. I could never live at 40, still with my parents…or could I? I could never be restrained to going every where with a companion, being expected to be always a part of the norm—and striving for the same goals as everyone else. No I’ve been brought up to individuality; I embodied individuality and independence. And now, the test of my flexibility. Will I survive here? Will I be restrained by restraints? Will Filipino people be able to really know me if I adjust my behavior in order fit in? I think they are already learning that I am not what they expected.

So tomorrow at 4:30 A.M., I leave Bugasong to return to Cebu for 3 weeks further training, and for the Christmas Holidays—my first Christmas away from home. We’ll party and talk and share our frustrations—all 28 volunteers. And perhaps with others to help me sort out all these new experiences—to put them in perspective—I can return here on Jan 8, ready to face a permanent stay here…ready to cope and maximize the experience.