POKEY POKEY CULTURE

For the past eight days I have been traveling with a foreigner named Scott for work. While he was a joy to work and travel with, I was faced with a very peculiar situation. I was constantly probed whether he was my husband. Total strangers in the beach,women collecting fish fingerlings, families swimming in the beach, drivers, even the woman selling pasalubong in the airport. If I had a dollar for every person, who asked the question, I’d be sleeping in a bed full of dollar bills tonight.

What shocked me is people don’t even know me. And when I do tell them that he is just a friend, they go on to say, “oh, you should be married to him?”, “He seems like a nice guy.” They have all their opinions on the matter. I guess Filipinos have no qualms poking into lives of total strangers. It is not enough to for Filipinos to be a society of mirons, to be front row bystanders. They feel a need to pry into other people’s lives and have their say.

When I arrived at Campomanes Island, I cooled myself with a swim. As I walked into the water, I could feel about fifty pairs of eyes following my every move. Is it because I was the only woman wearing a swimsuit and everyone else was wearing a pair of shorts and a shirt? I started swimming and amusing myself with the fish. I played with a ten-year-old girl. And the silence was finally broken when the young girl’s grandma finally asked in Ilongga something to the effect of “Is he your husband?” I shook my head. “Ay sayang (Too bad),” because perhaps he was foreigner. While I had only spoken to one woman, the entire swimming community knew. As I left the water to head to the boat, a woman smiled at me and said, “Sayang, di mo pala siya asawa.(What a shame, he's not your husband)” Strange, I didn’t even exchange a single word with her. It became clear to me that to most Filipina women a foreign man is a prize catch regardless of who he is. They feel so strongly about it, they don’t have any hesitation verbalizing their thoughts. Perhaps, that’s how Filipino culture is. Live are so much intertwined. Personal affairs of total strangers are their business, even if should not concern them.

In eight days, we have gone in and out of the domestic airport at least eight times. In Butuan, Scott was rather annoyed at how the security check was done. The man clad in barong repeatedly asked him about the tripod in his suitcase. And as if that was not enough, a lady guard, pulled every single lens out of his bag. But asked me, “hey, Maida there was no x-ray there, what was that about?” I refer to our security check in the Philippine airports as the “Pokey-pokey” method. The designated checker randomly uses his or her fingers to poke in your bag. Sometimes security guards even have this magical wooden stick they poke in your bag. As if poking the stick, will assure that no bombs or explosives are in our bags.

Scott laughs at my made up term, “Pokey-pokey.” But on our last day together, after buying some dried mangoes, butterscotch brownies, and mango tarts just outside the airport in Bacolod, the unsolicited commentary went on again. “Dapat asawa mo siya! Bagay kayo (He should be your husband. You make a good couple) ” referring to Scott the white guy with me. Perhaps, it is odd to see a single girl travel with a foreign man and for them not to be married. But hey, he’s a married man. I’m a writer. He’s a photographer. This is a work trip. We sleep on separate beds. And the most we’ve shared on this trip is a bathroom. But at the end of the day, as we subject our bags to security check one last time, I realize. I don’t owe anyone an explanation. I should just smile, after all, this is the Pokey-pokey Filipino culture.

4:34pm.blog-may21.07.bacolodairport