Traveling INFJ

Tag: Good People

  • The Recipe

    The Recipe

    Daily writing prompt.

    What aspects of your cultural heritage are you most proud of or interested in?

    Cultural heritage is an interesting topic now because I’m not biologically related to my elderly Dad, who moved in with us recently. My American parents adopted me in the Philippines while they were there for my Dad’s job as the general manager of a rattan furniture factory. I was an infant when I joined this family as their one and only beloved child.

    After I was adopted, we moved to Thailand, where we were fortunate enough to have household staff who taught me how to count to ten in Thai once I started to speak. I was three or four when my parents finally returned to the United States and settled in the San Francisco Bay Area, where I grew up.

    Being an adopted Filipino has been a unique experience. I don’t look like my parents, and my Dad used to say that’s for the best because I’d probably have his ears. But I always knew I wasn’t their biological child, and even worse, I grew up feeling like I had to explain that to people. When we went on family vacations to Mexico, people would think I was Mexican, and I’d speak up and be like, “Actually, I’m from the Philippines.”

    Back in California, I once got lost at an event. I found my way to the Lost and Found booth and tried to describe my parents. The people in that booth gave me a weird look as if they didn’t believe I could have a tall, Caucasian, bearded Dad. “I’m adopted!” I tried to explain. My Dad found me standing there before I grew more upset.

    The only time in my life when my cultural identification was generally ambiguous was when I lived overseas in Stockholm, Sweden, in my mid-twenties. Nobody made any assumptions that I spoke Tagalog, Spanish, or even English. Everyone would talk to me in Swedish, and then they’d realize I had no idea what they said, nor could I respond appropriately. I tried to speak Swedish, but everyone would change over to English.

    So, to answer the question about what aspects of my cultural heritage I’m most proud of or interested in, I’m pleased to be such a cultural mix that people have difficulty recognizing my culture at first impression. It’s kind of difficult to label me, and I’ve realized with time that it’s a good thing. I’m interested in all the parts that make up my cultural heritage. With the blessing of my adoptive parents, I even traveled back to the Philippines in 2014 to meet my biological Mom and younger siblings there.

    While I’ll always be a proud American, I also feel indebted to a sweet, impoverished woman in the Philippines who knew that she couldn’t take care of me. My future was rooted in her culture and her love for me. She helped stir together a recipe, even though she could never see the final creation. I now know how important family is to Filipinos, and that really gives me something to consider today as I try to help my Dad.

  • The Airport Bar

    The Airport Bar

    The airport bar is always worth a stop, even if you don’t drink alcohol. I’ll often show up for a flight extra early to enjoy the ambiance of a bar in an airport terminal, and the people-watching is usually amazing. Sometimes, you meet the most interesting people sitting at an airport bar at eight on a Thursday morning.

    A few weeks ago, I had a connecting flight through Washington Dulles and found myself in a crowded bar across from my departure gate. Noticing that the bar was populated primarily by couples who seemed to be leaving for relaxing alcoholic vacations, I grabbed a stool in the corner, with room on both sides, where I was hoping to keep to myself.

    I ordered a mimosa, since my conscience believes it is more socially acceptable to drink a mimosa at eight in the morning than an Old Fashioned or a Jägerbomb. However, it started to look like the couples across the bar were already on that track. I wondered where they were going in such lively tropical attire on a wintery December day. Did they work 4/10s and only have to take one day off from work? Cabo? Miami? Maldives? Lucky, happy people!

    Speaking of luck though, I had good fortune too, because an old gentleman approached the bar stool to my right just then. He grinned brightly and said something like, “Good morning, darling!” in an upbeat and confident tone, and I knew for sure at that moment it would be a unique hour before my flight. This gentleman didn’t disappoint my introverted intuition whatsoever.

    He and his adult daughter, probably in her 50s, were going to Florida to hop on a luxurious cruise to the tropics. As I suspected, everyone but me was on their way somewhere that required a Hawaiian shirt, a sundress, or a floppy hat. I gathered that these two traveled together often and learned from him that his wife had passed away recently. They had been married 58 years, and one of their favorite things to do together was take a cruise. His daughter had also lost her husband, so this was their way of coping with their loss and enjoying their time together now.

    When the bartender came to take their order, the daughter said, “Dad, what do you want to drink?”

    “Anything with alcohol!” the old man chirped.

    He ended up ordering a beer, which he happily sipped as he continued to share with me the unabridged story of his life. He started his career as an attendant in a petrol station and retired as a multi-millionaire with several mines in his name. He sold a car to buy the engagement ring he gave his beloved wife, and when she agreed to marry him, he only had $60 to his credit. He was the epitome of a mid-west American success story.

    Then he spilled his beer on me. It went everywhere. Beer covered our area of the bar top, my purse, my sweatshirt, and his jacket, and flowed into his lap like a lazy Hefeweizen river. It looked like someone had emptied an entire pint glass on us.

    The old millionaire gentleman apologized profusely, and I commented that I would probably smell like a brewery when I boarded my next flight to Minneapolis. A guy across the bar, sitting with his wife, raised his glass and said proudly, “I always smell like that when I fly!” “I salute you, good Sir,” I replied as we acknowledged this confession.

    While we dried off, my barstool companion paid for another mimosa and covered my bill as an apology. He paid in cash from an overstuffed wallet that resembled an extra-large sausage roll. Reflecting on our generational differences, I would feel nervous carrying a wad of hundred-dollar bills around like that. Then everyone hopes you spill your beer on them. People start taking positions and trying to trip you.

    The gentleman’s daughter reminded him they had to hurry up, drink faster, and catch their flight to Florida. Before they hurried away, though, my new old friend told me more about his wife, whom he missed more than anything, and that he wouldn’t have been able to accomplish half the things he did without her love and support. It was so sweet, and he even looked like he might cry. He didn’t, though.

    My airport bar friend said there is nothing more important than spending time with loved ones, and now he wouldn’t know what to do without his daughter. I told him about my Dad, who has dementia, and how I’m considering taking a career break to become a caregiver for him. It’s been weighing on my soul lately, so I asked him for any advice.

    “God will bless you,” he confidently assured me. “You know what to do, and it will work out.” Then, they left for their departure gate.

    You do meet the most interesting people in an airport bar. Sometimes, they’re just drunk and obnoxious but thoroughly entertaining, like the overly self-important guy in the United Club who I met a few hours later and who forgot his open MacBook on the bar. The bartender had to go chase him down in the terminal. Missing something, buddy?

    Other times, these interactions leave you feeling destined to meet each other and that they served some purpose to help you understand something from the bigger picture of life itself. I will never see that old millionaire gentleman again, but I will remember him and his story of family and love. I hope they had a wonderful cruise and didn’t lose too many of those hundred-dollar bills paying for spilled beers.