Attention!

Each morning I leave my safe haven and head to the main road to catch a jeepney for the 30 minute commute to work. People stare intently at me as I walk along the non-existent shoulder of the road with 100 degree equatorial sun beating on me. I look down at my clothes to see if I forgot to put a shirt on or touch my face to see if remnants of my breakfast remain. I hold my breath as jeepneys exhaling black exhaust pass by en masse. Taxis honk incessantly has I shake my head in a now automated fashion. I think to myself, “Wow, I must look like a constipated sweaty mess!” Oh how wrong I am.

I finally crawl into an overfilled jeepney and plop my American-sized hips onto a small patch of open seat. I hunch over my lap while grasping my tote to avoid someone sneaking a hand in. Men, women, and children stare openly, not the least bit embarrassed. I give a hesitant smile, once again wondering if I’m half naked or have a sign around my neck that says “murderer” Children stare into my bright blue eyes, either enthralled by their color or horrified by this alien among them. The men remain stoic while women whisper to each other and giggle. Their intentions are innocent and out of curiosity, yet I can’t always play along. Some days I laugh or begin a conversation, on others I look away and distract myself with my iPod.

After a bumpy, uncomfortable ride I shimmy out of the jeepney back onto the street where I hear cat calls and hollers from men lounging with t-shirts pulled above their pronounced bellies and possibly a glass of Red Horse (strong local beer) in hand.

“Americana, Americana! You’re so beautiful”

*cue whistling & loud kissing-type noises*

“Where you going? I love you!”

Sometimes I give an eyebrows raise, a way of saying “hello,” or begin grumbling profanities under my breath. I finally enter my office, exhausted by the commute yet the work day has only begun.

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I would never wish this celebrity upon anyone, yet it is something many volunteers here deal with regularly: unwanted or undeserved attention. In a country that idolizes America and strives to mimic its popular culture, we are seen as superior—epitomizing the American dream and carrying the secret knowledge for success.

Outwardly I display signs of beauty, fair skin with blue eyes and blonde hair, which draws attention anywhere I go. To men, I am an exotic beauty to be adored. To women, I am an exotic beauty to be mimicked. I am saddened by all the whitening skin products and low self-esteem of Filipinas striving to be, in their minds, beautiful. It’s a teaching moment and a time to uplift them with compliments as I do not portray the only standard. If only they knew all the bronzing products used and sun soaking Americans do to become a different kind of beautiful. My physical appearance which otherwise is commonplace in Minnesota affords me a pedestal, but one I am hesitant to step upon.

Internally, it is assumed I must be an expert on any given topic, but more particularly in my field: social work, criminology, gangs, technical writing, and community development. I am still at the infancy of my career, yet my insights are taken as superior knowledge afforded to me by an American education. During introductions with someone new I am regularly introduced as an “expert in __________.” Although my coworkers and I are working on projects together and they hold the same if not greater knowledge and capability to accomplish our goals, my mere presence can be enough to develop a new partnership or secure funds.

My coworkers treat me fairly and equally, exactly what I adore about them. Yet, every so often my supervisor bashfully says, “Leah, we need your beauty.” I know exactly what this implies and so does she. I take a moment to debate with myself, “Do I stand my ground and encourage my coworkers to go it alone, knowing they truly have the capacity, yet ultimately may not succeed? Or do I give in, knowing my presence will offer up a listening ear and accommodation, even though I am not the true expert?” 

Sometimes I justify a “no” and other times I yield to my “beauty” and “expertise.” I am not going to change the culture of accommodating foreigners no matter how skewed I think it may be. I don’t want to abuse my position of power, but when do I put my beliefs aside and do what is right for the betterment of my organization? When in Rome....

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After a day in the office, I slowly slink back into the heat and repeat the same steps going home. The attention persists and I can only think, “let’s hope my head isn’t too big before I return to the land of the free and disappear into the crowd.” At this rate, anonymity sounds pretty nice.