My second trip to the Philippines was even more eye opening than the first. I was 13 this time, and my dad made the trip with me once again. Nothing had really changed too much since I had left. One of the domestic workers had been assigned to be my “nanny”, as they called, during my stay, and Pia and I had become close during my first visit. This time, however, I started asking her about her family. It was a sad story, and for personal reasons, I won’t give details, but she said she wanted me to meet her niece. She had one of the drivers drive us to her village about 40 minutes away from the compound, and I was so surprised to see these beat up old shacks made of wood, tin, and in some cases, what looked like leaves or maybe straw. I hadn’t known that when said “village” she meant…village. I got out, and immediately everybody began to look at me. I could tell they didn’t trust me, and I quickly became self-conscious. Pia, however, began reassuring people in Tagalog, and she turned to me and said, “Don’t worry. They will welcome you. I told them your mother is from here, so you are family.” And just like that, women came up to me and started offering me food and water and touching my hair. I met Pia’s niece, and she walked us to the shack where she and Pia had lived while she was growing up. The entire experience was very warm once I got past all of the stares and the people in the village had accepted me as family. This trip was the trip that really began to explain a lot of things for me.
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