A Dose of Home

THE PHILIPPINE CONSULATE GENERAL Milan

I went to the Philippine Consulate in Milan two days ago. The office used to be at the heart of the city, near Duomo, then it transferred somewhere else.

The directions given to me were easy. First, take the sub way from the Central Train Station and get off at S. Ambrogio. Then walk a few yards to a bus stop and take the bus that goes to Piazza Vesuvio. Finally at Piazza Vesuvio look for Via Stromboli no.1. Piece of cake, no. . . . .? so I hailed a cab.

A Filipina filling up a form

I was greeted warmly by fellow Filipinos outside the building. Everybody offered me food. From siopao, hoppia, langonisa, to red eggs and etc. I told them first things first. 

In another building I got my picture taken then I filled up the form, got my documents photo copied and then went back to the Consulate building. While walking I noticed that I looked stoned in my photo.

The guys hanging outside offered me food again. I have to get inside I told them.

There were two women working at the three counters for releasing, processor and cashier. Both were not smiling. The Processor checked my papers and the cashier took my money and told me to wait in the processing room.

At the processing room, a guy wearing a suit typed my documents in a computer. He looked like a comedian and I saw that he married twice because he wore a ring on both ring fingers. A girl came in and asked him where she can get a number.

“What number?” he asked back. “The numbers for lotto?” I was right he was a comic!

Then I went to another desk. The guy behind it wore a suit too. His glasses made him mush more professional. He asked me the correct pronunciation of my name, if my mother is a foreigner and where I’m from here in Italy.

A young Filipino walked in and conversed with another male employee at another table. The young man left then came back again to ask the same question he had earlier.

The employee said, “Second floor. Look for Virgie but just call her ’Gie’. He was about to explain the name calling when the guy with the glasses cut him off.

“She doesn’t like to be called Virgie because she is not a virgin anymore.” he said in a serious tone.

I answered and signed my name on a document without understanding it. The guy with the glasses didn’t explain anything to me and I didn’t ask. 

Then everything  was over in an hour but my new passport will be “released” on the 29th next month.

THE ROLLING FILIPINO FAST FOOD

It was lunch time when I left the Consul edifice. The guys were still out there so I ate, no, I swallowed a siopao on by the side walk. I made them laugh when I told them that I was an Igorot. After I bought more siopaos and two packs of langonisa for home, I went to the Filipino Fast Food nearby.

The Rolling Filipino Fast Food

I was happy clicking my camera away when all of a sudden a Filipina confronted me saying that I should ask the owner or the employees of the fast food first before shooting. She was right, dead on. And when she asked my purpose for shooting, I told her it’s for my blog. That’s where we went into this little argument.

This left me a little embarrassed and felt the apprehensiveness of some of the Filipinos there but didn’t understand where it came from. I’m not there to report on them and tip them off to the police, “they’re not violating any laws!” and I’m not doing them any harm. I didn’t ask because we were all Filipinos there. Anyway I let it die down and stood there observing.

While some employees of our government went in an Italian cafe, all the Filipino immigrants there had lunch at the side walk or in the park where the fast food was.

Someone lifted me up from my mental discomfort when she said that she will also take pictures of the “FFF” and upload it on her friendster. I smiled at her and later she wrote down her e-mail when I requested so I could add her at friendster. Her name is Liezl Gonzales.

I saw a man who was sifting through the garbage. He took out styrofoam plates out and placed them on the other yellow grabage sack. Later he lit up a cigarette. He looked haggard and that meant only one thing, he’s hard working and industrious. I gestured to him for a cigarette and he offered without hesitation. While we smoked I asked him where he’s from, he told me Santiago, Ilocos Sur. I told him I was from Baguio and I am an Igorot, he laughed heartily like I was joking. His name is Edward and he owned the “FFF.” His wife and daughter were busy serving the hungry Pinoys.

I connected well with Edward. We traded jokes and he mentioned that the police often comes by to respond to calls from very concerned Italian citizens. He nearly sacrificed an arm and a leg to get a piece of paper that would allow him to feed hungry Filipinos.

Edward’s daughter came out for a break and asked where I’m from. His father answered for me and added that I’m an Igorot. Edward’s daughter laughed and slapped him on the side of  his shoulder saying, “Si Daddy naman!”

Wow! I was really making a “killing” by being who I am!

I didn’t know how to get back to the train station, but a young woman from Batangas made it sure I didn’t get lost. Karen Gonzales guided me till I took the right subway train. She also wrote down her e-mail for me and would probably invite my family and I on the christening of her first baby. Karen is happily married and three months pregnant.

As the train for Venice moved on, I stared out the window and appreciated all the things that happened to me to that day.

I made new friends and they gave me a wonderful feeling of being back ”home.”

I also learned one important lesson.

Give respect to your own people just like what you give to the citizens of your host country.

~ by musashiboogie on March 14, 2009.