When I left New York for the Philippines in October 2005, I had almost no clue what I was getting myself into. I had read a couple history books and surfed the web to read some PBA scores, but I was actually afraid that I’d arrive in the country and find out the the basketball heaven I heard about was an exaggeration. It didn’t take long to realize that I would never have to worry about overstating Filipinos’ affection for hoops. Everywhere I looked, I saw basketball; when a friend emailed me a picture she took on SLEX of a tanker truck with Michael Jordan’s larger-than-life silhouette painted on the back, I knew I was witnessing something special. It probably sounds crazy to get worked up over a hoops-decorated truck, but to me it felt spiritual. Basketball had been a passion of mine for as long as I could remember, and in the Philippines I found a country where almost everyone shared my love for the game. In that way, moving there from New York felt like coming to a second home I never knew I had.
Of course, not everything felt like home. I had never eaten rice with breakfast before, never washed with a tabo, never drank soda out of a plastic bag. But wherever I went, I met people who were happy to share their culture with me and teach me what I didn’t know. As one year turned into two turned into three, I started to wonder if I felt closer to New York City or New York, Cubao. The answer is both. I have two homes, two cultures, two countries I love.
( Published June 18, 2010 in LifeEASTyle Magazine p. 2 )
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