all-knowing
On one of those pretty streets in Italy where the apartment buildings were sandwiched between large 3 story houses, a woman brought her bicycle out along with a huge plastic bag stuffed with clothes and boxes of electronics. The house from which she emerged was large and grand but not too grand, a proud large house but not pompous. She looked tired after a hard day's work, but of course we had no idea who she was or what she was doing, perhaps it belonged to her? She was a filipina, so why did I instantly assume she as a housekeeper?
As we walked by she stared at me with x-ray eyes. When people are examining you time seems to slow down. I gave her a smile, and she returned it uneasily, then rode away on the bicycle.
"They always do that, they always know," my husband remarked. "All the Filipino people here always look at you like that. They don't think you are Japanese." That made me a little happier for some reason. He has never been to Asia, so I suppose he has never been the sore thumb sticking out, and I am pretty used to that by now, which is why my trips to California and New York are always a welcome relief, a return to the privacy of annonymity among the crowds that I never find in Europe.
As we walked by she stared at me with x-ray eyes. When people are examining you time seems to slow down. I gave her a smile, and she returned it uneasily, then rode away on the bicycle.
"They always do that, they always know," my husband remarked. "All the Filipino people here always look at you like that. They don't think you are Japanese." That made me a little happier for some reason. He has never been to Asia, so I suppose he has never been the sore thumb sticking out, and I am pretty used to that by now, which is why my trips to California and New York are always a welcome relief, a return to the privacy of annonymity among the crowds that I never find in Europe.
The last time I was in Italy was a few years ago, and I was walking back to my hostel with a heavy, heavy hangover when a woman x-ray eyed me and we just started talking out of the blue. I had a severe headache, but a strange compulsion to show respect took over me, and I hoped I looked presentable to her because she looked like she was old enough to be my mother. Her friendliness was so quick, and she bragged that she had been living in Italy for 12 years and knew the ropes and if I ever needed a place to stay (for a few euros) and help moving there she could hook me up, and it was nice knowing I could find an instant place where they had adobo and rice and san miguel beer. There are some things I will never understand, like the obsession with Gucci and Prada purses, and the lack of desire for privacy, but nobody is perfect.
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