The Voice of a “1.5″ generation immigrant

Every now and then, we meet and find someone who shares the same tale as us, not knowing that in fact, they have made a difference. I found that similar tale one Saturday evening in one episode of The Voice UK, in the person of Joseph Apostol.

Although not blessed with good vocal cords, I find Joseph’s tale similar to mine and it touched me. For the past ten years, my sister and I lived a functional, sort of dysfunctional set-up of flying back and forth to London, to stay with our parents. With our mum hired as a nurse and my dad following soon after for residency and employment, our family had two homes, one in our native land and one in a foreign one.

As an immigrant’s daughter, we have to leave part of our life in the Philippines and take on a new on in London. A different life with a different type of vibe and confidence,similar to Joseph Apostol who moved to the United Kingdom who migrated with his mum as a kid.

I may be a small voice but thanks to that one episode, my similar tale was told, representing not only the Filipinos in the United Kingdom, but also to us “1.5″-generation immigrants such as us.

Just another day at the hospital

If someone calls themselves a workaholic, I can righteously proclaim myself as a passive one. I may not be the type to stay extra hours at work or actively volunteering in extra paperwork or activities, but I am the type who values my experience at work and share it in any way I can, with due respect of some confidential aspects, of course.

I am the type who is passively “passioniate.” The one who remembers most of the people and patients I work it, may it be through their name, face, bed number, diagnosis or quirky perks. Once in a while, I would anonymously share tidbits about the workplace but would remain unrecognised if not for the presence of personalities who work in the same field as me.

Imagine to my surprise when I was told that one part of the hospital was part of a documentary on Channel 5. Already a big fan of “24 Hours in A&E” from another channel, I decided to give a series a go, hoping to catch a few familiar faces of whom I work with and maybe spot a few patients that eventually get filtered into our department. Boy was I right. This time, some of those anonymous stories I share are now recognised because they can see how everything works in the hospital. From the high class emergency treatment pioneered on the show up to their full recovery in their designated wards. It was also fun to spot a few familiar faces in the documentary, a hint of pride in what the hospital has become.

Despite the recent issues in the public health sector and the stress from our local management, the documentary is a good breather from the stressful environment and a healthy reminder that by the end of the day, we’ve done what we can and we’ve done it well for someone else’s recovery.

You can catch “Trauma Doctors” on Channel 5, every Wednesday. A documentary based on an elite group of trauma doctors from London’s Air Ambulance Charity and The Royal London Hospital. 

The season for music festivals is almost here

Summer is almost here and so are our tickets for London’s biggest music festivals! Despite being neophytes in the festival scene and have only attended the city ones so far, me, my sister and some friends, are always open for a good time, completed by music, booze and a bit of fun.

 

A Lesson on Colloquialism

Colloquialism. The term refers to a language normally used in casual and informal conversation, most likely influenced by the language one is comfortable in, depending on its geography and culture. It endows a sense of reality when speaking and widely used in contemporary literature.

The term colloquialism only came to mind when someone made my easy night shift impeccably difficult. He made it so difficult that I had to confirm my own use of informal language to some English majors and even checked some well-known dictionaries online.

The difficult night shift had one cause. My use of the term “there you go,” which was the informal and contemporary version of “here you are,” “here it is,” “there it is.” I was branded rubbish for repeatedly using such colloquial term, branching towards the Americans, which made me silently fuming. All these complaints came out while I made sure he walked safely back to bed. Ironic, I know. Angry and insulted from his purist comment, I had the choice to leave the room and refuse his care, but I didn’t, despite being still furious by the thought of it.

The anger at such insult can only be made up with a rant. Hence, this post.

As I was gathering more evidence that I was indeed using the right term, despite being informal, I managed to read through an online article written by Tulika Nair. According to her, “Language is the starting point for any piece of literature (or in this case, conversation), and if it is not effective , then the reader (listener) is likely to take nothing from it. Using language that is grandiose may work in some cases, but it is the colloquial terms that forges a stronger connection.”

I may have English as my second tongue and may have a few errors in formal writing and grammar,but I can assure you, Dear Sir, that I am able to effectively communicate with my patients. If you have a problem with my modern use of words, along with most of the generation around me, then I suggest that you get used to it, swallow or let us be. If you are “furious” and consciously insult us in thought and action, then I am happy at least that you haven’t listened to the more modern slangs that our generation is using today. I am more than happy to hear the news of your heart attack until then.

Until then, I will find means to make sure that I won’t be assigned to you, as you not only insulted my choice of language, but also my spirit in kindheartedly looking after you. You are not getting that benefit from me for now on.

I don’t “blog” anymore because…

I think I have found the culprit (or culprits) as to why I haven’t been able to write about random stuff lately.

Every now and then, I check my favourite bloggers and react to everything interesting about them. The act will eventually lead me to check my own blog and write my own piece. Sometimes, I have thoughts (which I seem to think will be interesting to share) and wish to get on my laptop and write on it as soon as possible. However, for no reason, I ended up “spring cleaning” my own blog, checking my own posts and editing my categories, tags and other grammar errors.

By the time I check the time, it’ll be bedtime and I will have to find the time to check my favourite blogs and repeat the whole process.

Can I do it this time? You tell me.

Meanwhile, here are some blogs that I normally visit: Wanderrgirl, PopReviewsNow, Alex Finch and maybe a bit of Chuvaness.

PS. I did change some of my categories before I made this post. 

Spring Cleaning 2013

There is a pest in my room!

Credits : IKEA

 

Every now and then, as documented on my previous blogposts and may be redundant tweets, I would take the time and effort to clear, clean and disinfect my room. For someone who is not as keen and used to this cleaning regime, I always let the cleaning bit until it becomes too much.

For the past few days, it had been too much. I woke up, got dressed and presented myself to work, with various bug bites. It started on my thighs, fine, which I could hide, then on my inner arms, still okay, as it was technically still winter and I can still cover up. But when it reached my face and fingers, I decided to put my foot down and kill the bugs.

You must think I’m disgusting, my sister and mother does too, especially when it came on how I harboured such infestation in the first place. I’m even embarrassed every time my workmates ask me where I got from, as bug bites can only mean an unhealthy lifestyle. Well, in my case, a lazy one.

Cleaning is a habit that I want to start liking, at least. However, every time I do decide to clear, clean and disinfect, I find the horrible stuff that I couldn’t do, while others can beautifully can, like storage, arts and crafts, for example. In those short moments, I also tend to hoard and keep more rather than binning it.

So, I’ve thrown the paper shopping bags away, the old boxes and containers I thought I could creatively reuse, the once-read magazines and brochures and expired make-up. I’ve torn all the lttiel scribbles on random notepads and shredded all the bills, bank statements and receipts.

In its very essence, I did clear and clean, but this time, disinfecting the room was another key to stop myself being cuddled by bugs.

And as a parting message, I would like to tell my mum that I know understand what she means with her monthly sermons. I have obviously learned my lesson. The red, itchy and swollen way.

This is not a fashion post!

Well, technically, it kinda is. 

Yesterday, I was given a chance to explore the other world of fashion through Vodafone’s London Fashion Weekend and came out with a lot of things, in mind, not in hand. I got the tickets through a friend’s request and was intrigued by it, at least, but I came out somehow feeling dejected, confirming my lack of interest at such.

Somerset House was lovely. I want to go back there for their mainstay and special exhibits, but maybe not for fashion weekend soon. Fashion Weekend for me is a fun event where potential buyers can get designer items for less, some of which are either genuinely new season or just sales rack old season. You pair that up with exclusive events and runway shows and you get the audience you want. Aside from the cheaper version of the same product and mainly good hype, everything else wasn’t my cup of tea. I thought about it and realised that maybe my liking for dressing up nicely is lukewarm compared to those who hype and slave over it. I read fashion magazines, sometimes, check out “fashion blogs” when I have nothing to do, check out the trends when out shopping; although I understand what they are there for, I can’t seem to grasp the core and essence of it.

I am a follower, I enjoy shopping every now and then and I love reading through them magazines, so I have no idea why I felt dejected. The price and whole luxury of it were also not an issue as I am secure enough to know the wants, the likes and the untouchables, so I don’t know where the distaste came from. Maybe I’m not creative or artistic enough, maybe I just don’t like the whole hype on it, I don’t know. Maybe I have my own likes and I just can’t seem to jive along with it. They have their own passion and I respect that, but in a way, I can’t help but feel pretentious and out of place, obviously a world that I don’t belong on.

It was meant to be a fun trip and event, but the most part of the day that I genuinely enjoyed was to have breakfast and coffee at Somerset House’s coffee shop, and randomly snapping a photo with Diet Coke’s “Diet Coke Hunk.”

I smiled for the photo and for the “hunk,” but I don’t even like Diet Coke. Get me now?

All photos taken by @holybnj.