So here I am in Europe, living in a place where I thought, at long last, my name would finally cease to be massacred on a daily basis.
Alas, no dice.
First of all, my full name (Jeanne Therese, which is French) is almost never used here. People tend to drop their second names and have just one first name and one surname in almost all their official correspondence. So here I am simply Jeanne. Jeanne Andres, with the accent on the first syllable of my surname, to boot. That's fine with me; that's how B now says his surname and that's how I introduce myself to people. OHN-dres, not And-RES.
My only trouble with "Jeanne" is, (1) I have never responded to being called Jeanne, and (2), most people here pronounce it as JEAN, which is the English pronounciation of the name, instead of ZHAN. I have always cringed inwardly whenever I'd hear my name mispronounced, and it's been something I've lived with all my life in the Philippines.
Second, being a Filipino, I have a nickname, and that nickname is simply Nette, pronounced NET. So to Pinoy friends and community brethren here, I am Nette, but I have found that many times, too often, English people seem to have a problem calling me by my nickname. I have heard myself called Nettie dozens of times; apparently there is a European language (Dutch?) in which Nette is pronounced as NETTEE. Others seem to struggle with NET, finding it too abrupt, and I see them constantly doing a double take, as if training their tongues to say such a curt name, saying "Aaah... Nette (with the T sound elongated slightly, as if to make up for the missing vowel sound they seemed to think was lacking)... would you like to have a cup of tea?" Perhaps it's a linguistic thing. Pinoys have always preferred my nickname to my real name, and I am used to hearing my nickname said with a Filipino "caress," like a "paglalambing" or tone of affection. Here, that's a thing of the past.
My driving instructor, Jill, after thirty hours on the road with me, finally felt comfortable enough to ask me about my nickname last weekend.
"So why are you called Nette?"
"Because my full name is Jeanne Therese, which was shortened to Jeannette, which eventually became Nette... Why? People here seem to have a problem with it, I notice."
"Yeah, yeah," she said. "Only, I think, because it doesn't really SOUND like a NAME, you see... It sounds more like a fish net or a hair net or a...a..."
"Like the internet," I supplied.
"Yeah, yeah, exactly."
That got me thinking. Right now, I'm applying for part time jobs, and I need to decide what professional name I should be called at interviews and later on, at work. Maybe I should stop forcing people to go through the discomfort of saying NETTE. Maybe I should keep going by JEANNE ANDRES and just steel myself to get used to it, whether it's said ZHAN or JEAN. Or maybe I should ask friends or future colleagues to call me JEANNETTE? Since it has a "nette" at the end, I figure I'd respond to it more than I would to "Jeanne." Is this pretentious? Am I about to join the league of Filipino migrants who have changed and Westernised their names along with their country of residence? When Totoy becomes Toto, Ging becomes Jen, and so on.
What say you?
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Where Ukay-ukay Comes From
Ever wondered where ukay-ukay comes from? This was one of the very first things I discovered upon living in the UK.
Read one of the many flyers we get in our mailslot each day:
Dear householder,
WE URGENTLY NEED CLOTHING that you and your family may never wear again. Maybe it's no longer your size, out of fashion or style. Also of great help, mobile phones, blankets, sheets, shoes, handbags, curtains, belts, CD, DVD, bath and hand towels, underwear, cosmetics, toiletries, perfumes.
We will recycle your unwanted goods. A chance to empty your wardrobes of unwanted clutter and create space.
THANK YOU FOR YOUR UNWANTED CLOTHES.
Please put these items into plastic bags, stick this leaflet on the bag and leave visible outside your front door before 8:00am on the day indicated below. Come rain or shine, we will collect between 8am & 8pm.
S___ Ltd is a collection company who provide people in third world countries with clothes of their families they can afford.
It provides jobs in third world countries, sorting the clothes for distribution.
It provides business for UK export, for transport companies.
It provides employment in the UK factories grading the clothes.
It provides employment for people collecting the bags door to door.
Funny thing is, most of the autumn and winter clothes we brought to the UK was bought in ukay-ukay in the Philippines, so we actually may have brought some of these unwanted clothes back to their homeland!
Just something to think about, when you go on your next ukay-ukay shopping expedition. ;)
Read one of the many flyers we get in our mailslot each day:
Dear householder,
CLOTHING COLLECTION
WE URGENTLY NEED CLOTHING that you and your family may never wear again. Maybe it's no longer your size, out of fashion or style. Also of great help, mobile phones, blankets, sheets, shoes, handbags, curtains, belts, CD, DVD, bath and hand towels, underwear, cosmetics, toiletries, perfumes.
We will recycle your unwanted goods. A chance to empty your wardrobes of unwanted clutter and create space.
THANK YOU FOR YOUR UNWANTED CLOTHES.
Please put these items into plastic bags, stick this leaflet on the bag and leave visible outside your front door before 8:00am on the day indicated below. Come rain or shine, we will collect between 8am & 8pm.
TUESDAY
S___ Ltd is a collection company who provide people in third world countries with clothes of their families they can afford.
It provides jobs in third world countries, sorting the clothes for distribution.
It provides business for UK export, for transport companies.
It provides employment in the UK factories grading the clothes.
It provides employment for people collecting the bags door to door.
Funny thing is, most of the autumn and winter clothes we brought to the UK was bought in ukay-ukay in the Philippines, so we actually may have brought some of these unwanted clothes back to their homeland!
Just something to think about, when you go on your next ukay-ukay shopping expedition. ;)
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Daycase Diary (Part Two)
While waiting for the doors to the Operating Theatre to open, I seized the chance to lift up another prayer to God, a prayer He must've heard a hundred times from me that day alone: Lord, give me a Filipino nurse, please please please. Not that I didn't trust the Brits, but I know for certain that Pinoy nurses are world-class, in care, in hygiene, in going the extra mile for their patients. I should know, my own cousins are nurses here in the UK. And since it was my first operation here, I wanted a friendly face, a kababayan, in the room, making sure no one dissed me or got unprofessional while I was under.
The Operating Theatre doors opened and lo and behold! A Pinay nurse, all smiles in her neat scrubs. The other nurse left me and the Pinay nurse plopped down on the waiting couch beside me. "Pilipina ka?" she asked, and I said yes, with obvious relief. Her name was Len, she said, but the slippers on her feet bore an embroidered "Lyn." Len or Lyn? Ahh, Visayan, like my husband.
Len immediately chatted me up and told me not to worry, as there were two other Pinoy nurses in the Operating Theatre alone! There was Toto in Recovery, and another male nurse (whom I will not name, for reasons you will understand in a bit) in the OR itself. Wonderful! I asked for one and God gave me three! What a God of abundance and provision!
Anyway, Len assured me that since I was a fellow Pinay, and she knows how conservative we Pinays are, she and the other male nurse will make sure that NO GUYS WILL BE ALLOWED in the OR while I was asleep. Well, except for my GYN-surgeon and anaesthesiologist, of course. This came as a relief to me, as the surgery was of a highly intimate nature, and maintaining my dignity and privacy was, of course, a valid concern.
Len called the male nurse into the waiting room, and after he assured me that he will personally ensure that only female staff will be able to enter the OR during my procedure, something very funny happened: He offered me Filipino products. If he hadn't looked so serious, I might've thought it was all a joke. There I was, facing surgery in a UK hospital, wearing hospital slippers and a gown that was open down the back, being offered tocino and longanisa deliveries by a Pinoy nurse! How very Pinoy! Turns out that the male nurse's wife is unemployed and this was how they were able to make ends meet, with the high cost of living in England. So I said, yes, sure, just give me your number and we'll ring you when we need Pinoy products.
Len ushered me into the Operating Theatre and I walked towards the table. All the medical staff were smiling, eager to put me at ease, and very professional. They hooked me up to the monitors, and Len gave me an encouraging smile before she got to work in the background. Another nurse put a BP monitor on my finger, while an intern tried to put an IV drip on my left hand. “Good luck with that,” I joked as the anaesthesiologist came in to see how the vein-search was going. I have very fine veins, I said, which I inherited from my maternal grandmother (Tito Rogel’s mom), and which often collapse when needles are being inserted. “Send this one home!” the anaesthesiologist jokingly barked out. He was hoary and Asian (which is how Indians or Pakistanis are called here; Chinese, Pinoys, Thais, etc are not called Asians but Orientals) and looked like he did this a million times a day. I felt safe, and I thanked God once again.
They DID manage to get an IV in without too much poking, and with a smile, the anaesthesiologist injected the sleeping drug into my IV, saying “Now you sleep…” My last memory was of the nice British nurse smiling down at me, then off I went to lala-land.
I woke up ahead of schedule in the Recovery Room, and as expected, there was Toto, the third Pinoy nurse, taking care of me. He said to relax and that the procedure went well, and that I needed to stay an hour more in Recovery before he could wheel me back up to the GYN ward where O and E were waiting. As I groggily became aware of things, the male nurse from OR came and gave me a slip of paper, on which was his wife’s mobile number. I took it and smiled at him. Turns out that Toto knows some of the Pinoys in my RC parish, and we talked about our mutual acquaintances as I steadily became more alert.
Toto personally wheeled me up to my room, not leaving me to the brash, impersonal, white male attendant who was usually tasked to do this. My reunion with O and E was happy, and after I drank, ate, rested and gone to the loo, I was able to dress in my street clothes and was discharged without any problems.
All of the treatment I received that day was absolutely free on the NHS (National Health Service), which was great, since at least some of the exorbitant taxes we pay to the UK government trickles down to us in a useful manner. Unlike back home where, I’m sad to admit, we paid taxes but rarely got anything concrete or substantial back in return.
I thank God for O, for his support and love and prayers, for how he took care of E while I was indisposed that day, and how he encouraged me to have faith in God’s healing power. I guess I’m tougher, too, than I thought I am, because I walked out of that hospital on my own two feet and was strong enough to ride a bus instead of a taxi. O was insisting on calling a cab because he didn’t want me to walk home from the bus stop, so we struck a deal: We would ride a bus to town (half of the way home), and catch a taxi from the town centre so I needn’t walk up our long road. Once home, I rang up my friend and fellow Pinay schoolmum who was watching over B after school that day, and after she brought B home, and I’d given B a nice, long hug, I fell soundly asleep in my own bed.
Next day, as I was still shaking off the effects of the anaesthesia, she brought B home from school as well. Praise the Lord for generous friends like her! And praise the Lord for making mums stronger than they think they are, because once the anaesthesia was flushed out of my system the following day, I was back to my old routine once more, school run and all. I’ll say it again: Praise the Lord!
The Operating Theatre doors opened and lo and behold! A Pinay nurse, all smiles in her neat scrubs. The other nurse left me and the Pinay nurse plopped down on the waiting couch beside me. "Pilipina ka?" she asked, and I said yes, with obvious relief. Her name was Len, she said, but the slippers on her feet bore an embroidered "Lyn." Len or Lyn? Ahh, Visayan, like my husband.
Len immediately chatted me up and told me not to worry, as there were two other Pinoy nurses in the Operating Theatre alone! There was Toto in Recovery, and another male nurse (whom I will not name, for reasons you will understand in a bit) in the OR itself. Wonderful! I asked for one and God gave me three! What a God of abundance and provision!
Anyway, Len assured me that since I was a fellow Pinay, and she knows how conservative we Pinays are, she and the other male nurse will make sure that NO GUYS WILL BE ALLOWED in the OR while I was asleep. Well, except for my GYN-surgeon and anaesthesiologist, of course. This came as a relief to me, as the surgery was of a highly intimate nature, and maintaining my dignity and privacy was, of course, a valid concern.
Len called the male nurse into the waiting room, and after he assured me that he will personally ensure that only female staff will be able to enter the OR during my procedure, something very funny happened: He offered me Filipino products. If he hadn't looked so serious, I might've thought it was all a joke. There I was, facing surgery in a UK hospital, wearing hospital slippers and a gown that was open down the back, being offered tocino and longanisa deliveries by a Pinoy nurse! How very Pinoy! Turns out that the male nurse's wife is unemployed and this was how they were able to make ends meet, with the high cost of living in England. So I said, yes, sure, just give me your number and we'll ring you when we need Pinoy products.
Len ushered me into the Operating Theatre and I walked towards the table. All the medical staff were smiling, eager to put me at ease, and very professional. They hooked me up to the monitors, and Len gave me an encouraging smile before she got to work in the background. Another nurse put a BP monitor on my finger, while an intern tried to put an IV drip on my left hand. “Good luck with that,” I joked as the anaesthesiologist came in to see how the vein-search was going. I have very fine veins, I said, which I inherited from my maternal grandmother (Tito Rogel’s mom), and which often collapse when needles are being inserted. “Send this one home!” the anaesthesiologist jokingly barked out. He was hoary and Asian (which is how Indians or Pakistanis are called here; Chinese, Pinoys, Thais, etc are not called Asians but Orientals) and looked like he did this a million times a day. I felt safe, and I thanked God once again.
They DID manage to get an IV in without too much poking, and with a smile, the anaesthesiologist injected the sleeping drug into my IV, saying “Now you sleep…” My last memory was of the nice British nurse smiling down at me, then off I went to lala-land.
I woke up ahead of schedule in the Recovery Room, and as expected, there was Toto, the third Pinoy nurse, taking care of me. He said to relax and that the procedure went well, and that I needed to stay an hour more in Recovery before he could wheel me back up to the GYN ward where O and E were waiting. As I groggily became aware of things, the male nurse from OR came and gave me a slip of paper, on which was his wife’s mobile number. I took it and smiled at him. Turns out that Toto knows some of the Pinoys in my RC parish, and we talked about our mutual acquaintances as I steadily became more alert.
Toto personally wheeled me up to my room, not leaving me to the brash, impersonal, white male attendant who was usually tasked to do this. My reunion with O and E was happy, and after I drank, ate, rested and gone to the loo, I was able to dress in my street clothes and was discharged without any problems.
All of the treatment I received that day was absolutely free on the NHS (National Health Service), which was great, since at least some of the exorbitant taxes we pay to the UK government trickles down to us in a useful manner. Unlike back home where, I’m sad to admit, we paid taxes but rarely got anything concrete or substantial back in return.
I thank God for O, for his support and love and prayers, for how he took care of E while I was indisposed that day, and how he encouraged me to have faith in God’s healing power. I guess I’m tougher, too, than I thought I am, because I walked out of that hospital on my own two feet and was strong enough to ride a bus instead of a taxi. O was insisting on calling a cab because he didn’t want me to walk home from the bus stop, so we struck a deal: We would ride a bus to town (half of the way home), and catch a taxi from the town centre so I needn’t walk up our long road. Once home, I rang up my friend and fellow Pinay schoolmum who was watching over B after school that day, and after she brought B home, and I’d given B a nice, long hug, I fell soundly asleep in my own bed.
Next day, as I was still shaking off the effects of the anaesthesia, she brought B home from school as well. Praise the Lord for generous friends like her! And praise the Lord for making mums stronger than they think they are, because once the anaesthesia was flushed out of my system the following day, I was back to my old routine once more, school run and all. I’ll say it again: Praise the Lord!
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
River Got Stuck in a Bog
A bog called the Summer Hols. Couldn't blog during summer break, folks, sorry bout that. But now I'm back. At least I hope so.
Aim to blog more regularly now that school's in. But with my unpredictable housewifery schedule, don't hold your breath. Interruptions come without a moment's notice, and as you know, with young children, their every little concern is urgent and important, to them at least. And there are gazillion other intrusions, welcome or unwelcome, throughout the day.
Like now, for instance. The groceries I ordered online have just been delivered. Gotta unpack and store them properly before the frozen chicken thaws! Get back to you in a bit.
Aim to blog more regularly now that school's in. But with my unpredictable housewifery schedule, don't hold your breath. Interruptions come without a moment's notice, and as you know, with young children, their every little concern is urgent and important, to them at least. And there are gazillion other intrusions, welcome or unwelcome, throughout the day.
Like now, for instance. The groceries I ordered online have just been delivered. Gotta unpack and store them properly before the frozen chicken thaws! Get back to you in a bit.
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