The MV Explorer crew, while serving an almost entirely white American academic population, is 65% Filipino. As the current lone Filipino-(Australian)-American student on the ship (at least to our collective knowledge), I can't help but be compelled to learn how they've come to the ship, to hear their saga, and to tell their stories with you. In my opinion, Filipinos abroad and Filipino-Americans alike should all consider themselves part of a collective struggle to thrive in a world unlike them, and should strive to know that no matter where outside the Philippines we are, we don't struggle alone. I won't be using their real names since I didn't explicitly ask their permission to write about them, but these are true stories, for the most part, with some slight dramatization on mine.
*****
It is two o'clock in the morning, yet back home it was only ten in the evening. The seas were as calm as they had been in days, no longer does Neptune rock us gently to sleep. Restless and frustrated, I left my room and made my way to the piano bar, the MV Explorer's equivalent to the 7-11. Climbing up three stories of silent, empty stairs usually filled by chatty Americans felt eerie and abnormal, yet calming at the same time.
The piano bar wasn't quite as empty. In one corner, a group of college girls were packing up, finished with a late night study session. At a table in the center, a white couple chatted the night away. The other side of the bar's lights were out. It was different, yet reminiscent of late hours back on campus.
There wasn't anyone visible behind the bar, though I assumed someone was in the open storage room. As I sat down, I passed the janitor vacuuming the carpets, and greeted him as I often do with the stewards, servers, and busboys, "Kumusta po." He then said hello, and yelled into the bar, "Customer!" and proceeded with his nightly work.
Through the door comes a Filipina, dressed in the typical waitress uniform with a light sweater. She stood at the average height of Filipino women I knew, not particularly tall but certainly not a nymph. She was somewhere between her mid-20s to mid-30s; she still had her looks, but a couple lines of time were visible.
I greet her the same as I did the janitor, and she asks me what I care to have. I glare at the wall of goods, filled with treats both salty and sweet, and decided on a cup of noodles. She heated up some water, poured it into the foam cup, fixes a fork on the brim, and puts it in front of me, as she proceeds with her nightly work.
She slowly, yet diligently cleans the cappuccino machine, the counter tops and the work area. At two in the morning, there is no rush. Her hands move in circular motion, but her facial expression doesn't, displaying some combination of fatigue and slight discontent.
As I slurp away my cup, a couple of college boys introduce themselves to her. Judging from how active and peppy they were at this time at night, I might have guessed that they were from the west coast. The guys turned their attention to me and ask my name. I promptly respond. They bid adieu, with more commons wording, and disappeared into the night, probably to bother some girl or something.
Now knowing my name, the waitress asked where I'm from, and where in the Philippines my parents are from. And thus she found company for an hour of her shift, and I found a window into the life of the crew on the boat.
***
The high concentration of Filipinos on the MV Explorer is not by sheer coincidence; rather, recruiting agencies find jobs for these Filipinos for the ship. This is actually an industry practice; the waitress herself has been on the even bigger cruises before, and is on her second contract with Semester At Sea. The Filipinos work under contract for these boats for seven or ten month periods. Once the contract is up, the Filipinos disembark, and find their way back to the homeland to see their family.
The waitress won't stand for being away from home for ten months; she would rather have time to see her growing six-year-old son, who lives with her parents in the homeland. Both she and her husband are up and abroad, her husband working on another bigger cruise line. She misses both her son and husband like anyone would, and hopes to be united with her family soon.
That said, there's no shortage of Filipino activity on the ship, albeit away from my own eyes. On a ship with this many Filipinos, accommodations are made to make everyone feel like home. The crew has their own private area. They have their own mess hall with food the Filipino chef picks, so often times they have kanin, sinigang, and chicken or pork adobo. Unfortunately, due to regulations, food could not be moved from their area to ours. I couldn't help but gawk when I hear of the homestyle food that I cannot enjoy.
They also find their own ways of passing the time. They have an area where they keep a drum set and a guitar. If you are or know a Filipino, you would understand how much music is a part of life. Karaoke parties are the norm, apparently, and any member of the crew could walk in, have a laugh, and sing some songs. Can you tell how jealous I am?
Of course, the ship is not a cruise for those who don't pay enough for it to be. Every crew member has to put in his share of work, sometimes at terrible hours, as shown, and like us, are cut off from the world for the most part, with the exception of email. A common practice in port is often an entire crowd of the crew would flock to the nearest place where they can get free wireless internet. In that respect they're not so different from the students.
After all the food talk, she did reveal one way I could get my hands on some adobo. Apparently Filipino kids on past voyages were able to simply talk to the chef to get him to cook adobo for them; I tried it later that day, and we'll see how far that goes. She advised that I might not find the food up to par to my own standards, since I cook adobo when I'm at home, but I answered that even mass produced adobo is good in and of itself.
Contact: afrancisco@semesteratsea.net
(Teresita)
*****
It is two o'clock in the morning, yet back home it was only ten in the evening. The seas were as calm as they had been in days, no longer does Neptune rock us gently to sleep. Restless and frustrated, I left my room and made my way to the piano bar, the MV Explorer's equivalent to the 7-11. Climbing up three stories of silent, empty stairs usually filled by chatty Americans felt eerie and abnormal, yet calming at the same time.
The piano bar wasn't quite as empty. In one corner, a group of college girls were packing up, finished with a late night study session. At a table in the center, a white couple chatted the night away. The other side of the bar's lights were out. It was different, yet reminiscent of late hours back on campus.
There wasn't anyone visible behind the bar, though I assumed someone was in the open storage room. As I sat down, I passed the janitor vacuuming the carpets, and greeted him as I often do with the stewards, servers, and busboys, "Kumusta po." He then said hello, and yelled into the bar, "Customer!" and proceeded with his nightly work.
Through the door comes a Filipina, dressed in the typical waitress uniform with a light sweater. She stood at the average height of Filipino women I knew, not particularly tall but certainly not a nymph. She was somewhere between her mid-20s to mid-30s; she still had her looks, but a couple lines of time were visible.
I greet her the same as I did the janitor, and she asks me what I care to have. I glare at the wall of goods, filled with treats both salty and sweet, and decided on a cup of noodles. She heated up some water, poured it into the foam cup, fixes a fork on the brim, and puts it in front of me, as she proceeds with her nightly work.
She slowly, yet diligently cleans the cappuccino machine, the counter tops and the work area. At two in the morning, there is no rush. Her hands move in circular motion, but her facial expression doesn't, displaying some combination of fatigue and slight discontent.
As I slurp away my cup, a couple of college boys introduce themselves to her. Judging from how active and peppy they were at this time at night, I might have guessed that they were from the west coast. The guys turned their attention to me and ask my name. I promptly respond. They bid adieu, with more commons wording, and disappeared into the night, probably to bother some girl or something.
Now knowing my name, the waitress asked where I'm from, and where in the Philippines my parents are from. And thus she found company for an hour of her shift, and I found a window into the life of the crew on the boat.
***
The high concentration of Filipinos on the MV Explorer is not by sheer coincidence; rather, recruiting agencies find jobs for these Filipinos for the ship. This is actually an industry practice; the waitress herself has been on the even bigger cruises before, and is on her second contract with Semester At Sea. The Filipinos work under contract for these boats for seven or ten month periods. Once the contract is up, the Filipinos disembark, and find their way back to the homeland to see their family.
The waitress won't stand for being away from home for ten months; she would rather have time to see her growing six-year-old son, who lives with her parents in the homeland. Both she and her husband are up and abroad, her husband working on another bigger cruise line. She misses both her son and husband like anyone would, and hopes to be united with her family soon.
That said, there's no shortage of Filipino activity on the ship, albeit away from my own eyes. On a ship with this many Filipinos, accommodations are made to make everyone feel like home. The crew has their own private area. They have their own mess hall with food the Filipino chef picks, so often times they have kanin, sinigang, and chicken or pork adobo. Unfortunately, due to regulations, food could not be moved from their area to ours. I couldn't help but gawk when I hear of the homestyle food that I cannot enjoy.
They also find their own ways of passing the time. They have an area where they keep a drum set and a guitar. If you are or know a Filipino, you would understand how much music is a part of life. Karaoke parties are the norm, apparently, and any member of the crew could walk in, have a laugh, and sing some songs. Can you tell how jealous I am?
Of course, the ship is not a cruise for those who don't pay enough for it to be. Every crew member has to put in his share of work, sometimes at terrible hours, as shown, and like us, are cut off from the world for the most part, with the exception of email. A common practice in port is often an entire crowd of the crew would flock to the nearest place where they can get free wireless internet. In that respect they're not so different from the students.
After all the food talk, she did reveal one way I could get my hands on some adobo. Apparently Filipino kids on past voyages were able to simply talk to the chef to get him to cook adobo for them; I tried it later that day, and we'll see how far that goes. She advised that I might not find the food up to par to my own standards, since I cook adobo when I'm at home, but I answered that even mass produced adobo is good in and of itself.
Contact: afrancisco@semesteratsea.net
(Teresita)
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