California, 2007

California, here we come,
Right back where we started from…

Yeah, I know it’s a stupid show, but there are days when I can’t get The OC’s theme song out of my head. Right back where we started from.

Me and my brother, we were born in the Bay Area. Family left to go back to the Philippines in ‘76, despite martial law. Haven’t been back in the US for over twenty-seven years, until I decided to buy myself a vacation in San Francisco two years ago, on my thirtieth birthday.

And now we’ve come back. Of course, things are a lot different after thirty years.

Things are a lot different since my last entry here - a lot can happen in two weeks.

Moved to a new apartment, in San Francisco, for one. My brother found a job, for another. He wasn’t going to commute from Fairfield to San Jose every day. Hence the move to SF.

New car, for another. Cheapest Honda we could find. Sure, my brother claims we can make the payments. I’m not that confident we’ll make the rent, insurance, utilities and other expenses by the end of the month, but hey, he’s the one bringing in the money, who am I to argue?

Things change, things stay the same. I’m back to the same situation I was two months ago. Sitting in a nearly empty apartment, looking for work. Right back where I started from.

San Francisco is a little better than LA in this regard, though. Better mass transit systems, for one.

More jobs advertised, of course, here in Silicon Valley. Even in the aftermath of the dot-com crash, there are still quite a few startups. A bit more cautious, of course, and paying far, far less.

Of course, far, far more people looking for work. Jora tells me it’s just summer, lots of new graduates, job market will loosen up in a few months.

At my last interview, I was told there were fifty other resumes on the table for the same position. Of course, he also told me most of them weren’t as qualified as I was, but still… among fifty people, there’s bound to be a couple who are smarter, better than me.

And it only takes one resume better than mine before I get that rejection call. "We’re sorry, but we’ve decided to go with one of the other candidates."

Everybody keeps telling me to buck up and to not lose hope. I guess that’s the standard response to learning someone is out of work. I just wish someone would tell me the cold hard truth for once.

    There is nothing for you here. Go back home.

Feh. In the meantime, I’m here to empirically answer the question: is it easier to be a wealthy person in a poor country, or a poor person in a wealthy country?

I’ve never been much for materialism. I’d had a low-paying job for most of my life. People here are shocked when I tell them I used to work for less than $300 a month for over ten years.

Never owned a car. Lived with my parents. Got by on less than $20 a week.

But the quality of life… fresh air. Walking to work. Lunch and dinner out three, four times a week. Out for drinks or partying every weekend.

Enough disposable income to maintain a state-of-the-art computer system. DSL. Sixty channels on cable. My own personal phone line. A nice cellphone.

All nice. But then, there is nothing in life so precious that it cannot be taken from you.

Now, I’m here in one of the most expensive cities on the planet. Studio apartment. No computer of my own. Just enough money for bus fare. Barely enough income to keep up with the bills.

Back to where we started from. I am thirty-two, and I am starting my career from scratch.

I guess I need to get out more. Take a walk in the park. Go to museums. Do the tourist thing.

Heck, just enjoy the view. Our apartment has a balcony, overlooking the golf course to the west. Beyond that is the beach, within easy walking distance. Or Lake Merced, just across the street. One of these days my brother wants to try hang gliding from Fort Funston.

Thing is, it all boils down to money. In a poor country, there aren’t too many things to enjoy, but the best things in life are cheap. Here, there are lots and lots of things to want, but you need money to play.

Ignorance may be bliss, if you’re happy in some third-world country, as long as you don’t know what you’re missing. But here in the First World, there isn’t much to do if you’re not keeping up with the neighbors. Bigger cars, bigger plasma TVs.

An apartment is just a box you rent to keep your stuff in. Once you get more stuff, you start looking for a bigger box. Get enough stuff, and soon you’re looking to buy a box of your own, out in the suburbs.

Spend all your time making money so you don’t feel bad about your neighbors having more stuff than you. Throw your old stuff away when you’re tired of it. Buy bigger, better, shinier stuff.

I’d hate to end up like that. Which is why I’m probably going back home to the Philippines someday. Maybe to work, maybe to retire.

Maybe soon.

This entry was posted on Friday, August 19th, 2005 at 12:21 am and is filed under Life. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.