You're in my space, and I love it
There is no word for "privacy" in Tagalog. Neither can you tell someone in Tagalog that you missed them in their absence without having to resort to Taglish: "Na-miss kita."
"That's because people are always together," explains one friend. "How can you miss anyone when you're always hanging out?"
Indeed. It's hard to miss your Filipino family, for instance, because you tend to live with them pretty much till the day they (or you) die. Mid- to upper-middle families often settle down in miniature gated communities where houses are clustered around a central courtyard. About three-quarters of my friends--who are in their mid-twenties to early thirties--live with their parents or siblings, often in the same house that their parents grew up in.
When I arrived at the Ninoy Aquino International Airport from a two-month visit to Vancouver, the plane that I was on was packed, and the situation got worse at the luggage carousel, so much so that this one woman---dressed in faux fatigue, she had cropped hair and spoke in a tone that in the Philippines would mean, "Don't mess with me"---actually pushed her cart INTO MINE.
Let me illustrate:
I was pretty incensed. How could she possible push the squarish protrusion at the end of her cart into the squarish opening behind mine?! I felt like someone violated not only my privacy but my cart's as well.
Labels: lost in translation


