When I began to tell my friends and family that I'd be living in Okinawa, I heard nothing but praise about how much fun I'd have here. Between my dad (who was stationed here while working in the Navy) and various friends and cousins who have lived here (all on the government dime!), everyone told me that I would love it here. To their merit, they weren't liars! With all the good eats, breathtaking sights, and its fascinating culture, Okinawa truly is an experience to itself. While there isn't a day that passes by that I don't think to myself how truly fortunate I am to live and learn in such a wonderful and peaceful part of the world, I'm somewhere between being really ecstatic and also painfully anxious over the process of adjusting to this place thousands of miles (and dollars) away from home.
First, it's understandable for anyone to get a little homesick. After all, it is a stressful experience in itself to move from one place to another, let alone adjust to a completely alien environment where the subtleties of the local language and customs escape one's understanding. The experience is compounded when you take into account that as a military spouse, you're not there for your own career, you're following your husband's (or wife's) career. Now, I'm not saying that as a military spouse (or any kind of spouse for that matter), one resigns a sense of autonomy, but there is a clear difference between "going" versus "following".
Second, and perhaps the most annoying aspect to living in military communities is that there is this very specific stereotype of Filipino women who are married to Americans. It is assumed, primarily by the soldiers themselves, that the woman is probably a former PROSTITUTE.
/facepalm
As if there is no chance in the world a nice, college-educated Filipina-American could or would even want to marry someone because they actually love someone who just so happens to be a soldier. O_O
From my understanding, the assumption comes from soldiers who, when serving a tour in Southeast Asian countries, encounter Asian bargirls who refer to themselves as "juicy girls". Not all of these bargirls act as prostitutes but the stereotype is all the same. There have been a couple of times where my husband has been asked if I was "picked up" in Korea or the Philippines and I swear, sometimes it makes me question the merit of even having a college degree (from one of the top universities, mind you!) if I can't smash it in the face of the next ignorant jerk who assumes that I have lived a life far removed from what I have actually lived.
I'm not even going to waste the energy into writing an essay on how I wish the world was less judgmental or how people need to listen before they speak to save themselves the embarrassment of looking like an asshole. However, I am going to say that life here, as a wife and as an individual, is challenging. It is incredibly scary to rest the future of one's fate in the hands of another person's career goals. Especially for me, who has spent the majority of my life learning how to be a leader. While I accepted to live a life married to someone in a mobile career, part of that love is living with the challenge of constantly being uprooted and transplanted. In that state of disorientation, not only must one build a foundation for the family, but also transcend the negativity (both within and outside oneself) and find a way to grow as an individual.
In spite of it all, I consider myself an optimist. As I drift through this country, trying to keep my head above water while trying to figure out what opportunities are available for me here, I am reminded of the night I was consumed by a piece of candy.
This takes place about a year ago. In the company of one of my childhood friends, we spent the evening evening eating ramen and talking about my insecurities about living the mobile life and the fear that by constantly moving, I might be missing out on great things if I had just stayed home. At the end of the night, we stopped by a candy store and my friends picked up a bag of the most delicious milky, chewy candy. It was chewy like a Hi-chew, with gummi and fizzy tart pieces in the middle of each piece. Every bite was savory and comforting, engaging in sensory overload of the palate. It was the most exciting candy I had ever tasted since Pop Rocks.When I arrived in Japan, I looked for the same candy in every store I visited. I searched every candy aisle, only to be stumped by the fact that 1) I can't read Japanese and 2) I didn't even know the candy's name. All I knew was that its packaging was blue and white and might have some sort of circular designs on its packaging. Of all the places I searched, I eventually found the candy again at the local commissary; hidden in an area full of Japanese treats. There are perhaps hundreds of different kinds of candies here in Japan and it didn't take me too long before I found exactly what I was looking for. When I found this, I swear, it was like the scene in Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory, where Charlie unwraps his chocolate bar and finds he's the lucky winner of the golden ticket. I danced in joy and sang my happiness over finding MY candy! In that moment, I truly believed that if I can find exactly the type of candy I'm looking for, despite not knowing how to read Japanese, I can find anything.
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