The headline on CNN.com today said "Sources: Major Terror Attack Possible This Summer". The story goes on to speculate that an attack could occur on the fourth, before elections, or at any other of the sundry gatherings occurring in America from now ad infinitum. Such is the band-aid that Americans have accepted – the illusion that there will be a return to “normalcy”. I find the assertion that life will (or should) continue on as before dubious at best. Nope. We are nearing a watershed; things are changing and will change further, whether we like it or not.

A more valuable question than "When and where will the next terrorist action occur?" may be, "How are our current activities reinforcing and creating sympathies for terrorists and their causes?" A focus on the former precludes self-examination, a process that is as important to the health of a nation as it is for an individual. The truth of the matter is that we, Americans, do not exist in a vacuum. People have opinions of us, perhaps influenced more by television than actual interaction, but opinions (with corresponding emotions) nonetheless. What people have seen over the last two years has not done much to further the image of Americans as a moral, trustworthy people. This, in the last few weeks, has become increasingly apparent.

Humbleness has been an acknowledged virtue from time immemorial. The value of humbleness is lost only to the detriment of those stubborn individuals who harbor its antonym: pride. So too follows the fate of nations. Humbleness does not mean bowing out in the face of danger, but it does recognize that rights do not spring forth, in any stage of development, from the heads of wrongs. Neither does humbleness need to justify its paths by its results. Neither does it need to go about its business in secret.

Posting notices of possible terrorist attack circumvents the real issues facing us today and glosses over a deeper need. How we conduct ourselves in the world, now as always, will affect how our neighbors choose to interact with us. We seem to have taken a wrong turn - correcting such a mistake is much better option than blindly forging ahead.

It’s done. The tickets for my return to the States, graciously donated by Grandma Pieper, are all set. Today I purchased the domestic tickets from Travelocity (Though reluctantly, online airfare outlets always frighten me; “This ticket is NONREFUNDABLE, so don’t SCREW THIS UP!” “Are you sure you want to buy this? Wait a few more days, it might be cheaper…” “Click here to read all forty pages of conditions.” “Fax your signature in blood to the following number...”). Even though I won’t be getting on a plane for another six weeks, my heart is palpitating as though it’s tomorrow and no more clean underwear resides in my closet. I’m sweating bullets.

If this is the first that you’ve heard of my “vacation” in the States, it’s probably because I haven’t made any incredible effort to disseminate the news. I’m not sure why, but the whole process has been approached with a certain degree of trepidation on my part. Things are going to be weird. Questions will be asked, and answers expected. Playing dumb won’t cut it. To boot, it isn’t as though this has taken me by surprise (the international flights were nailed down last February) so there’s no excuse there.

“Peter, so, what have you been doing for the last year and a half?”
“Do you act as a respectable ambassador for the United States?”
“Is everyone poor?”
“That’s how my taxpayer’s dollars are spent?”
“What do the bathrooms look like?”
“Where is the Philippines? Do people wear fig leaves?”
“Why are you still so white? Damn!”

I’m sure there are perfectly good explanations for all of these questions, save the last.

Uncertainty about function and place has become chronic. The moment I think it’s all figured out, something changes. It was an important step to sit at home and considered what two years in a strange country would be like, to intellectually face the difficulties, and yet quite another to be here. What happened to all the wonderful ideas that foundered? Where have these infinitesimal steps taken me? And then to be expected to have constructive, reasoned things to say about it (or even worse, something to show for it!)? I’m not so concerned that people will not be satisfied if certain questions are difficult to answer – perhaps I would be suspect if it was all already worked out! Personal dissatisfaction is what concerns me - not just in the description of the thing, but the thing itself. Being frustrated with oneself is not an easy situation to resolve; it takes time. Resolution will not arrive before July, regardless of the meantime activities.

This is not to say that talking about the last year is a subject to be avoided! On the contrary, I hope that by facing these confused and complicated issues some sense can be made. Resolution, to whatever degree, can occur; at the very least, a renewed sense of purpose may be found. No matter how much one loves their job or hobby, a recharge is necessary from time to time. Over all, that is the function I see this homecoming as serving. Renewal. To be with the people who have mattered so much for so long, but who have been physically distant for the last 16 months. That is what I’m really looking forward to, with no reservations. That, and cheese curds.

Even with my heavy sweat, I’m relieved to have finished one more piece of the puzzle – the picture just became that much clearer.

The weather continues to be silly hot. The heat is only exacerbated by the fact that my spring has dried up for the summer. The summer that started three months ago and won't end for three more. It's not so bad really, I've learned how to bathe, wash clothes, and cook rice (in that order) with a coffee cup full of water. I figure that the dirt in the rice helps clean my teeth too, though that hypothesis has not been scientifically proven.

I think that I may have heard I Will Survive for the one millionth time today - exactly. If videoke in the home and bar wasn't enough, then videoke game shows certainly are. The best part is that the people who sing on TV are no better than the drunk guys in the corner bar - it's about feeling, not singing prowess. Total Eclipse of the Heart, I Will Survive, and Two Less Lonely People in the World are the most popular songs against which to test one's mettle. I prefer the classics Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and Bah Bah Black Sheep whenever I'm on the mic. I used to try the Eric Clapton and Allman Brother's tunes hidden away in the dark recesses of the machine, but children's songs have proven to be the crowd pleasers. I'm an entertainer, what can I say?

In that regard, I've been toying with the idea of recording a six or eight song CD while here. There are several recording studios nearby, and the process would be considerably cheaper (5-10 USD), as compared with studio time in the states (insert ridiculous amount here _______). The only thing that gives me pause is the instrument - it isn't exactly up to snuff and I would like to end up with a decent product. Paying full price for a brand new guitar isn't an option and requesting one from home isn't practical. Perhaps I could rent an instrument for the duration of the recording? It's exciting to think about in any case; the idea of being home with a decent demo of my most recent stuff in hand is appealing. Since playing out is something that I want to do having a representative recording would help move the process along.

Today the Philippines takes to the polls, and it's possible that it'll end up California style. Fernado Poe, Jr. (or FPJ) is the main contender against the incumbent, GMA. I rather doubt that his presidency would bode well for the country (any more than GMA's?) - he has no experience in politics, has less than a high school education, hasn't made many firm stands on how he will tackle tough issues (corruption in the government, overpopulation, poverty, pollution, terrorism, et cetera), and seems to be running primarily on the popularity of his movies. At least Arnie had a few ideas about how he would do things and would field questions. Besides, how could you not trust the Terminator?

I've been reading V.S. Naipaul's The Writer and the World for the past week or so. At first I was interested, but have now grown a little tired. Naipaul's tendency to over generalize and make vague connections between former colonial lands has been heavy handed throughout the essays; this was not so noticeable in the larger subject matter of Among the Believers, though broad generalizations about Islam were present there too. In the one essay that I did enjoy, "Michael X and the Black Power Killings of Trinidad", he approached the story like a story, laying back on his social commentary. Perhaps it came out so well since he's from Trinidad. He's well read and well traveled. For Naipaul, these pursuits have brought the world's disparities to the fore; he picks and chooses those which he most wants to see.

It’s hot. So hot that the coconut quietly resting (napping, no doubt) on the outside table cracked, spilling its water everywhere. I was planning to make milk from the meat for this or that dinner but crying wasn’t an option (making fresh coconut milk is a thoroughly enjoyable process – and when the milk turns out well one has every right to feel proud). The nearby spring’s flow has diminished even as the average temperature rises, and I wouldn’t want to be accused of wasting water. So, after munching on mature coconut flesh for lunch it became apparent that a trip to poblacion was in order. It was just too hot to sit in that metal coffin of a house any longer.

It’s been three months, give or take, since the last monthly update. While it was good to write once a month the inevitable occurred – it became a chore, one more difficult to perform with each installment. There were several reasons for that (one of which was not a loss of desire to share this experience, somehow, with you). One, the end of the month doesn’t necessarily correlate with an occurrence of import or interest, two, I never actually asked if anyone wanted to receive them, and three, increasingly more difficult issues with development, politics, et cetera were/are swirling around my brain making it hard to maintain an accurate portrayal of my psyche/life – both internally and externally. The last letter I tried to type was decidedly negative, though my feelings were not fully lodged on that end of the spectrum – it just so happened that the thoughts then entertained required, uhm, less than sunny language. Negative thoughts need to be aired; unfortunately I found the context of the monthly update too uncomfortable to proceed. So I stopped.

Here we are now. After much thought on how to continue, I decided that this format, i.e. blog, would be a more appropriate medium to voice my thoughts and opinions with interested persons. The weblog seems infinitely more flexible and adaptable to both the environment in which I live and the types of things worth talking about - that is terribly important. I can update the page from any computer with Internet access – meaning, no longer do I have to prearrange access to my office (this will hopefully allow the creative juices to flow making for a less clinical and sterile reading experience). You can visit at your leisure, read what you want, and leave without having to download files or anything else (especially if my updates were arriving unwanted – finally, guilt free!). My ambition is to write something every other week or so, as the muse dictates or my mom requests.

I’d like to have a picture component to this page at some point, and am still exploring options. If anything changes, this’ll be the place to find out. For now, text only is fine – I’ll just have to try and paint pictures with words. Here, we’ll give it a shot: the sky, the color of troubled ocean, outlines the diminutive frame of an old man – possibly older than dirt. He may actually be dirt, it’s hard to tell due to the cracks and fissures etched into the heels of his feet, canyon-like in their own right, big toes pigeon-toed until parallel with his nipples from never wearing shoes. Despite the heat his cloths are decidedly mountain – torn jeans, dusty from passing trucks, and a “Pantera” shirt covered by a second hand flannel. This strange marriage between Seattle and Texas is not often seen outside the US - I feel lucky. Obviously, the Pantera shirt was purchased at a concert. His eyes, bloodshot by age and alcohol, are squinting slits as he proudly displays teeth to make a dentist faint – “Yes!” he says as I pass by on a bike, “Always and forever!” Yup. Always and forever.