Due to random sequence of events, I ended up having doing the most unusually, out of character things - particularly, (1) crashing a (apparently) private party, and then (2) spending most of the night conversing with a French guy named Hugo about life, culture crosses borders, and exchange rates.
Since everyone was having a hard time keeping up an English conversation with Hugo (as well as understanding his accent), they nudged me, the American, to keep talking to him.
In the States, people of color are treated differently. Despite the movements for racial equality, there are still so many instances where a person of color, be it black, mexican, chinese, filipino, will be looked down upon. As if we’re second rate citizens escaping from our third world country because the pay is better working as a cashier at KMart. It doesn’t matter that I’m more educated, have better taste, have read and memorized British poetry, or that I understand what happens in your body when you breathe, when your heart beats, when you eat, when you die. Despite all the efforts, the racism still lingers in some small corners of the country, and I oftentimes get slower service at restaurants.
In the Philippines, people of (white) color are treated differently. They are treated like princes - always greeted with a “Good morning, Sir,” always given the fastest service, always have someone to hold the door open for them, someone to clean their rooms, to feed them, drive them, wipe their ass, sleep with them at night. As Hugo said, he doesn’t understand why he is treated like royalty just because of his white skin (but since he’s on vacation, he really isn’t complaining). But really, it’s just skin, he says. People assume he has money (which was proven evident when my friends expected them to pay for our drinks that night before they left; they gave only 200, about as much as we each payed. equality!). I almost attempted to explain to him what “colonial mentality” meant, but I figured that the night was getting late and a lengthy philosophical conversation might put the poor guy to sleep. We agreed that the whole “prince treatment” was because of the exchange rate - a middle class French guy like Hugo can afford more than most in the Philippines, even if he lives almost like a pauper in Paris.
I even had the audacity to even ask him about healthcare in France (NERD! i was craving intellectual conversation :( i’m growing tired of gossip). He said it’s more complicated than simple being “free,” but for the most part, every single healthcare expense is covered by your state tax. He thought for a moment and said, “In fact, the state really takes care of the poor. The poor have a great life in France! Even if you don’t work, and you won’t have to worry about housing or food. They’ll take care of you.” I think it made him reassess just how social welfare affects the struggling middle class man, who goes to business school in hopes of becoming successful in the future just to have his tax Euros go to the lazy bum on the street.
I then realized that the commercialized romantic Paris would be a lovely place to visit & way too expensive to live in.
