Living in Suburbia

(Based on a true story)

For years (27 to be exact) I have been developing a love-hate relationship with my living in the suburbs all my life. I can honestly say that I would have missed all the quirky, fun stuff that I got to experience in my childhood if I didn't have the roaming-Crock-Pot-ish upbringing.

 

Suburbanhood of the Travelling Crock Pot.

Why a "roaming Crock-Pot?" If you didn't know something about suburban life, it's that local gossip circulates almost as fast as a neighbor's crockpot.

From time to time, a neighbor will be at our doorstep, err, overbearingly cold gates, hoping to invite him/herself over inside the house using the stuffed cooker he/she is holding, plus deadly words like, "It's my son's birthday!" or "I miscalculated the vegetables," or "Can I borrow your extension cord?" It's the typical one-two-combo bait that you can never ever dodge.

Scumbag neighbor asks to borrow some salt, stays until after-dinner dessert. 

The vaguer the self-invitation the more you're compelled to open your door to them and before you know it, they're sitting on your couch, drinking your orange juice, looking at some family photos on the wall, judging you based on how many horse figurines you have in the living room. It just goes by so fast you don't have time to react.

 

For some reason, there's always an Edna in every subdivision.

It gets really tricky because after all that chit-chat and unwanted discussion of Mrs. de la Cruz's Bermuda grass, you're dying to get rid of your nosy neighbor and you forget about transferring the vegetables to another container, and you're debating whether or not to return the pot that afternoon or the next day or the next summer.

Lucky for us, we knew how to handle that kind of situation--we'd "return" it to our OTHER neighbor with a "thank you" note, and let our help do all the lying for us (best use for a loyal help!). It not only stopped the circulating gossip, it also managed to build our notoriety, as the idiots who forget stuff easily. Last time I checked, Crock-Pots cost around $50 to $100 a piece. How long did it take for the pot to get to the real owner? Don't know, don't care. 

Greets you with a Good Morning then asks why haven't you moved your bowels today yet? *shivers*

But don't get me wrong, I love this side of the city and would still prefer living here for a number of reasons: 1. it's ideal for walking the dogs, 2. the air is cleaner and cooler, and 3. the people you live next-door with, despite their eerie friendliness and complete knowledge of your daily routine (sometimes, including bowel movement) are still ultimately more tolerable than the obvious psychos you'll encounter in the city proper every day.

Ah yes, Manila suburbia--a place where "outpoliting" the co-residents, decorating for the Holidays, and beating the mandatory curfew are a sport. What's not to love?

-Soc 

I came from the city – the bustling, crowded, noisy city.

Not that it would make much of a difference because my parents decided to move us into the suburbs when I was 7 but, I wanted an impact for my first sentence. Moreover, Soc already claimed the forever suburban girl image already so of course, I shall take on the role of the cool city girl.

Heee! I amuse myself greatly at times.

Dancing crowd optional, until the Association decides to do some community building exercise.

Being a cool city girl who was transported from the hustle and bustle to the sweet calmness of the suburbs, let’s just say, I was somewhat taken by surprise. It was one of my earliest memories but, I remember lying at night and listening for sounds. There was no one screaming like bloody murder at 3am, there were no sounds of car alarms blaring, or cats meowing like there’s no tomorrow. In short, it was probably one of the best sleeps I ever had in my life. I was 7, I can adapt easily.

We all wish we look like this when we bike around the village.

You can say that I’ve grown to love living in the suburbs. I can bike without fearing that a truck would appear out of nowhere, I could wear white summer dresses in a Mediterranean styled mall without seeing people look at me weirdly, I can walk my dogs while I smile hello at the early morning jogger. Yes, my childhood sounds like a TV show montage and it probably was. All the more because alcohol has probably washed away my childhood memories even more and I can only remember bits and pieces of it.

I would make more comparisons but Old Manila isn’t New York so it would probably make me sound pretentious.

They sit there, eating their expensive organic salad and then, they look at you with so much judgement in their eyes.

I have yet to experience the dark side of living in the suburbs but while I already grew up here, I would still find unexplainable, weird phenomena like the pique shirted, white Capri pants wearing group of moms who hang out at the al fresco restaurants with almost the same bobbed haircut gossiping about the latest achievement of their children. I don’t mind the gossiping but the almost the same clothes and the same haircut? Was there a bulk sale at Lacoste I didn’t know about or a kind of cult of bob hair styles? How about the overly large cars that people insist on using to clog the already small roads? Or how they won’t give up wearing Crocs? Oh god, why?!

Suburgatory: Raising expectations that we have gorgeous shirtless boys washing our cars. 

Truth: We're too lazy, we have car washes for that.

The series Suburgatory probably best describes the living in well, the suburbs. One difference though is I’ve not really met a lot of people addicted to plastic surgery because they said that having botox injections is not part of it which when you think about it is kind of logical since there are no surgeries going on but ah, well.

- Tula