I have to admit, there really is something that feels different as a minority. I forget all about it until I go somewhere like Cleveland and suddenly discover that I'm the only white person on the bus. I felt it again as I came into the lobby of the airport here in Manila last night. A sea of mellow-toned faces awaited, pressed against the glass walls that funneled arrivals into a smaller, easier-to-guard exit, perhaps in anticipation of visiting family members coming from any one of the many parts of the world that some 12 million Filipino people have spread to. Once I got past the intimidation factor, however, there was a certain joy I felt in the inescapable fact that I was now in a foreign country. My Grandpa helped prepare me, I suppose, in
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