Living in the Philippines is mildly depressing.
It’s the depression of lowering my expectations countless times. Of never being able to take a stand when being fucked with by a local – or worse, of taking a stand which only guarantees I’ll be fucked with three times as bad should our paths ever cross again. Of finding a reliable source of a minor pleasure then seemingly having the system take it away once it was noticed. Of feeling like a target. Of hearing yet another foreigner being shot or stabbed. Of joking that I don’t know which is worse, getting salmonella or being treated for it by a Filipino doctor.