Moving to www.devinmickey.com

Hey everyone,

We are moving to www.devinmickey.com and follow me on twitter @devinmickeyblog. See you there!

-Devin Mickey

What the 2nd Most Dangerous Country in the World is Really Like

"I asked for a couch and in return I received lifelong friendships."

Contrary to international stereotypes of Colombia as a third-world plagued by drug cartels and violence, I find the complete opposite to be true. Colombia is a country rife with beautiful, natural landscapes, geological formations, whose amicable people embrace family, religion and most certainly dancing. I am fortunate to have CS hosts who are both professional dancers; spending a few days with them is like an unofficial Salsa Dance Boot Camp. We ate, we drank, we danced.

There are no words to describe the incredible Colombian love and hospitality. Danny’s family took me in like I was one of their own and not once had I felt like an outsider. They were not kidding at all when they said “Mi casa es su casa.” Another example is my host in Bogata, Sebastian, who slept with 3 of his friends in a full-size bed just so that I can have my own twin sized mattress in his room. I asked for a couch and I received lifelong friendships in return.

Another example is when I met Joanna and Sirini at a library café as I was transcribing some memories onto my laptop. We spoke the usuals in Spanish and spoke about each other’s country. Two hours flew by and the café was closing and Joey cordially invited me to accompany her shopping. I saw it as a great opportunity to see another part of Medellin and to learn more about the culture since she spoke some English. Interestingly but not awkwardly, she was shopping for bras.

Since we were in the area of where she lived, she invited me to meet her family. I figured that in the Colombian culture, as well as many others, it is an honor to be welcomed to someone’s home so I gladly accepted the offer. Her family was amazing. Joanna’s dad was a baker and has three other daughters. The family and I celebrated with shots of Aguadiente (Colombia’s signature liquor) welcoming the new year, “Feliz ano”! Arepas with cream cheese was served while we spoke in spanglish about the Colombia culture, politics and food. Again I felt at home in someone else’s home.

This is exactly what I sought for: my own perspective of a Colombia. The unfavorable public opinion is unfair, perpetuated by those who perceive the world through Hollywood films, who have never taken the chance to explore, assess and form their own opinion. Let me tell you, Colombia is a beautiful country with extraordinary people. I have never seen such selfless hospitality. Love for one’s spouse, family and friends is an incredible force, but such love for a foreign stranger is even more special, something that I will carry on with me as a characteristic souvenir on this journey of life.

Danny wearing my gift on my last night in Castilla, Medellin

 New Year's Eve with Danny's lovely family

Sebastian posing with his talent

A view of Medellin

I love these moments.

Traditional Colombian Dress. Que Linda!

I could sit here all day.

Guatape

Forget the taxi, I'll take the horse up the rock.

Trekking through Park Avri.

I will probably never see this ever again in my life...

Dia Tres

Medellin story # 1: Being thankful for...


At one of the highest vista points overlooking the the city of Medellin, I sat alone reflecting on the luxuries I am blessed with back home. And for luxury I mean, basic necessities like power, a sturdy roof and hot water. I thought about the moment I went to shower at my host's humble abode (but moderate indeed to the Colombia standard), and found a copper pipe penetrated through the wall with only one knob slight below it. I turned the knob and waited a few minutes for the the water to warm up until I realized that the homes in his neighborhood probably don't have boilers. I never asked my host if he had hot water; I am just grateful for running water alone.

Medellin story #2: I will probably never see this ever again in my life.

As I immersed in introspection on top of the valley, my silence was interrupted by rowdy laughter. I turned around and came running towards me were five unruly children with petty items in their hands (one had a belt and another with some sort of salvage metal). I thought this was it, the moment I was going to be robbed, and nothing makes a better bar story than being held up by children. As they approached me, I did what I always do on my endearing adventures off the beaten paths, I smiled, forcefully. I, then, started speaking to them and after discovering that I was American, they got very excited. The conversation then led to their favorite dance music, American celebrities, their age and other basic topics I remembered from my 2 years of Spanish class. They turned out to be a bunch of sweethearts.

Towards the end of encountering the cast of Lord of the Flies, from a distance galloping towards from the horizon was a white horse. I couldn't believe what I was witnessing. It was like a scene from the movies: The rider was an olive-skinned lady with long dark hair bouncing in a pink miniskirt. It was like any man's fantasy, a female counterpart of Fabio, with her hair tossing in the air, approaching towards you. Only this movie is not a romance film but a comedy. As she came closer to speak to the kids who were all amused with the horse, I realized that I will never see such a sight ever again. The rider was a man. A transvestite on a horse.

I actually have a video of this wondrous moment, stay tune for the uploads and stories

7 months in LA: On Maturity, Friendships and Inconspicuous Beauty

7 months in LA: On Maturity, Friendships and Inconspicuous beauty

My days in the golden state are numbered: seven days to be exact. After some time living in New York, I returned to Los Angeles past February in hopes for renewal of friendships, career opportunities and the chance to relive the cherished memories as a bachelor in the entertainment capital of the world. I have proudly reached the first objective reconnecting with close friends like John, Jennifer and others, but in dismay, I did not achieve the latter. Entry to promising careers were scarce. More importantly, I learned that some memories cannot be relived and remade.

Life in LA as I remembered it, was eventful, care-free, exhilarating, and replete with pleasant surprises--unlike the five years in the Marines. While in New York, I dreamed of coming back and living as if I were 23 again. Except only--after much contemplation in the last seven months--I am no longer 23. I have grown not only in physical age but in mind, in spirit and in overall maturity. What thrilled me years ago bores me today, and at the same token, what I valued years ago became trivial to me today. My excitement to live here was quickly deflated. Hence, I learned that I had to take this opportunity in Philly; after all, leaving my comfort zone was always my preferred way to grow.

This is not to say that I did not enjoy my time in LA; I cherished every moment of it, particularly the time spent with close friends. Despite the residential brevity, I was reminded me that friends are not just social creatures whose lives has crossed yours just so you would have a partner in beer pong or to drink with.They are truly more than that. 2012 was a difficult year for me as for many unemployed college grads but it was my friends who provided the support, the comfort and their joyous company I needed to persevere. For those who know, I was rejected from Harvard grad school this year; I was disenchanted, devastated and lost. After hearing of my disappointment, my closest female confidant Jennifer rushed over after work with an edible souvenir and offered to go grocery shopping together. Something as simple as a fruit and her immediate company exemplifies what true friendship is. To say the least, she was alongside during each of my predicaments this year, and I cannot thank her enough. Who said guys and girls cannot be good friends?

In Los Angeles, beauty is omnipresent. Satisfying all the aesthetic senses are the palm trees, the trustworthy sun, the stunning beaches and the chiseled faces and bodies of Hollywood celebrities. However, these beauties are superficial. They appeal only to the human eye and do no grace to the human soul. Just like In my travels, I enjoy discovering and redefining beauty--whether it be a person, object, environment or deed--what many do not deem beautiful or even notice. In my second time living in Los Angeles, I discovered inconspicuous beauty and it is the people of Monday Night Mission.

Monday Night Mission is a group of selfless citizens of Los Angeles area from different walks of life coming together to serve our city's street-residents. Because it is not a registered non-profit, there is absolutely no formal recognition or any alternate motives by the volunteers: no tax write-offs, no letter of recommendations, no scholarships. Just ordinary people contributing extraordinarily out of their own pockets and kitchens to the community's most forgotten and needy. I am also heartfelt by the level of commitment contributed by the regulars. The main organizer Mel and the supporting organizers like Abraham and Michelle are there five nights a week, 52 weeks a year. The time, energy and funds offered by the organizers and the volunteers of MNM to care for strangers are acts of superheroes, deeds which popular culture do not write about in comics nor movies. And for that, I am inspired, grateful and perhaps optimistic that there exist still some bona fide people in today's Darwinist society.





Monday Night Mission

There is Something Beautiful in the Slums of Manila

There is Something Beautiful in The Slums of Manila

I walked through the poorest streets of Manila today. Tondo is known to be the slums of Rio De Janiero of Asia, isolated by the piers and inundated with the city’s trash and filth. It is virtually never visited by any outsiders, let alone tourists, and is an area that only Filipinos have heard of on the news. When I told some locals of my plan to visit the neighborhood, they fretted and looked at me with disbelief and concern. Tondo is notorious for its destitution and crime. One lady advised me to enter the slums with no personal accessories —watches, bags, jewelry—and any electronic items that will give away my foreign identity. The key to safety was to blend in as much as possible. The motherly figure went as far as instructing me to wear a dirty t-shirt with holes in it. I think her motive was to discourage me from making such an audacious trip, but in all honesty, the stakes and risks just gave me more reasons to go. I can’t think of anything more thrilling.

But putting my life in danger was not, or at least the sole, purpose of visiting Tondo. I have a close friend that was born and raised in Tondo and in each playful bickering, she tried to intimidate me by reminding me of her rough upbringing in the hood. I usually fire back with my could-have-been rap sheet, “I grew up in the streets of Brooklyn, the mecca of ghetto.” I too come from an underprivileged background, a grim neighborhood that was not safe to wander alone at night. But after today’s visit, Trina was right: Tondo was rough. I have never seen anything like it; the worst government projects, or ‘ghettos” of Brooklyn would be Beverly Hills compared to Tondo.

Tondo lacked the most basic public amenities and services: parks, street lights, sanitation or even running water. Walking through the road layered by extracted fuel and filth, I spotted a shirtless child pumping water from a well. Children, many covered in dirt, ran loosely and freely with nothing but skin under their feet. I am still curious whether some toddlers were naked because of the warm climate or if their parents were just too poor to cloth their newborns. Their homes were built by various sheet metals and auto parts and came in assorted shades of rusted gray. Some fortunate households owned televisions, a valued item that would entertain numerous families at the same time. The economy is self-sufficient. Families traded simple goods—fruits, fish, beer, meat—straight from the doorways of their humble huts.

I was fortunate to visit Tondo on a Sunday, the day that is culturally devoted to faith and family. Parents and their children alike engaged in social activities to pass time. In one alleyway was an all-female tug -of-war, possibly a competition between mothers from different blocks. In another was a line of anxious children pushing and shoving, impatiently waiting for their chance to swing at a piñata. The once-American top 40s—Filipinos sure love to “dougie”—were boisterously played and enjoyed by men dining, smoking and sipping on beer. Aside from music as a form of entertainment, the old love to watch their young perform. From a distance, the MJ song Thriller lured me to a little boy adorned in white gloves, black hat and the complete costume of the pop icon. His outfit was convincing, his dance-swagger captivating. If performed in the streets of Vegas, his dance routine would have easily attracted dozens of pedestrians, but in Tondo, it was only a show for four elderly members of his family.

The locals in Tondo are grateful for the simplest things. On a road lined by junkyards of recycled containers and bottles, I stumbled across a decrepit courtyard with a mob of children in laughter playing games administered by parents and chaperones. Parked on the side was an ice cream cart with its vendor and some infant consumers. Seeing the joy on the kids’ face when the red frost met their lips, I offered to buy five cups for the kids on the line. When the news spread, almost immediately, that a foreigner was providing desert, I was suddenly surrounded by tiny hands and puppy-faces behind them. Five cups of ice-cream became thirty cups, adding up to a bill of around 3 US dollars. Mothers and grand-mothers walked over to greet and thank me. I have never witnessed such delight from a cup of sweets; it was like Christmas morning for these children. In many ways ice cream to them was like their smiles to me but with a slight distinction: the kids may eventually forget the very taste of that exact Ice cream one day, but the memory of their sweet smiles, their sunny spirit, for such petty and uncostly treats, will seize me forever.

Tondo was a humbling experience to say the least. I am once again reminded that true happiness does not require a glimmering Lexus, boisterous Beats headphones, or the latest I-phone—all items of material wealth. Even the poorest, the bottom of the 99%, Americans are living substantially compared to Tondo counterparts; I am truly grateful and blessed to be American.

My trip to the slums of Manila ended with a serendipitous encounter with faith. Strolling around the perimeters of the neighborhood, I idled into a mall where I came across a church service in session. The setting was nothing fancy, rather austere; I studied the worship for a few minutes before I found myself participating and singing along. “There is no better way to end the day than to praise god for all my loved ones and everything I have”, I thought to myself. I lipped the lyrics to each song trying not to run eye-fluids down my cheeks.

People travel to Philippines to enjoy various sorts of beauty: Manila for the beauty of the urban grind, Angeles City for beauty from sensual pleasures, and Boracay for the beauty of the picturesque beaches. But what about the beauty of life in its most primitive form? It was Confucius who taught us that “Beauty is everywhere but not everyone sees it.” In the slums of Tondo, polluted by cesspools of debris and waste, people are living in unseen poverty but despite their unfavorable living conditions they are indubitably rich of happiness, of faith, and of love. To me that is beauty.

Rock-Star Life for a Wal-Mart Price: My Vegas Experience

I received a text message last Wednesday from John who was desperately seeking a last-minute companion for Las Vegas. Needless to say, I was attracted to the spontaneity of the idea and brushed aside my schedule to recreate the experience of San Diego. The amount of fun I had this weekend, I am glad I made that decision.

The last time both of us were there for leisure, was for John’s 30th birthday, nearly a year ago. During the ride, we discussed the plan for the weekend, anticipating an opulent lifestyle, all complimented by his Vegas connections. The eagerness jolted our imaginations as we drove towards sin city on our extended “guys night out”.

“It’s about who you know, Mickey”, John boasted, as we checked into a suite on the near-to-top floor of Mandalay Bay. The suite, priced at $2500 a night, contained a living room, dining area, kitchen, and a 2-part bedroom. The suite offered enough amenities for guests to frolic in Vegas without leaving the room. The hot-tub was perfect for couples seeking a romantic candle-light baths while the surround sound music was idealistic for those who just want to throw a party in their room. For the couch potatoes, 3 large plasma screens pumped life behind the locked doors and another one entertained those who choose company when brushing their teeth.

There seems to be no limit to the celeb experience. Once settled in the hotel, we met Peter, the marketing VP of Hard Rock Casino. Peter was a mid-aged Chinese man decorated with a diamond stud in one of his ears. His hair was distinctively short and reflected a spectrum of grayness. His speech was impaired by the alcohol, highlighting his Asian accent. “This is how we do,” he exclaimed when he led us to the stretch-SUV limo that will be escorting us around Vegas for the weekend. John and I exchanged looks of astonishment, half-convinced that this vehicle was waiting for us, and not Oprah Winfrey.

When the entourage arrived to the club, Sean whispered to the bouncer and we quickly advanced to the dim-lighted foray, skipping all the different people you would normally have to stop for at a club (security, cashier). Halfway to the bar, we were greeted by a table of ladies (Sean’s friends) in provocative attire. Joined with other random people, we drank the rest of the hour away before reaching our next agenda, TOA.

From the luxury of the suite to the celebration in the limo to the women in seductive dresses, this weekend jubilantly colored my outlook on life and redefined the rewards of success. This is what life is about. I am living a rock-star life for a Wal-mart price.

By the way, What happens subsequently at TOA will be censored to safeguard the reputation of others (and not myself). So you complete the story with your imagination as I will leave you with the cliché, “What happens in Vegas…