I found it!

It's a habit that i acquired eversince my first trip out of the country. A habit that grows stronger as I grow older, to the chagrin of my friends. A habit that's called: "Looking for Filipinos."

Roland once told me that I should work for the DFA. When we toured around Europe, the first thing I looked for were Filipinos. Once, in Paris, he was busy looking at the inverted pyramid at the Louvre, and I was busy looking at a Filipino family having their pictures taken by the fountain.

Whenever I'd see anyone who looked remotely Filipino, first instinct is to skeedadle on over and try to eavesdrop in their conversation. And I they did speak Filipino, a mental jackpot sound (the one that goes: kaching-ching-ching!) rings in my head. Strangely, though, that's where the entire process stops. Rarely do I talk to them, or even tell them that I'm a Filipino. (This is the tricky part because I don't look like a Filipino. But I'll get to that later.) As the saying goes: "The thrill is in the hunt," and I'm happy just hunting for them.

Hong Kong is not a hard place to find Filipinos. Droves of Filipino women are in Hong Kong working as domestics, bringing in much needed dollars to our economy. When I was younger and we'd visit Kowloon on weekends, I was always amazed how so many Filipinas would camp out by Victoria Harbour on Sundays. It was like Luneta, albeit there's no grass, no statue of Rizal, no balloon selling man, no happy families. They were all women, huddled together exchanging stories, pictures, manicures, pedicures and all other girl stuff.

This is where I'd get my "Filipino Fix" whenever I was in Hong Kong.

Since last year, I've been in and out of Hong Kong more often than I used to. Most of the time, it was for work, and that meant dealing with Australians and Chinese all the time. Needless to say, on weekends, I'd crave for the familiar tagalog dialect and the animated way the Pinoys would talk.

So instinctively, I went over to Victoria Harbour every Sunday. Lo and behold, there were fewer Pinoys than I was accustomed to. Now, there was a merry mix of nationalities camped around the area; Indonesians, Arabs, the Caucasian Tourists, and the Falun Gong activists.

Week after week after week, i'd come back hoping to see and hear the ruckus that I got so used to. But no, they were gone.

Each time I'd go back to Hong Kong, I'd wonder where did they go. Wandering around Victoria Park, I saw a lot of Pinoy looking people camped out, but upon closer scrutiny, they were speaking Bahasa Indonesia. As it turns out, that was the "Indonesian Territory."

This made me wonder: "Where could the Pinoy Territory be?"

Yesterday, I was recovering from a panic-buying attack at the Zara outlet in IFC. Since it was built and since Zara moved in, that place has been like a second home for me. With bags and bags of shirts in my hand, I thought of trying to figure out what life is like after the IFC Mall. So I decided to traverse the walkway from IFC to Shun Tak Center.

When I stepped out IFC One, a familiar sight caught my eye. Groups of women laying out plastic mats and cardboard boxes. Then a familiar sound: gleeful conversations in tagalog. This combination made my heart pound faster, and the familiar "kaching-ching" sound ring in my head.

I found it! I found the new Pinoy Territory!

There they were: reading Yes! Magazines and Filipino pocketbooks. Most of them were partaking in lunch composed of a chinese noodle take-out box complemented by a bucket of KFC. Some were checking out new stuff in the Natasha catalogue. Others were playing pusoy and tong-its. Still others were writing letters, making calls, trying desperately to make contact with the family they left back in the Philippines.

Milling around all the Pinays were Chinese hawkers. They were selling everything from blouses to jeans, from perfume to make up, from cell cards to SIM cards, and whatever could catch the Pinay's fancy (including Louis Vuitton knock offs!) At that point, I couldn't help but be amazed how entrepreneurial the Chinese are. They see a market, they feel the demand, and they go ahead and sell. No wonder a lot of the businesses now are driven by the Chinese. But I digress...

Following the trail of Filipinos, I ended up near the Eurotrade center. More Filipinos were there, fixing the balikbayan boxes they were sending back home. I spied on them as they filled the boxes, and it was a hodge-podge of Giordano and Bossini shirts, used handbags, plush toys, chocolates, and other things that would qualify as "pasalubong."

A few blocks further and I hit the jackpot. The motherlode. The pinnacle of Pinoyness.

I found Jollibee.

Ask all my friends and they'll tell you that I'm a Jollibee-dependent. I'm a Jollibee-addict. Jollibee is my oxygen. Jollibee runs through my veins. Jollibee...well...you get it.

I can't believe that after going in and out of Hong Kong for more than a decade, this is the first time I'm seeing the Jollibee outlet here. (There used to be 3 outlets, sadly, the other 2 closed down, leaving the Euro Trade branch the last surviving one.)

Unlike the massive, well-decorated stores in the Philippines and California, the Jollibee outlet in Hong Kong was very modest. The seating capacity was about 120, two small counters, not-too-nice interiors -- it was some sort of a disappointment. But despite the store's shortcomings, it was full to the rafters. All seats were taken, the queues were unbelievably long, people were waiting for other people to finish so they can sit down (very CASAA), and there was the usual ruckus that Pinoys make.

Needless to say, everyone in the store was Pinoy. Like me, I reckon that eating here is another way for us Pinoys to reconnect with their home country. To eat a familiar tasting burger. To smell the "Langhap-Sarap" goodness of Jollibee. (Believe me, you can smell the Chicken Joy from a block away.)

I wanted to eat there, but it was just unbearably full. Even if I decided to wait, it would at least be an hour before a seat would be available. No, my stomach couldn't wait THAT long. So I decided to have lunch near Causeway Bay.

While eating lunch at this hole in the wall Chinese restaurant where Joseph and I had dinner the week before, there was a satisfied smile on my face. Not because of the food, but because of what transpired in the morning: It was a successful Pinoy hunt.

After lunch, I proceeded to the MTR station and went back to the side of Hong Kong which was dominated by the Hong Kong people themselves. I'm going back to my hotel that I share with Spanish, Europeans and other Caucasian tourists.

But i'm coming home to that hotel glad. Because now I know that if ever I feel homesick, or if i'm simply craving for a familiar face and language, there's always IFC and Euro Trade to go to.

I've finally found that little piece of the Philippines.