Excerpts from
Eleanor's Kitchen
© 1998 by Edessa Ramos

I was riding the tram this afternoon from Zürich, rushing to my travel agent's office in Bellevue. I had to get our holiday papers in order. Also, I just like to go to Zürich occasionally for window shopping and to observe the afternoon hustle-and-bustle, or to savor a cappuccino at a sidewalk cafe while reminiscing about my hometown in the Philippines. I don't mind anymore that people tend to be rude and elbow their way through the rush-hour crowd, sometimes at the expense of my ribs or shoulders. I learned to walk so that I stay out of their way while not actually appearing to evade them. After eight years in this city, I finally learned this special art of confrontation-avoidance while preserving my space with peace and dignity.

I have always been a very calm and capable woman, my friends like to say, with an inner strength and confidence that somehow shine through. These are admirable traits in one who does not boast of a college-level education or a degree in some specialized trade. I am, however, proud of my wisdom, and rightfully so, for I have survived a poverty-stricken childhood in the island of Negros and a string of difficult life-experiences. I have always considered myself as my own big sister, someone with that unswayed, unfrazzled demeanor.

So there I was, sitting peacefully, watching the urban landscape rise and fall outside the tram window, a scene now so familiar to me. At a station halfway to Bellevue, a woman boarded the tram - a woman in her mid-fifties with platinum-gray hair and wearing an expensive coat and sparkling jewelry. She went to stand beside me and said in Swiss German: "That is my seat." I glanced up, somewhat startled and unsure whether the woman was addressing me. Seeing that she was, I simply opened my bag and pulled out a pocketbook. I flipped over some pages and started to read.

"Entschuldigung," the woman insisted, "but you are in my seat."

I lifted my eyes from the book and looked at the woman straight in the eye. "Did you say your seat, Ma'm?" I inquired politely, also in Swiss German (thank goodness I have learned the language thoroughly by now).

"Sind Sie Ausländerin?" Are you a foreigner, the woman asked with an exaggerated look on her face, then continued. "Obviously you are, for you don't seem to understand. Whenever I ride the tram, I always take this seat."

At this point, I stood up and opened my purse again. This time I took out my Swiss passport. Calmly, I stood up and leaned towards the woman.

"You see here?" I showed it to her in the manner of one sharing something special with an intimate friend. "Ich bin Schweizerin. That's what it says here. I am Swiss. And furthermore, I paid as much as you did to ride on this tram. I can sit wherever I want."

What more could I do but to smile kindly, sit down and go back to my reading.