20 years later...

Last Sunday I went to visit my kamaganak (extended family) that I haven’t seen in twenty years. Needless to say, I didn’t recognize any of them. Although some of my cousins’s faces and names seemed familiar, their children, my pamangkin (nephews and nieces) were not. I even met what technically would be called my granddaughter. The big joke was that she should call me Lolo (grandpa) Allan. Still, it was strange having these teenagers and twenty year olds call me tito (uncle), when tito is what I call my elders. (My nieces call me Uncle Allan back home) I occasionally would slip up and call my kuyas or ates (older cousins) tito or tita, simply because they were about double my age. Still, I’m glad to say, it was the first time I actually felt at home in the Philippines. It was the first time I actually felt genuine care and concern from Filipinos. This is not to say that the teachers and staff at the program, or my classmates, or my host family don’t give a fuck about me, the opposite is true. They all very much care about me, but in a professional sense. I know that it is a service they are providing, and although there are of course moral obligations: I am a “human” being after all, I also know that at the end of the day, the only thing that ties us together is a loose friendship and a bureaucratic network.

In Imus however I finally felt home sick. There were all these conversations about my family back in the states, how they are doing, what are they up to, if so and so is still fat (you can guess who they are talking about), if so and so is still working, if so and so lives close to so and so etc. In Imus, I actually felt somewhat comfortable speaking Tagalog. Unlike at the program and around other students, I didn’t feel like I was under pressure (for a grade or for some weird interstudent competition), I finally felt like people wanted to hear what I was trying to express, rather than just if my grammar was correct. Although they obviously corrected me and guided me in my speech, they were also the most encouraging out of everyone that I had previously spoken to. I think they were impressed that I really wanted to learn Tagalog as well as Philippine culture and history, that I really wanted to hear how they experience life and expressed themselves in their language, rather than force them to enter into the uncomfortable lingual space of English. They kept repeating how whenever some of my other extended family members from the U.S. visited, they would be mahiyain (embarrassed) to speak up, because they were afraid of making mistakes in English. Moreover they get confused whenever people speak in English too fast, or use too many slang terms, so they just nod their heads, pretend they understand, and smile. I don’t want to leave the impression that they are in some way less apt to understand English, or do not have the ability to comprehend English, rather I would like to point out that from this I gather that a less real, or less honest form of communication occurs during these brief visits. Moreover although my visit was very short (about 6 hours), I felt like I expressed more about myself than I usually do at family gatherings in the U.S. Still they were very appreciative of my father and mother’s visits, as well as my older brother and sister, since they speak Tagalog and always try to make time to check-in while they are in the Philippines. Yet, as previously mentioned I actually felt homesick, or at least, I really wished members of my immediate family were there to experience all of these things at the same time. Still, I’m glad I went on my own, just so I could attempt to articulate, in Tagalog, my own autobiography, without utilizing one of my family members as a translator or a crutch. At this point, I really don’t know how to translate my feelings into this text, and I know that this will be a recurring feeling. Still I know that at this moment, I truly desire to meet and get to know further the rest of my family spread out across the Philippines, and to let them know that although I might have “forgotten” their faces and names over the two decades I’ve been away, I never forgot that they were here, and I hope they never forget that I am here as well.

Some quick and random lines of what I did and what I saw while visiting family in Imus.

1. The Pac-Man’s fight, delayed of course, but libre!

2. I found out that my Kuyas work as seamen (another popular gendered OFW labor) on cruise ships and my nephew is about to set sail for a year next month. (they also only get about a 2 hour break when they are at port)

3. I broke my oath of sobriety (sorry mom and pebs) by drinking Red Wine with ice…YUM!

4. My granddaughter really appreciates all the dolls my mom gives her.

5. Every one of my cousins own sari-sari stores, and my Kuya Jun owns a pedi-cab. (how cool is that?)

6. I went with all my pamangkin to the internet café in order to “mag-myspace” and “mag-facebook”. I ended up playing counter-strike on the LAN with all of them (11 of us in all). I really sucked and shot my teammates a lot. I was able to pay for all of us for an hour with about 100 pisos (a little over 2 bucks). Which leads to number 7:

7. Me and my ates compared prices and standards of living between the U.S. and the Philippines. They asked me if life was hard in the U.S., I said yes, but then I had to backtrack because of all the things like what Americans take as a global standard: appliances, decent transportation, living space, groceries, hospitals etc. are not common the Philippines.

8. Two of my ates are guros. (yay education!)

9. My little niece (who isn’t that little) is in college to be a nurse. She wouldn’t mind going to the U.S., but is weary of the discrimination and the possible labor scams. My family is totally on fucking point. (Yay family!)

4 hours short in intramuros

One fine Saturday afternoon we escaped from Dasmarinas and got to frolic in intramuros for a few hours. The battery on my camera ran out, but I think you get the point.


i like this portrait the most


catching some shade with our man J-Riz

an original, not a copy (to be said in a high fidelity tone)

tools of the Doc

I like seeing these things more than portraits

It's huge!

tunneling into the PAST!

careful where you aim that thing big boy!

our relationship in a nutshell

i just really like the picture

in a half step with rizal

green is the color of my true love's carriage.

a tunnel to the chapel or a golf course, your pick.

behind me is where they drown prisoners

(i'm so happy to be where they drown prisoners)

kabayo

look at Linda the tourist!

whose culture?

Last night we celebrated Jason's birthday at a Korean restaurant, but before the celebration we had a crash course in Philippine "culture", which according to Frank Rivera, is the "best in the world." Who owns this culture? Filipinos. As long as Filipino "blood" courses through your veins, you own this culture. Apparently the nation, culture, and blood are synonymous terms. Moreover the problem with Philippine culture now is that the people who own it, for example, Filipinos, are mahiyain (ashamed) to show their culture. So they bury it or deny it, eg: Lea Salonga. Anyway, I'm surprised that academics in the Philippines seem to run parallel in thinking to Fil-Am academics in the United States, especially when it comes to culture (which has a limited usage here, and only holds currency for activities such as music, dance, acting, poetry, fiction etc.). The main concern here for academics is the concept of "colonialism" or "globalization" in which we deny our "true" selves in order to copy what the imperial others propogate as the best. If one is ready to reduce this thinking, one can easily see the way this process of cultural colonialism and "globalization" derives itself from what is commonly referred to in the U.S. as identity politics, a politics that is itself embedded in the liberal individual. I'm not saying that this is good or bad, but rather surprising. Some questions that never seem to be answered by Philippine academics that I've met so far. First, can their concept of "globalization" and "colonialism" move beyond the physical analysis of "diaspora" studies in regards to "Filipinos" living and being raised abroad (for example us)? And second, culture and colonialism's etymology are so similar, it is hard to think of one without the other. Is it not possible that one needs some form of colonialism in order to produce and keep alive culture?

Anyway, deep thoughts by Jack Handey aside, below are some pics taken within the last week.

Lake Taal at night

Lake Taal at night

That's Ambeth Ocampo in white!!!!! Through a really foggy lens

That's Frank Rivera, giving us a pep talk about drama. (In other words, we better do some fucking drama)

Rica taking a picture of drama in action.

thuggin' in the dyip (one of my 5 faces)

korean table

korean food: filipino style! Komote anyone?

the birthday boy at the karaoke bar (where are the GROs?)

Matt looking up MMMbop for the eighteenth time

everyone's feeling total eclipse right about...now.

Bidio Time!

Since you (Carmel especially) want more bidio!

(these are from the first day)

Welcome to AFAP!

Marching band!

The typhoon blues

(I wrote this a couple days ago at home)


Today was Sunday and day three of Typhoon Frank (I think that’s its name). A truly lazy (or at least I desired it to be a truly lazy) day, I got to accompany Tita and Tito (my host mother and father) to the palengke (marketplace). The marketplace (along the “coast” off of Aguinaldo Hwy in Imus) was surprisingly busy, probably because it was covered by a roof. Still, the rain was intense and so were the smells and sights. Meat, fruit, vegetables, rice, and a bunch of other necessities were on sale. There was also a gigantic line for the NFA (government subsidy) rice. It’s much cheaper than the imported rice, but Tita and Tito explained to me that the rice has a darker color because it has been sitting in surplus in a warehouse somewhere. So in essence, it might not have the same amount of nutrients and indeed most likely taste different. Overall though the palengke was not as overwhelming as I thought it would be and people seem very friendly, especially when haggling over price. Although they would feign surprise over the cost of things, there seemed to be a mutual understanding to how low the price of the commodity could really drop. The rain was intense, but luckily the winds were not as strong on the ground. If it were, we probably could be without electricity. On the news there were numerous reports and images of people being without power in other provinces, I know that up north/central Luzon seems to be flooded. I guess we’re pretty lucky here.



hayop ng dagat

you trust the bucket?

more dead things

expensive rice

NFA rice

bidio time!

Yesterday we had to watch a movie called “Munting Tinig” (Little Voices) although me and Matt, as usual, disagreed about how “to read” the movie, I felt that it stimulated some interesting conversation, and the jokes/acting wasn’t overly corny. Overall, it wasn’t, for a “mainstream” movie, that bad. After the movie, tensions finally emerged in our “cohort” as we got locked into a room to decide, of all things, the two names of each of our classes. We finally settled on Ugat (roots) and Bagwis (wings). I’m not going to go into the clearly sentimental and nostalgic rationale other people provided in voting for these words, but I just want to say I came up with Ugat (GO ME!). I’m just glad it didn’t turn into something corny, although my other suggestions such as chicharon (pork rinds), ipis (cockroach), and sabong (cockfight) didn’t get much attention either. Afterward we had to talk about the t-shirt design for our class. It turned out to be longer than I thought it would be, and although I could care less on how it would turn out, a lot of people seemed to take it very seriously. So although I really didn’t want to, I had to remain engaged and kept up the façade that I was paying attention, although to be honest my mind often wandered to a million other things I would rather be doing, like for instance, eating chicharon at a sabong. Overall Saturday was probably the most tense day as everyone seemed a bit out of sorts. We all went our separate ways and I just tried to read my assigned novel “Dekada ’90,” in my room. Before you say how “masipag” I am, every other word in the novel seemed to be destined to be looked up in the dictionary, and as if habitual, everyday after dinner, I try to study, but end up falling asleep. It’s strange that in the U.S. I have no trouble running on 5 or 6 hours of sleep, but here, I seem to be sleepy once it gets dark. Just walking outside drains so much out of me. Everything is so intense, and I’m always paranoid, that I’ll miss my stop, get run over, or get pickpocketed, that it truly is tiring to my senses. Still, I avoided work for a bit by playing cards with the my little “sisters” and talking with Tita.

After dinner, Tita surprisingly revealed quite a lot about how her family interacts, especially her sons and her husband. Perhaps it’s a normal part of “Philippine” culture to reveal such personal insights, or perhaps it is because I’m an outsider but she ended up revealing that although Tito is a good provider and kind person, he doesn’t have much of an intimate relationship with his sons. He’s actually quite a well respected person here, and very much tied into numerous communities, holds many positions, and is always going to meetings or evaluating things. That perhaps is the problem as Tita says, he’s a workaholic, and is never at home. The eldest son is taking a break from college, while the other two sons are really quiet, the second one is a “loner”. They don’t speak much to Tito, even around the table, and Tita thinks that that is why certain actions happen. Either they want his attention, or are at this point, indifferent. It’s quite sad actually, but it parallels a lot of the things going on in Dekada 70, and perhaps, reflects the particular form of patriarchal family in the Philippines. In some ways, even I can relate, as I too feel that a lot of memories growing up were around my mother and siblings more than my father. Although, I do remember my dad talking much more at the table than Tito ever did. Moreover since the Barangay office is so close, he merely eats and then sets off again to the office, for meetings or more paperwork. This along with his teaching duties at the university doesn’t leave much time for his family. And this I think is what Tita is worried about.

but enough serious talk, let's look at more pictures of stuff at the palengke!

coco for coconuts!

look at the size of those things!

first fresh lychee I ever tasted, I know, and I call myself "ethnic"

bananas for bananas! (ugh...)

I believe this is the pico mango, but I'm probably wrong (I get quizzed every night at dinner and am usually 50% correct)

Later on on Sunday, after a nap and more hours spent attempting to read Dekada, I was invited to attend a Debut. I’ve never been to a real Philippine debut before, although I have been to a few Fil-Am debuts, as well as sat through the horrible movie of the same title, so I was really excited to be able to attend. The debut started about a couple hours later than was written on the invitation, so Tita just left me with the girls while she went back to cook dinner. As I sat there I got to talk to some of my “sisters’s” friends and got a bit of tsismis about whoever has a crush on who and so on and so forth. I also got to meet some of the other teenagers, their mothers, as well as the debutante. One funny thing that happened is the girls kept pointing out how “sexy” the teenagers were and that I should go talk to them. I explained to them that I was very old. One of the mothers, I think a relative of Tita, asked if I could take a picture with her daughter (one of said teenagers set to dance in the debut). I thought she was joking. She wasn’t. Still I found it funny as Tita introduced me sort of like an exotic commodity: he’s from America, he’s trying to speak Tagalog but can’t really. All of which is true, but it still felt strange. I asked one of the cousins (who is super nice, and is very proud to be both Filipino and a Cabiteno) if they had any family in America. She answered no, and I believe that that explains why Tita introduced me the way she did. The debut overall was fun although long. (the debut was set to begin around 5pm, in actuality it began at 7:30) There was a lack of performances but an overabundance of 18 things: 18 roses, 18 balloons, 18 candles. All of these things were accompanied by family and friends who each had to do a speech. Although the words didn’t seem overly personal, the debutante cried a lot. I didn’t quite understand why she was crying, she wasn’t necessary leaving to go somewhere far, nor were there any other trying histories hinted at by others. Still, after reading her invitation, which contained a myspace like autobiography, I understood why she acted so “emo.” After all, for most of this current generation and especially for most in the Philippines, the term “emo” came into vogue, smuggled along the routes of myspace.