PINOY IN AMERICA

Some things new

2012-01-10T09:41:00.000-08:00

I’ve grown quite fond of this blog. Not only has it given mea book, it’s also served as a way for me to make sense of my Pinoy-in-Americanlife. I’ve said that all along because it’s true. Writing has always been forme, as it has been for others, really a way of thinking. That is, as you’refinding the right words for what you want to say and composing sentences andparagraphs (as I’m doing right now), you’re actually realizing what and how youthink of what’s happening around you, so that if you didn’t do it, you wouldn’thave had those thoughts. And it would be a loss on your part.

Of course, whether it’s such a great loss or not is anothermatter altogether. But you keep writing because you want me to keep finding outhow you feel about things.

Not everyone needs to do that, of course. In fact, mosteveryone is fine as they go about their lives and they are able to reflect ontheir experiences as they happen, without writing them down. At the same time,though, you wonder whether some people should make it a point to reflect onwhat happens to them—whether they do it through writing or some other way. Butthat’s beside the point.

It’s just the mark of a certain kind of writer that he needsto pause every so often and type away at his keyboard or start scribbling or,these days, tweet. He’s not fine ifhe doesn’t do it. He wouldn’t die if he didn’t do it—but he would die a little.

This blog has been my notebook these past seven years, aperiod that’s been markedly different from my previous life. That’s the othercomponent of this project: It’s about something that for me was worth writing(that is, worth thinking) about. I wouldn’t have done it had I stayed in the Philippines,although now that I think about it, it would be interesting to have a blogcalled “Pinoy in Pilipinas,” that’s by a Pinoy who’s lived elsewhere for awhile. Maybe I will do it if andwhen—who knows?—I go back to live in the Philippines.

Being in a different land—whether that land is America or the Philippines or simply anothercity—is just one of those things that move you. No, it jars you. If you’re pasta certain age, that is. I don’t suppose when you’re very young (mentally,rather than biologically) and you move, it would mean a lot. But if you’re of acertain age and you move, like in my case, then things get quite interesting.Just imagine: you wake up in a country that isn’t the country you’ve always wokenin every single day of your life. You wake up essentially to a different world.The traditions, the rules, the language are different. You encounter strangersinstead of friends. And the climate is different. It’s enough to give anyone apause and make him think, “What the heck am I doing here?”

That’s essentially the question I’ve sought an answer to allthis time, in this blog. Of course, there’s no single answer. If there were,this blog would’ve ended seven years ago, as it began.

And the funny thing is, the longer you stay here, the morethe answers become elusive. The more you don’tknow, although in a way you do. You do and you don’t—both at the same time. It’squite the paradox, really. But you keep going because it feels as if you are moving forward despite the “youdon’t know” part.

Nevertheless, I decided sometime ago that I would start doingthings a little differently here to keep things interesting not only for me butalso for my readers (both of them, asthe old writer’s joke goes).

I decided to start writing more about other Pinoys in America, dosome more reporting on the things that happen to them, rather than dwell on theangst I’ve felt as a stranger in a strange land, which I feel I have donesufficiently. It’s time to move on, in other words.

This blog will still be here, no doubt, but I’ll take it ona slightly new tack: less about me and more about others. I’ve actually startedto do that with some recent articles—one on a Pinoy American Guardsman who diedwhile serving in Afghanistanand another on Filipino and Filipino-American writers.

Speaking of the latter, I also started another blog calledFilipino American Writer devoted to them. This summer I attended severalliterary events involving Filipino and Filipino-American writers, and the onething I kept hearing both from them and their supporters is that they’re notgetting enough attention. Which is sad because I feel they’re doing importantwork but they’re not getting enough help as far as getting the word out. So Idecided to do something about it in my own modest way.

So that other project might take away some of the time Iwould otherwise spend writing for this blog. But I’ll try to keep both going atthe same time. I think I can do it. Besides I see the two blogs really as two separateprojects. General feature articles on the Pinoy-American life here, and thingsconcerning books and writers there. As I like to say whenever I embark on a newadventure, tingnan natin kung anongmangyari.

Revisiting Carlos Bulosan

2012-01-09T08:57:00.000-08:00

“America is not a land of one race or one class of men. We are all Americans thathave toiled and suffered and known oppression and defeat, from the first Indianthat offered peace in Manhattanto the last Filipino pea pickers. America is not bound bygeographical latitudes. Americais not merely a land or an institution. America is in the hearts of menthat died for freedom; it is also in the eyes of men that are building a newworld. Americais a prophecy of a new society of men: of a system that knows no sorrow orstrife or suffering. Americais a warning to those who would try to falsify the ideas of free men.

America is also the nameless foreigner, the homeless refugee, the hungry boy beggingfor a job and the black body dangling from a tree. America is the illiterate immigrantwho is ashamed that the world of books and intellectual opportunities is closedto him. We are that nameless foreigner, that homeless refugee, that hungryboy, that illiterate immigrant and that lynched black body. All of us, from thefirst Adams to the last Filipino, native born or alien, educated or illiterate—Weare America!"

— Carlos Bulosan, from America is in the Heart

Thanksgiving #7

2011-11-25T10:00:00.000-08:00

I was goingto say that this Thanksgiving was my seventh Thanksgiving in America, but I realized it would be more precise to say that it wasmy seventh Thanksgiving ever, since Inever celebrated it when I was living in the Philippines.

Althoughthere seems to be more people in the Philippines these days who are atleast aware of the American holiday, back in my time, it was almost unheard of. I mean you knew there was such an American holiday (occasionallyyou saw references to it in books or on TV), but that was it. You didn’t evennecessarily know when it was celebrated.

My life isso different now in that way. Now I know when it’s celebrated (the fourthThursday of November) and know a little bit about the story behind it (even thecontroversial side-stories). And I’ve become an expert in the holiday’srituals. Namely, feasting (which, come to think of it, I’ve always been anexpert in) and being mindful of our blessings, which, really, is the point ofthe occasion.

It still is the point of the holiday. In reallywhat is a touching homage to its origins (namely, the harvest traditions of North America: people held a feast to give thanks for agood harvest), people at Thanksgiving do take a moment to count their blessingsand to be grateful. And to give.

On thefront page of the Thanksgiving Day edition of the newspaper I helped puttogether, all news about crime or mayhem were set aside forThanksgiving-related stories. On one side of the page was a story previewing“Black Friday,” the Friday right after Thanksgiving which traditionally hasbeen marked as the start of the holiday shopping season, a day famous—ornotorious (depending on how you see it)—for the insanely huge crowds atdepartment stores and malls.

But on thebottom of the page was a feature on a nonprofit organization that has, since1987, been hosting a Thanksgiving party for homeless people and needy families.Well, this year, the nonprofit—called Mary’s Table—has been dealt a doubleblow: a severe shortfall in donations anda sharp increase in the number of people they’re serving. But despite that theorganization was making do with what it has and its Thanksgiving program wason. The headline of the story, I thought, captured it all. It said: “They stillgive when it’s harder to get.”

The frontpage display was about a new restaurant that decided to give back to thecommunity by giving free Thanksgiving dinners to low-income families.

But mosttouching on the page for me was the feature on the left side which was devotedto what the man—and woman—on the street was thankful for this Thanksgiving.Quotes from six people were featured. The reporter assigned to the story actuallyinterviewed 10 people, but I couldn’t fit all the quotes when I was designing thepage so I went with just six of them—three men and three women.

They said:

“I’mdefinitely thankful that I have a job, a roof over my head and a family tosupport me, because not everyone has that.”

“I’mthankful for my family. I’m thankful for being alive at 86 and for all theblessings of my life.”

“I’mthankful for health and strength, family and great friends. Just the mere factthat we’re alive, enjoying this beautiful Earth and being in Californiaand the United Statesis just enough to be thankful for.”

“I’m thankfulfor having a full-time job again.”

“I’mthankful for my family coming together (today) for Thanksgiving dinner.”

“I’mthankful that my friend is going to be together with me and that they’re allhealthy.”

What Iliked about these quotes is they show that Americans are just like you and me. IfPinoys had a Thanksgiving holiday, I imagine we would say essentially the samethings and be thankful for our health, friends and family.

Noteworthy toois that two of the six were thankful for their jobs. It’s still a very tryingtime for America,with record unemployment rates and an economy that doesn’t seem to know whereto go. People are mindful that a lot of people are living on unemployment benefitsand suffering from perhaps the indignity of not being given the opportunity to earna living. That for me is the tragedy of a recession. People don’t want ahandout; they want a job, that’s all.

But, asthis Thanksgiving has shown, it’s good to know that should anyone need a hand,there’s no shortage of people willing to give it. Not in America. AndI’m pretty sure not anywhere.

A somber homecoming

2011-11-13T07:07:00.001-08:00

Photo by Jennifer Cappuccio Maher

Militarypersonnel escort the flag-draped casket bearing the body of California
Army National Guard Sgt. Carlo Francisco Eugenio,of Rancho Cucamonga,
Thursday, Nov. 10, 2011, at L.A./Ontario International Airportin Ontario, Calif.
Eugenio was killed on Oct. 29, 2011, while serving in Afghanistan.

Thursday wasa sad day for Filipinos in Rancho Cucamonga, Calif.

The body ofSgt. Carlo Francisco Eugenio arrived, ending its journey from Afghanistan,where he was serving as a member of the U.S. National Guard and where he waskilled on Oct. 29, 2011.

Eugenio, 29,was born in Manilaand was a resident of this Southern California city which is home to a small but tight-knitFilipino community.

Eugenio waskilled when the vehicle he was driving was struck by a roadside bomb. He was thefirst National Guardsman from California to bekilled in Afghanistan,a grim milestone for the state.

Making theday even more poignant and somber was that it was the eve of Veterans Day, aday when the U.S.pays homage to its citizens who have served in the armed forces but which inreality is devoted by all to honor even those who are still on active duty, andespecially those who have perished.

Eugenio’s bodyarrived at L.A./Ontario International Airport in Ontario,a city right next to Rancho Cucamonga. In asomber ceremony, his flag-draped casket was taken down from the aircraft bymilitary pallbearers. A photo taken by a local photographer tells the storyeloquently. The six pallbearers, perhaps members of Eugenio’s National GuardUnit, are all grim-faced, as another offers a salute. A crew member of theplane presses a palm over his chest.

A group of Eugenio'sclosest relatives (consisting of about 40 people, according to a report in the Inland Valley Daily Bulletin, the localnewspaper) gathered at the airport to receive his body.

Eugenio was the bunso (youngest) of thefamily. Family members and friends quoted in thenewspaper report remembered him as being fond of the outdoors and said he was “the life of the party.”

Many otherswere on hand to honor Eugenio. In all, about 150 people attended the ceremonyat the airport. Among them were local firefighters and members of the PatriotGuard Riders, a group of motorcyclists who attend the funeral of service menand women.

Themotorcyclists then escorted the hearse carrying Eugenio’s casket as it began its journey from theairport. Militarypersonnel in uniforms representing the different services lined the streets andsaluted as the hearse passed.

Eugenio’slast homecoming took place on a day made even heavier by an overcast sky. But manyperhaps will take comfort in that as he traveled his hometown’s streets for onelast time, his loved ones were gathered, and countless others were on hand tohonor his sacrifice.

A funeral massfor Sgt. Carlo Francisco Eugenio will be held at 10 a.m. Monday, Nov. 14, 2011,at St. Paul Parish, 9135 Banyan St., Rancho Cucamonga.Graveside service will be at 12:30 p.m. at Riverside National Cemetery, 22495 Van Buren Blvd., Riverside.

Tsibugan #13

2011-11-08T10:36:00.000-08:00

Awesome calamares at Karilagan restaurant in South San Franciso, Tsibugan #13. Stopped by there when we were in Northern California in October. Also had the sinigang, which was good, too. It's places like this that makes one forget about one's diet. Oh well, we were on vacation ... so on to the next vacation and on to the next tsibugan!

One less Pinoy in America

2011-10-23T10:46:00.000-07:00

Nestor isgoing home. You may have heard of him in these pages, but I referred to him as“N.”

He’s myco-worker, a fellow Pinoy, although he’s been with the company for much longerthan I have, around 30 years. He’s oneof the building maintenance specialists, and his job is to empty thewastebaskets to take the paper in for recycling. He fixes light fixtures whenthey’re broken, resolves plumbing issues, that sort of thing.

Well, he’sgoing home. He’s leaving Americato go back home to his family in Iloiloafter more than 30 years of the Pinoy-in-American life.

I learnedof the news in the company newsletter, which I don’t always read, by the way.But a co-worker who knew I’d written about Nestor told me I better check the“Buzz.”

“Why?” I said.

“Yourfriend Nestor is leaving,” he said.

“Holy cow!”I said to myself. “This is big.”

Then Ichecked my email and looked for the PDF of the newsletter, and there it was: aphoto of Nestor, with a short announcement saying he was leaving the companyafter 29 years to go back to the Philippines. It was interesting,too, that whoever wrote the piece also referred to Nestor as one of the mostwell-liked employees in the building. ThatI can vouch for.

Some ofthat, I know, comes from the simple fact that he’s been around for such a longtime that he knows everyone and everyone knows him. Familiar is nice. ButNestor, too, has always been just a good-natured guy, always smiling and sayinghi to everyone.

I haven’teven reached out to him all that much—and one time it was to ask him somethingabout fixing something in the house—but he always comes by my desk when he’sworking in our building just to say hi and to see if anything’s going on. Ifit’s NBA season, we talk Lakers. He’s the talker type, too—he’s the kind of guythat, let’s say you were both just sitting in a porch, shooting the breeze, youwouldn’t notice the time passing by. With Nestor, it would be nightfall, andyou wouldn’t mind staying a little longer.

Now, I wantto just explain something here. Elsewhere I’ve talked about Pinoys who’vedecided to up and leave Americabecause of the state of the U.S.economy, which up to now hasn’t really shown clear signs of recovering from therecession. It’s caused, I’ve written, many kababayansto go home—either to wait things out or to go home permanently. But I also saidthat it’s not really as simple as that. It never is. The decision for Pinoys inAmerica(for anyone for that matter) to leave the country isn’t just a matter of, OK,well, the economy’s bad, I’m going home. It always is more nuanced and complexthan that. And each situation is different, unique.

Nestor’scase is a perfect example.

“It wastime, man,” he told me, when I called him up last week, precisely so I couldcatch him before he leaves the country. And I’m glad I did because he saidhe’ll try to catch a flight before the end of the month.

In so manywords, he told me that it was time for him to go. His children, whose educationis the main reason why he came to Americain the first place, were all grown up—one was now working as a nurse in the Middle East. Shetold him, Nestor said, that he shouldgo home and start taking it easy, he’s doesn’t have much to worry about now. Plus,Nestor continued, he’d been talking to his older brother, who, retired fromthe U.S. Navy, is now running a 30-hectare tubuhanin Iloilo, andhe was telling him that Nestor could just help out in the farm. A job waswaiting for Nestor in the Philippines,in other words.

Nestor saidthat, of course, he would be earning less than what he would make here, but consideringeverything else, it would make sense if he went home now. He doesn’t want to gohome "when he can’t walk anymore,” he told me, half-jokingly.

It doesmake sense, I thought, when I was hearing Nestor’s words, and I was happy forhim. On many occasions he’s told me he was tired of life here. And given thestate of the company we work for, just to give one example, it’s easy tounderstand why. Even I have found things extremely challenging at work attimes, after the company cut our benefits and pay.

Nestor and I had tocut our phone conversation short, he had to go. I told him if he had time andif he was in the area, to give me a call, maybe we could hang out for a littlebit. I’m going to miss him. But I’m happy for him—and for his family. I can seeNestor now, back in Iloilo,shooting the breeze with his old friends and his wife and kids (I think he alsohas grandkids now, I’m not sure). I can see him smiling and talking, regalingeveryone with his adventures in America.He’s relaxed, happy. A contented man.

The end ofthe month is just a few days away. I doubt I’ll see Nestor again, I mean beforehe leaves. Maybe I’ll look him up in Iloiloone of these days—that would be fun.

In themeantime my own story continues. Many years from now, when I tell people of mytime in these parts, I won’tforget to talk about Nestor, my friend and at one time fellow Pinoy in America.

A Filipino summer

2011-10-15T09:53:00.000-07:00

South Lake Tahoe's Emerald Bay in July 2011. (Photo by ChristianThomas)

Pinoy in America was onthe road again this summer. In July, my wife and I took our annual roadtrip—actually, it’s fast becoming more like a pilgrimage, given that we do itso religiously—to Northern California to see our friends and family there.

But thistime we did something different. We camped out in the great outdoors for acouple of nights with my friends C., who brought along his cousin D., and J.and his two kids. It was at lovely South Lake Tahoe, so even if overnight temperatures dippedto the 30s and 40s—and I had only a 50-degree sleeping bag—it was all worth it.Just the view of the lake was enough to make the long drive all worth it.

But ofcourse we had much, much more than that. We had a chance to catch up with oneanother and, in the case of D. and his family, to make new friends. And we met,too, for the first time J.’s two sons—they are 11 and 7 years old, I think. Thetwo are turning to be such fine young men and bear a striking resemblance to theirdad, now that I think about it, when he was their age. Kevin and Kyle were nofirst timers to camping, but they were very eager to take part in itsrituals—the barbecue, tending to the campfire, and, in particular, the scarystories. I obliged them with one or two that, I think, did the job. I toldscary stories I remember from my own childhood in the Philippines noless.

Thefollowing morning we all hiked first, up to a promontory which gave a good viewof the crystal blue lake and then down to the shore, where a few of us bravedthe freezing cold water and took a dip. D. took out his fishing pole, and Kevinused it and thought he caught a fish. In fact, it was a rock from which I hadto dislodge the hook. On the way back to camp, I made the mistake of kiddinghim and saying it was a big fish, and he never left it at that. “What kind offish was it? And how big?” was all we heard from him.

But it wasall good.

Unfortunately,what was to be a three-night campout ended up becoming a two-night one becauseI had to rush back to San Francisco to take part in an author’s event at theDaly City Public Library, where I and the writer Gemma Nemenzo talked about,and read from, our books on the Filipino-American immigrant experience. (Herbook is called Heart in two places: An immigrant’s journey).

It was asmall but very lively crowd, and it made for a memorable first author’s eventfor me. And it was, as it happens, the first of a series of activities that Itook part it in this summer that had a distinctly Filipino flavor.

Filipino jazz singer Mon David performs atSavanna Jazz Bar in downtown
San Francisco on July 16, 2011. Playing the piano is ReyCristobal, and on bass
is Emerson Cardenas. Both are regulars at Filipino jazz events in California.
On drums, hidden, is Donald “Duck” Bailey.

The nextone was jazz singer Mon David’s show at the Savanna Jazz bar in downtown San Francisco. I’d seenan ad for the show before we left Southern Californiaand I’d wanted to see it because Mon David is one of those Pinoy singers I grewup hearing about but whom I’ve never really had a chance to watch or listen to.So I thought it would be interesting to watch his show.

While I’mnot a jazz enthusiast by any stretch of the imagination, I have to say I wasglad we went to his show because his singing is something else. His scatsinging, in particular, was, I thought impressive. I don’t know of any otherPinoy artist who does that or can. The fact that Mon David does in three languages(Tagalog, Kapampangan and English) makes it all the more impressive. His showwas sponsored, incidentally, by the San Francisco Filipino American Jazz Festival, which was my other discovery during this Filipino summer.

The SanFrancisco Filipino American Jazz Festival is a group of Pinoy jazz artistsbased in the San Francisco Bay Area that’s been promoting jazz by Filipinoartists. It has hosted, under the leadership of Carlos Zialcita (a meanharmonica player) such artists as Annie Brazil, Anne Marie Santos and the greatJo Canion at different venues in San Francisco. David’s show was a good example of the kindof events the Jazz Fest puts together. David, though based here in Southern California, “goes home” to the San FranciscoFilipino American Jazz Festival when he’s in the Bay Area.

That nicelyrounded off our NorCal trip this year.

Lea Salongaserenades the crowd at the 20th Festival of
Philippine Arts and Culture at Point Fermin Park in San Pedro,
Calif., on Sept. 10, 2011.

And then inSeptember I went to FPAC. FPAC stands for the Festival of Philippine Arts and Culture, an annual Filipino-American “fiesta” held, quite fittingly, right onthe edge of the Pacific Ocean, on the San Pedro coast, facing the motherland. Asit is a fiesta, it’s a merry time, when everyone takes a break from theirAmerican lives and for a weekend celebrates their Filipinoness.

All things Pinoy were on
display at FPAC 20, including
this basketball jersey sporting
the Philippine flag.

There’sFilipino food (served up by Filipino food trucks), music, art, clothes and businesseson display during the two-day festival. At this year’s FPAC, the 20th year ofthe festival, the special guest was Lea Salonga, who serenaded the crowd withsome love songs on opening day. Standup comic Rex Navarrete brought the housedown on the second day. Between the two of them came all kinds of actscelebrating Pinoy culture. There was an arnis demonstration, aperformance by a Filipino-American symphony, a host of singers and dancers, tinikling,Pinoy jazz, etc. You get the point. Anything Pinoy took the stage. And allaround the grounds of Point Fermin Parkwere booths for Pinoy-American nonprofits and businesses selling shirts, books,paintings, etc., all run by kababayans.

Finally, onOct. 1 and 2, 2011, I was back in San Francisco for the Filipino American International Book Festival. FilBookFest, as the event was dubbed by the organizers, gatheredPinoy book lovers to celebrate books by Pinoy writers, both those based in the Philippines and those based in the U.S.

Pinoy in America,left, aka Lorenzo
Paran III, hangs out with Butch
Dalisay, one of the Philippines'
most important writers, at the Filipino
American International Book Festival
in San Francisco's Civic Center on
Oct. 2, 2011. (Photo by Christian
Thomas)

It was awondrous time if you were Pinoy and a book lover. Writers read from theirworks, signed books., and took part in panel discussions on culture, historyand the Diaspora, just to name a few of the topics covered in the program. Igot to meet the Filipino-American writers I’ve always only encountered throughbooks, and I saw those whom, until recently, I used to bump into at literaryevents in Manila. Butch Dalisay,my teacher and thesis adviser at the University of the Philippines inDiliman, was in town. So were Pete Lacaba, Vim Nadera, Mike Coroza, TeoAntonio, the historian Ambeth Ocampo (who gave a talk on “Queridas ni Rizal”),Isagani Cruz, Marites Vitug, Neni Sta. Romana Cruz, and many others. Specialmention might be made of Samantha Sotto, who’s become the toast of the Filipinowriting community after her first novel, Before Ever After, was pickedup by no less than Random House Publishing. Present also were representativesof Manila’sbiggest publishing houses: Carljoe Javier of the U.P. Press, Maricor Baytion ofthe Ateneo de Manila University Press and Karina Bolasco of Anvil Publishing.

The groupof U.S.-based Pinoy writers featured the likes of Oscar Penaranda, who played akey role in organizing FilBookFest, Cecilia Manguerra Brainard, the poet andhistorian Luis Francia, Marivi Soliven Blanco and John Blanco, R. ZamoraLinmark, and Barbara Jane Reyes, and, truth to tell, many, many others. Forthat was the point of FilBookFest, after all: to gather and recognize Filipinowriters from both sides of the Pacific and to celebrate Philippine writing.

And thatwas it, my Filipino summer.

Filipino authors light up Filipino American History Month event at Carson Public Library

2011-10-12T08:40:00.000-07:00

From left, Cecilia Manguerra Brainard, Lorenzo Paran III, Samantha Sotto and
Carlene Sobrino Bonnivier smile for the camera after their authors reading program
at the Carson Public Library on Oct. 8, 2011. (Photo by Franz Tinio Lopez)

CARSON, Calif. — On Saturday, Oct.8, 2011, Filipino book lovers in the Carson, Calif., area received a specialtreat: four Filipino authors reading from their books.

Theoccasion was the latest in a series of “book talks” organized by the PhilippineExpressions Bookshop. The online bookseller held the event, in cooperation withthe Carson Public Library, to mark Filipino American History Month.

The fourauthors were Cecilia Manguerra Brainard, Samantha Sotto, Carlene SobrinoBonnivier and Lorenzo Paran III.

Brainard,prolific author and anthologist, read from her two latest books, Viganand Other Stories and Angelica's Daughters. The latter, as she explained,was co-written with four other women in the Philippines’ dugtungan style ofwriting. (The dugtungan consists of a group of people taking turns developing astory.)

Samantha Sotto, left, and Carson
Public Library Manager Leticia B.
Tan, hold copies of Sotto's novel,
"Before Ever After," after the authors'
reading event on Oct. 8, 2011. Sotto
and the three other writers donated
copies of their books to the library.
(Photo by Franz Tinio Lopez)

Sotto, whobecame the toast of the Filipino writing community after her debut novel, BeforeEver After, was picked up by Random House, one of the world’s biggestpublishers, read excerpts from the novel.

Paran gavethe audience a taste of “Pinoy in America: The stateside life in thetime of Barack Obama, Facebook and Pacquiao-mania,” his collection of essays onFilipino-American immigrant life.

Finally,Bonnivier, who writes fiction and poetry, read from Seeking Thirst, her novel, which is partly set in Los Angeles' Historic Filipinotown, where she grew up.

After the authorsread from their works, the gathering broke up to enjoy refreshments and also tolook at a display of Philippine World War II photographs.

Theintermission gave the authors a chance to sign copies of their books for theguests. Everyone then returned to their seats for a question-and-answersession with the authors. The Q&A, which was limited to a few questionsbecause time was running out for the program, was devoted to Sotto, whowas asked how she came up with Before Ever After and how it came to theattention of Random House.

Sotto cheerfullyobliged, telling the audience how her novel came to be and the serendipitousjourney it took from a Manila Starbucks to Random House.

But theafternoon belonged to all four authors—and the crowd, who graciously turned upnot just to celebrate the writers and their books but also Filipino-Americanhistory.

FilBookFest gathers, toasts Filipino ‘kindred spirits’

2011-10-06T07:29:00.000-07:00

Clockwise from top left, Literacy InitiativesInternational
Foundation Executive Director Gemma Nemenzo, His Excellency
Former President Fidel V. Ramos, and the Philippines’ Butch
Dalisay and NeniSta. Romana Cruz gather on stage during a
welcome reception for the participants of the Filipino American
International Book Festival. The programwas held at the
Philippine Consulate in San Francisco on Sept. 30, 2011.

It’s longbeen believed that in the area of the arts a chasm exists between Filipinos inthe Philippines andFilipinos in the U.S.That gap became a little narrower on Saturday and Sunday, Oct. 1 and 2, 2011,when writers and artists from both sides of the Pacific gathered in San Francisco for theFilipino American International Book Festival.

At awelcome reception hosted by the Philippine Consulate on Friday, Sept. 30, 2011,Gemma Nemenzo, executive director of the Literacy Initiatives InternationalFoundation, which organized the two-day event, hailed the gathering of “kindredspirits” and recognized the presence of the writers from both sides of thePacific who have gathered to promote their works and to take part indiscussions on writing, publishing, Philippine history and theFilipino-American experience. The gathering was the largest of its kind,Nemenzo said.

The Philippines’ Pete Lacaba, center, and NationalArtist Ben Cabrera,
right, enjoy a light moment between events at the FilipinoAmerican
International Book Festival in San Francisco with Lacaba’s friend, Rico
Ramirez. Ramirezis a former mayor of Maragondon, Cavite,
Philippines,and is, like Lacaba, a former Martial Law detainee.

Presentduring the ceremony at the Philippine Center in downtown San Francisco were thePhilippines’ Butch Dalisay, Pete Lacaba, National Artist Ben Cabrera, AmbethOcampo, Isagani Cruz, Vim Nadera, Teo Antonio and Mike Coroza, just to name afew. U.S.-based Filipino-American writers hobnobbing with them that evening andfor the rest of the festival included Luis Francia, John Blanco, Marivi SolivenBlanco, Oscar Penaranda, Cecilia Manguerra Brainard, Ben Pimentel and PaulinoLim. Also present were representatives from Manila’s biggest publishinghouses—Anvil Publishing chief Karina Bolasco, Ateneo de Manila Press directorMaricor Baytion, and University of the Philippines Press marketing directorCarljoe Javier—as well as representatives from the Book Development Associationof the Philippines.

“This eventis long overdue,” Consul General Marciano A. Paynor Jr. said in his welcomeremarks. He expressed his hope that FilBookFest, as the event has been fondlycalled by the organizers and participants, will be the start of a regulardialogue between the writers and artists of the Philippinesand those based in the U.S.who celebrate their Filipino heritage.

FormerPhilippine President Fidel V. Ramos, the evening’s guest of honor, also paidhomage to the artistic traditions of the Philippines and rallied the crowd,urging everyone in the hall to help make FilBookFest a success. “Kaya natin ’to!” (“We can dothis!”) he exclaimed, enjoining all to join him.

Theboisterous response suggested that the success of the festival was assured andthat, as far as the groups in attendance were concerned, a partnership indeedhad begun.

________________________________________

Read Filipino-American writer Ben Pimentel's column about FilBookFest:
Wacky FVR, elegant Lotis Key, majestic Balagtasan by MTV

Butch Dalisay writes about seeing old friends at FilBookFest:
FilBookFest in San Francisco

Neni Sta. Romana Cruz is already looking forward to the next FilBookFest:
Same time in SF in 2013

Cecile Manguerra Brainard thinks the FilBookFest organizers should do it again:
Re the Filipino American International Book Festival

A gathering of Pinoy book lovers

2011-09-20T10:07:00.000-07:00

Go to http://filbookfest.info for more info.

Tsibugan #12

2011-09-15T09:22:00.000-07:00

Filipino Americans line up and order from White Rabbit on
Sept. 10, 2011, the first day of the Festival of Philippine
Arts and Culture in Point Fermin Park in San Pedro.

I finally caught up with the White Rabbit.

I caught the Pinoy food truck when I went to the 20th Festival of Philippine Arts and Culture in San Pedro, Calif., on Sept. 10 and 11. I made sure I had a taste of its offerings because I've been meaning to catch one of these Pinoy food trucks that have been making the rounds of the gastronomic hot spots of the Los Angeles-area. And what a first taste it was. I had White Rabbit's sisig, and it was the bomb. One of the best--here or in Pinas. What I liked about it is it's crispy--it kinda has the texture of the tapsilog at Rodic's in U.P. Diliman--and lemony. All that was missing was maybe a serving of laing or adobong kangkong and I'd have been in food heaven. But I got pretty close, and that's good enough for me.

Good halo-halo at Pinoy Jeepney,
though a bit pricey.

I also got to try Pinoy Jeepney, where I had the halo-halo (a little pricey but good), and Tapa Boy, where my wife and I tried the tapsilog--it was tasty but we felt sleepy afterward. I just checked the Tapa Boy website, and it says they don't use MSG. It might have been just a coincidence, though. Besides, the jury's still out on whether MSG causes sleepiness, right?

Finally, Curbside Cravings was at the San Pedro Fil-Am festival too, but unfortunately I didn't get to try it. I'd had too much food already. The thing is, after I'd eaten, I heard a lot of good reviews of it. So I definitely have to try that next. Chow for now! I mean Ciao!

FPAC 20 is here!

2011-09-06T08:16:00.000-07:00

Come to the biggest annual gathering of Pinoys in Southern California. It's the Festival of Philippine Arts and Culture, a two-day weekend of arts, culture, fun and community on Sept. 10 and 11 at Point Fermin Park, 807 Paseo Del Mar in San Pedro, CA.

More information at http://filamarts.org/fpac20.htm. See you there!

Leche laps up the craziness of Philippine life

2011-08-16T11:43:00.000-07:00

Leche, Coffee House Press, 2011.

These past few weeks I have been reading Leche, the latest novel by Filipino-Americanwriter R. Zamora Linmark. That statement may be an unfair one, though, because itreally shouldn’t take anyone too long to finish the novel. It’s an easy read—theprose is pacey and the action always interesting. Even I didn’t take more thanfive or six sittings to read its entirety. If it took me several weeks, it’sonly because I was working on a few other projects on top of the usual demandsof work (work always gets in the way of the more interesting stuff) and choresand errands.

One thing, though, that struck me while reading Leche is that for a Pinoy in America likeme, it’s almost impossible to have an objective review of the novel (assuming anobjective review is possible). What I mean is, for me the novel, in describing contemporaryPhilippine life, brings up my own memories and associations of that life as Ilived it not too long ago. When it mentions, for instance, Harrison Plaza,the Pasay City mall, I think of one of thehallowed places of my childhood. Growing up in a small town in Bikol in the late1970s and early ’80s, I had heard that malls were the places to go whenever youwere in Manila.And sure enough whenever we were in town we headed for Harrison Plaza,along, it seemed, with everyone else in the city. My thoughts tended to driftalong these lines when I saw it mentioned in Leche.

Or when the novel brings up Quiapo or Cubao, I often getlost in my own reverie and recollection of those places. “That was my haunt,too” or “I know that” was often what I ended up thinking when I came acrossthose places in the novel.

In other words, I have a bit of a predicament (I hesitate tocall it a problem) reading Leche becauseas a Pinoy in America,I am always longing for home: I read Linmark’s work and I see not only the narrativehe’s telling but my own, too. I doubt I would have this reaction if I were readingthis in Quezon City.

Making things even more interesting is that Leche is a homecoming novel. Objectivereview? Forget about it. But, like I said, it’s still an enjoyable read—funny forthe riotous adventures that Vince, the main character, goes through as herediscovers his homeland, and poignant for the ending.

One way to describe the novel is that it’s exactly howsomeone like Vince—a Filipino-American who hasn’t seen the Philippines in 13 years—might find his return tothe Philippines:part self-discovery, part cultural immersion, all adventure.

The journey begins when Vince packs his bag for the Philippines after he places second in a Mr. Pogicontest in Hawaii—a beginning worthy, onemight say, of a trip to a pageant- and pageantry-crazy country like the Philippines.

In Manila,he meets celebrities like Kris Aquino, Bino Boca and Sister Marie, as well as abevy of minor but memorable characters. There is, for instance, Burrnadette, hisTaglish-speaking maid for the week that he is in town, who eventually wouldpoint him where he must go to complete his journey; Tita G., the colorful and gaymanager of Leche (a Malate nightclub) who seems to have the skinny oneverything from the Marcoses to Philippine wartime history; and the many men Vinceflirts with throughout the novel (Vince himself is gay).

As to be expected of an “Amboy” gifted with good looks, Vincegains entrance into a Manila society peopled by the likes of Kris Aquino(presidential daughter, movie star and talk-show host), Bino Boca (crusading filmmaker),and Sister Marie (feminist, activist, nun, actress), and briefly becomes the toast of that society as symbolizedby his appearance on Kris Aquino’s talk show, but finds that he doesn’t belongthere.

He doesn’t belong anywhere, he realizes, in the Philippines.Instead he frequently reaches out to his siblings in Hawaii via the postcardshe sends them, and his mind drifts back to his past—his childhood in SanVicente and his Lolo Al, the one person, we learn, whom he has any emotionalconnection to. So in the end, he goes back to San Vicente to—as Burrnadettecounsels—“bury” his grandfather, but, more importantly, to complete hisjourney.

Here we see about the only somber moments in the novel. Hefinds his family’s old house, enters it, goes through the rooms, and finds nothing.

“Back in the living room, he goes andstands by the window, an unlit cigarette in his hand, looking out at the whitesheets and towels hanging on the clothesline; at the church steeple, and beyondit, at the Sierra Madre that gave birth to the legend of the four women who hadturned their backs on San Vicente; looking, just looking at the coming darknessthe way his grandfather, on the same spot, used to sit on his favoritecane-backed chair, listening to the radio and smoking Marlboro Reds in hispajamas with his legs crossed, his foot tapping against his slipper, watchingdusk as it claimed San Vicente light by light.”

It is clear that Linmark’s intention in the novel is toportray Manila and by extension, the Philippines, asa strange place where things are not always what they seem, and wherethe unreal is real (and vice versa). This seems to be the effect for instance,when rumors and gossip (such as those told about the Marcoses or showbizpersonalities) are treated as truth by the characters. “Oh my Lord, hijo,” Tita G. tells Vince. “You’re inthe Philippines.Everyone here speaks in subtitles. What is said is a translation of what can be.”

Even the non-linear approach to storytelling—the narrativeis punctuated by dream sequences, flashbacks, “tips for tourists” breakouts and Vince’s postcards to hissiblings in Hawaii—enhances the portrayal of Manila as a place that reallyis pretty much what you make it, where there are multiple realities co-existingall at once, where the past is still present, and where the keys to unlockingthe present can be found in the past.

Of course, it helps that the Philippines is already such a placeto begin with. Linmark in some cases simply has to record the strange things hesees, such as the colorful names for some of the more quirky elements ofcontemporary Philippine life. Manila’sstreet foods, for example: “Adidas,” “IUD” and “Walkman”—“Does National Geographic know about this?”Linmark asks. “The Discovery Channel?” Or movie titles (for instance, the onlyslightly altered “God, Help Us: The Magdalena Ortiz Tragedy”).

You can’t out-magic-realist the already magic-realist,Linmark seems to say. Thus even Kris Aquino remains Kris Aquino.

If Leche had asexuality, Linmark said in an interview, it would be “’queer,’ neither straight nor gay.” Ithink the same can be said of his subject.

On the cover of the novel is a jeepney—not a real jeepney,but what seems to be the rusted out incarnation of the toy model commonly found inManila gift shops. It seems to echo the novel’s portrayal of the Philippines asa place that fools the eye.

To use the analogy, though, if Leche were a jeepney ride, it wouldn’t be a straight one that takesyou from Point A to Point B, but more like a “special” trip, as Filipinos wouldcall it, a trip where you charter the vehicle so you could go wherever you want. Sureenough, it takes Vince through Manila’slabyrinthine districts and neighborhoods and gives him a whiff of the city’s sootand smoke, its odors, but also its gaiety and history. It’s a special trip thatin the end succeeds in delivering Vince—the rudderless balikbayan—to his past.

Tsibugan # 10 and 11: Pinoy meals on wheels

2011-08-15T09:09:00.000-07:00


Photo courtesy of Tapa Boy Kababayan L.A. host Janelle So and Tapa Boy's Lawrence Fama.

For my tsibugan series, I usually write about Pinoy-American restaurants where I’ve been, as I only should. But today I thought I’d make an exception and write about two “places” where I haven’t been for reasons that I hope to make clear in a little it.

“Places” enclosed in parentheses should give you a clue. What I’m going to write about aren’t places as much as they are vehicles. Yes, that’s right: vehicles—trucks, to be exact.

I’m talking about Pinoy food trucks! Which would explain why I haven’t eaten there. These mobile kitchens or mobile canteens, as they are sometimes called, don’t stay put in one place, but rather move from place to place, sometimes more than once a day. But I thought I’d write about them because Pinoy food trucks have become a staple, as far as dining destinations are concerned, for Pinoys and many others in Southern California.

Food trucks, of course, have been around for the longest time. Even Pinoys in the Philippines know them as those customized trucks parked by the larger office buildings in Makati and Ortigas around lunch time. The back opens up to reveal what is essentially a turo-turo featuring rice meals, sandwiches, instant noodles, and other popular Pinoy foods, and drinks to wash it all down.

Well, here in Southern California, food trucks have been undergoing a revival of sorts in the past few years. Different trucks featuring different cuisines can be found in select downtowns. Even some of the big restaurant chains have unrolled their own vehicles, hoping to get a slice of the action.

The Los Angeles area is a veritable center for this phenomenon, hosting several trucks at any given time.

Another thing worth noting here is that indispensable to the operation of a food truck is its use of social networking websites suck as Facebook and Twitter—especially Twitter—to announce where they’re going to be on a given day. In fact, one wouldn’t be far off when one says the food truck industry owes its revival to mobile Internet technology.

Pinoy food trucks are a definite part of the craze, as they should, given the sheer number of Pinoys living in the Southland. There are a number of them, but two of the most visible are Tapa Boy and White Rabbit. Here are links to their websites, so you know what I’m talking about: Tapa Boy, White Rabbit. The two were recently featured on the Asian Journal, a Pinoy- American newspaper, under the headline “Pinoy Meals on Wheels: Pinoy Food Trucks are Driving Filipino Cuisine to the Mainstream.”

Like I said, I haven’t tried either of these guys, so I’m going to shut up now. I’m particularly curious about Tapa Boy because it claims to be the “original Filipino breakfast food truck.” I’m a big fan of the all-Pinoy breakfast. Whether it’s tapsilog, tocilog or longsilog, I make it my business to try it. So I’m going to make it a point to catch the Tapa Boy truck and let you know how that one turns out. Stay tuned.

ON SALE NOW!

2011-07-12T09:46:00.000-07:00

The Pinoy-in-American life

What do you get when you take a 30-something Pinoy, who fancies himself a writer, from the Philippines and transplant him to America? You get “Pinoy in America: The stateside life in the time of Barack Obama, Facebook and Pacquiao-mania,” an immigrant notebook that chronicles the adventures and misadventures of Pinoys in their adopted land.

Lorenzo Paran III, an English teacher at the University of the Philippines before moving to the U.S., takes his cue from his first years as an imigrante, a period of learning and unlearning that, as he finds, many others have gone through before him and many more undoubtedly will.

He shares the stories—always poignant, always moving—of the Filipinos he meets as he tries to carve a home in a new land: old-timers eager to share the voice of experience; young guns audaciously taking on the challenges but also opportunities in the complex landscape that is America; the proverbial Filipinos who are “more American than Americans”; and second- or third-generation Filipinos reaching out to their parents’ homeland.

Paran discovers too that just because you’ve spoken English, gone to McDonald’s and watched Hollywood movies all your life doesn’t mean you’ll instantly fit right in in America. On the contrary, the story becomes more interesting if you think you will.

Witnessing how others have managed to become Americans and yet stay true to their Filipino roots, Paran, a Bikolano through and through, finds that the secret often is to nurture a dual mind-set that allows for constant reminiscence but also leaves room for living in the now. Home is a matter of mind, Paran seems to say in his essays.

At times lighthearted and at times musing, “Pinoy in America” offers a look at the Filipino-American life from inside, and Paran finds that the story is not always as simple and clear-cut as it often seems when seen from the homeland.

What readers say:

"I got this book last Friday that was authored by a schoolmate way back in the Philippines, Lorenzo Paran III (known to us as simply Third Paran). The first thing I did when I received it was to open the middle page of the book, read what was written there and laughed so hard! I am now almost done with it and I totally related to his experiences as a first generation immigrant, who despite of the difficulties and adjustments, assimilated well in this melting pot of different cultures... To all my Pinoy or even non-Pinoy friends who want to learn and explore the experiences of immigrants like me, this is a MUST READ! Go and grab a copy! :)"

— A.C., Oceanside, Calif.

"Thoroughly loving it .... the material is familiar and so true."

— Bing O., Chino Hills, Calif.

"Funny (and) down to earth .... hard to put down!"

— Denise C., Los Angeles

About the author

Lorenzo Paran III was born and raised in Daraga, Albay, in the Philippines. He attended Catholic schools in Legazpi City, and then went on to the University of the Philippines in Diliman, Quezon City, where he graduated with a bachelor’s degree in English and a master’s degree in creative writing.

He was a fellow at the Dumaguete National Writers Workshop in 1995 and the U.P. National Writers Workshop in 1996. From 1995 to 2004, he taught English at U.P. Diliman. He lives, with his wife, in Southern California, where he makes a living editing news stories for the Los Angeles Newspaper Group.

To buy “Pinoy in America: The stateside life in the time of Barack Obama, Facebook and Pacquiao-mania,” CLICK HERE.

Two Fil-Am writers, one voice

2011-07-03T09:07:00.000-07:00

By Pinoy in America

To the multitude of voices telling the story of Filipinos in America add two more.

The Literacy Initiatives International Foundation’s latest conversation with Filipino-American writers will feature Gemma Nemenzo, author of Heart in Two Places: An immigrant’s journey, and Lorenzo Paran III, who wrote An Isteytsayd Life: Not-so-random thoughts from a Pinoy living in America. The event will be on July 16 at the Daly City Public Library at Serramonte.

Nemenzo is best known in the Filipino-American community as the hand at the helm of Filipinas Magazine, of which she was managing editor from 2003 to 2010 and where her popular column, “Slant,” appeared.

Heart in Two Places gathers those pieces, which the San Francisco Chronicle’s Ben Pimentel has hailed as “eloquent explorations of the Filipino American journey from various viewpoints—that of an expat, a woman and mother.”

Paran, a copy editor with the Los Angeles Newspaper Group, wrote his book—in installments—on his blog, Pinoy in America, which he began soon after moving to the U.S.

“It was a way to make sense of my new life,” says Paran, an English teacher at the University of the Philippines before migrating, of his blog (pinoyinamerica.blogspot.com).

What makes the pairing of these two writers interesting is that while they come from similar Philippine backgrounds—Nemenzo also studied at the U.P., graduating with a journalism degree—they tell two contrasting stories.

Nemenzo talks about the challenges she faced when she decided to leave her marriage in the Philippines and raise her three children on her own in a new country, challenges which, while not unique to Nemenzo, rarely find as poignant and moving an expression as that found in Heart in Two Places.

“It gave me a purpose,” Nemenzo says of the difficulties she faced in her first years in the U.S.

Another theme running through Heart in Two Places is Nemenzo’s political involvement. She devotes a number of pieces recounting her days as a journalist in the Philippines and as a witness to the struggles of the Philippine left. It’s an activism that naturally takes root in her adopted land as shown in her reflections on the political realities of contemporary American life. Her pieces on the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks are some of the most moving in the collection.

Paran, who belongs to a slightly younger generation, talks almost solely of the challenges he faced as an individual and uses his essays as a vehicle for his humorous takes on Filipino-American life. What’s the word for gay Filipinos? “Half-Pinoy, half-Pinay,” Paran reports in one of his pieces on English.

Language is a constant subject for Paran, who was a literature major—and from 1995 to 2004, an English instructor—at the UP.

He left for the U.S. in 2004 “to get married,” he says.

His then-girlfriend had moved to the U.S. a few months earlier, and “she begged me to come,” Paran says with a wink and a smile.

In Southern California, with lots of free time, he found himself writing to tell his friends back home about his new surroundings. He wrote them long emails.

“But they looked more like ‘mini-essays,’” Paran says. It wasn’t long after that when he thought of starting a blog. He called it “Pinoy in America.”

“Because I realized that’s what I was,” Paran says. “I was no longer a Pinoy in the Philippines. I was still a Pinoy—but in America.”

The blog found an audience among Filipinos both in the Philippines and the U.S., and that’s what led to the book deal with the UP Press. A second book seems to be on the way as Paran hasn’t stopped posting new material on his blog.

Not surprisingly, both Nemenzo and Paran discuss the theme that permeates Filipino-American writing in general: the dual nature of expatriate life.

Nemenzo talks about her first years in America, when she “straddled two countries, unable to decide where I really belonged”—a sentiment that leads her to say her heart is in two places at the same time, giving the book its title.

This theme of duality also runs through much of An Isteytsayd Life.

“The life of a Pinoy in America can be a dizzying one,” Paran writes. “When you’re in America, it often seems you are waiting for that day when you will be ‘back home.’ But when you get there, you feel restless…because you know your life is waiting for you back in America… You’re here, but your mind is there.”

It’s a dilemma the two writers manage to resolve at the end, in similar ways.

Nemenzo finds a sense of resolution through community involvement, which is one of the constants in her life, from her time in the Philippines to now. Perhaps, that is what sustains her.

Character is not defined by one’s leaving one’s country to live and work in another land, she says. Rather, it’s determined by how one gives back to one’s community.

Perhaps right there can be gleaned Nemenzo’s philosophy as a writer, as a woman and as a Filipina. Her present work as head of the Literacy Initiatives International Foundation, a San Francisco Bay Area nonprofit that promotes cultural literacy among Filipino Americans and other ethnic communities, seems to attest to that.

Paran does not explicitly speak of a commitment to serve his community, but he expresses his conviction to live “in the present.”

In the last chapter of his book, he says he will always be “Pinoy,” although one with a full awareness of where he presently is.

“You try to live in two countries, and you end up living in neither,” he writes. The statement can be read as an admonition to his readers, but it’s possibly also a reminder that Paran issues to himself, more than to anyone else.

Finally, Nemenzo and Paran, separated by a generation and by their personal circumstances, also are bound by their devotion to writing. But while they sought comfort in their craft and looked only for a vehicle to share their experience, it’s clear that they’ve discovered much more—including, assuredly, a sense of home.

Heart in Two Places was published by Anvil Publishing Inc. An Isteytsayd Life was published by the University of the Philippines Press.

For more information on the July 16 event at the Daly City Public Library-Serramonte, contact Karen Engle, library services manager, at kengle@dalycity.org or Bess Calpotura, outreach coordinator of the Filipino American International Book Festival, at besscalpo@comcast.net.

____________________________

What: Author’s talk featuring Gemma Nemenzo, Lorenzo Paran III

When: 11 a.m. to 12:30 p.m. July 16 (Saturday)

Where: Daly City Public Library, 40 Wembley Drive, Daly City

More info: Karen Engle, kengle@dalycity.org; Bess Calpotura, besscalpo@comcast.net.

Please, there are no Filipina brides here

2011-06-11T07:52:00.000-07:00

So, recently, I enabled ads on this blog. I’m earning a lot of money—about a million bucks a month, so I’m not complaining. Except for one thing. Namely, those ads that pop up once in a while promoting Filipinas as “dates” or even as possible brides.

We’ve all seen those ads. Some examples are for “Philippine Singles Dating” and “Filipina Fiance or Wife.” It’s sad, but even on the big, more reputable Pinoy-American websites such as, for example, those for Pinoy-American newspapers, you’ll see these ads that link to websites purporting to offer access to Filipinas in the Philippines who will readily marry an American.

That’s just a fact of life, I guess. The Philippines, during the reign of Manny Pacquiao and P-Noy, is still known as a country where the women will readily marry a foreigner just to get out of their “godforsaken” land.

Even I have had a few people here ask me how they can meet a “Filipina.” And they say “Filipina” the way they would say a forbidden word. But honestly, I can’t and do not blame these people. By and large, that’s still how the Philippines is perceived in America: A third world nation prone to super-typhoons and political upheavals, a nation that produces great boxers and delicious mangoes, and a nation where many of the women will do anything to marry a foreigner.

These people ask me if I know of any websites where they can go to meet Filipinas. Incidentally, this is after I tell them about this blog, which, I tell them is a great resource for an intelligent discussion of the Filipino Diaspora. Few things can be more discouraging than hearing something like that after you tell them what you’ve been trying to do on your Pinoy-American blog. “Is there a website I can go to find a Filipina to marry?” Sheesh, come on.

I encountered the same situation when I was living in South Korea, where for a year and a half I taught English under an exchange program. At the university where I taught there were a few other foreign teachers, mostly from North America. They were a great bunch of guys and gals, and I remember them fondly to this day. But two or three of the guys, whenever I told them stories about my Filipina friends, would go: “Hmmm … Filipina,” and flash a sly, knowing smile. Of course, they did it half-jokingly (I think). But, as they say, even jokes are half-meant. I don’t blame them.

And I have a confession to make. I may be guilty of helping reinforce the notion of Filipinas as sex workers, to put it bluntly.

One time, I think it was someone’s birthday, we all decided to go to a strip bar. (This is still in Korea, by the way.) So we all went one night. We got there and sat at the table and, of course, we were promptly offered the company of “guest relations officers.” I think that’s what “GRO” stands for (you see, I wouldn’t know about these things.)

Anyway, we enlisted the company of several GROs, and we all started to have a good time. Now, it so happened that some of the girls that we got were Filipinas, so when they saw that I was a kababayan, they all shrieked in delight. And our whole group, enlivened by the discovery that some of the members come from the same homeland, started to really have some fun.

And the girls started calling me “kuya.”

“Kuya, beer pa?” they said when they saw my drink was running low.

One time, we went back to that nightclub (someone else was celebrating his birthday), and as soon as we entered, those same girls shouted, almost in unison: “Kuyaaaaa!” I felt like a movie star.

I don’t know if my friends were glad too that they knew someone who was popular with the Filipina GROs.

I never get tired of telling this particular story from my time in Korea—I think it’s funny, but sad at the same time. I mean here are all these women, braving the loneliness (and the dangers) of living in a foreign land to earn a few more hundred pesos than what they would earn back home.

To me that is the greatest crime the leaders of the Philippines have committed. Not corruption, not dishonesty, not even murder, but rather consigning Filipinas (their own sisters) to a life they would not want to live, if only they had a choice.

I hate to leave this part of my piece on a sad note, so let me tell you another story, also from my time in Korea, that shows a side of Filipino foreign life that we don’t always see.

When I was living in Chungnam province, which was about an hour south of Seoul, I used to take the bus to the capital every Sunday so I could go to the international church there. It was a fine church, peopled by different nationalities. More importantly the Mass was said in English, so we all felt right at home. The best part, though, was the choir.

I may be biased here, but I think we had the best Sunday choir in all of South Korea at that time. And you know why? It was because we had great singers—namely, all the Filipinos and Filipinas in the musical bands working in the nightclubs in that part of the country who, like me, were attending that church because it was the only place they could catch a Mass in English.

I am not exaggerating when I tell you that without fail when that choir sang, it truly was an uplifting experience. The applause they constantly got from the congregation is proof of that. And they would’ve gotten standing ovations, too, if everyone wasn’t standing up already. There was one guy in the choir who gave a solo rendition of “Living Water” one Sunday, and up to now, I cannot get that version of that song out of my mind. We had some truly, truly great singers in that choir.

I got to know some of them quite well too because on some Sundays, after Mass, we would all go to lunch together, taking delight in the company of kababayans. I don’t remember their names now, but their singing is burned into my memory.

So I guess my point is, Filipinas should be known on the Web—and off it—as much more than “possible brides.” And I wish they won’t put those ads on my blog.

Actually, my blog does not get them too often these days. Instead I get ads for Netflix (an online video rental store), Groupon (a website offering store discounts), and just a moment ago, the Lord of the Rings concert (a symphony show) in Los Angeles. That’s fine. I don’t mind those. And there are ads for money remittance firms, long-distance calls, and “cheap” airline tickets.

But what I would really love to have here are ads for good old Pinoy companies and products such as San Miguel beer, Purefoods, LBC and, perhaps, my favorite Pinoy-American restaurant, Manila Sunset Grille (Rancho Cucamonga branch). It would be cool to have those ads, especially San Miguel. My friends and I in college used to dream of being in a San Miguel ad. If I can’t be in one, I’d settle for hosting one on my blog. So if anyone from those companies is reading this, here’s an offer: you can put your ads here for free. For real. Now how’s that for an ad?

At FilBookFest, Filipinos seek to say, 'I am'

2011-06-07T13:57:00.000-07:00

In the cultural melting pot that is the United States, one group will be stirring in a little more color come Oct. 1 and 2.

That weekend Filipino writers and book lovers will descend on San Francisco’s downtown for the Filipino American International Book Festival. Organizers bill it as the largest gathering of authors of Filipino heritage outside the Philippines.

Why a book festival and why now?

The organizers believe that in this technology-driven world, the written word remains to be a people’s best weapon against “invisibility.”

“Filipinos live all over the world, yet they hardly know each other… And of course, neither does most of the world,” said Oscar Penaranda, a member of the organizing committee and himself a writer.

He bemoans the Filipino-American community’s lack of access to books published in the Philippines and vice-versa. That’s what FilBookFest, as organizers have dubbed the festival, seeks to address, he said.

“With the richness of [Philippine] culture and the talents of our writers and our artists, we should have started having book festivals a long time ago,” said Marciano Paynor Jr., head of the Philippine Consulate of San Francisco, at the announcement of the event in February.

Slated for Oct. 1 and 2 at the Civic Center in downtown San Francisco are readings by authors, writing workshops and talks on publishing and marketing. Expected to attend are writers, publishers, literary agents, librarians and educators both from the Philippines and those based in the U.S. Some events will be held on Fulton Street, and others will be at the San Francisco Public Library and the Asian Art Museum, located on either side of Fulton.

Attendees also are sure to learn about Filipino culture in general as there will be lectures on Philippine arts, musical performances and cooking demonstrations.

FilBookFest organizers are reaching out to the broader community, too.

“We want this to be a coming together of cultures and generations,” said Gemma Nemenzo, executive director of the Literacy Initiatives International Foundation (LIIF), a San Francisco Bay Area-based nonprofit that promotes cultural literacy among Filipino Americans and other ethnic communities. The LIIF is organizing FilBookFest in cooperation with the Philippine Consulate of San Francisco, San Francisco Public Library, Asian Art Museum, and Philippine Department of Tourism.

And what’s a festival without food? There’ll be plenty of that. In addition to the culinary lectures and demonstrations, FilBookFest will feature vendors offering the best of traditional Filipino cuisine.

But make no mistake, the focal point of the weekend will be the Book.

“We want our stories to be heard,” Penaranda said.

_______________________________

FilBookFest facts

What: Filipino American International Book festival —
A celebration of Philippine and Filipino-American
culture through literature, visual arts and music

Where: Civic Center in downtown San Francisco.
Outdoor events will be on Fulton Street, indoor events
will be at the San Francisco Public Library and
the Asian Art Museum

When: Oct. 1 and 2, 2011

Info: Call Gemma Nemenzo at 650-384-9721,
email at filbookfest@yahoo.com;

Visit http://filbookfest.info

Tsibugan #9

2011-06-04T09:14:00.000-07:00

This is the West Covina branch of Pinoy-Pinay, a Pinoy-American fast-food
chain. Home of good ol' Pinoy dining table favorites. Its slogan is
"Lutong Pinoy... lasang Pinoy... tunay na Pinoy!"

Pinoy-Pinay, the fast-food chain, has been around for the longest time, but I've never sampled their fare until recently. Mrs. Pinoy in America and I decided to finally give it a try on our way to downtown L.A. I'm glad we stopped by the West Covina branch because now I have another place to go if and when I get a sudden craving for adobo, laing, pansit bihon, lumpia, etc., cooked just like back home. The West Covina branch is only about 10 minutes away from where I work, so it's perfect for grabbing ulam to go, which is exactly what I did Friday, only about a week since we went the first time! I had to go back. Masarap e ...

The Force in R.C.

2011-05-30T11:03:00.000-07:00

Stormtroopers ham it up before an audience of kids and parents during
Rancho Cucamonga's Star Wars Day on May 28, 2011. The three were dancing
to 1970's disco tunes. Later there was a story session with Darth Vader,
who read "Luke and the Beanstalk."

RANCHO CUCAMONGA, Calif. — Stormtroopers invaded the city’s library courtyard this weekend, but there was no cause for alarm as Han Solo was there, along with Chewbacca, New Republic pilots and Obi Wan Kenobi. Alas, there was no sign of Luke Skywalker. But there was an army of young jedis in training, so the future looked safe.

As you may have guessed, it was Star Wars Day in Rancho Cucamonga.

Fun for the whole family clearly was the theme of the day.

When I walked into the library courtyard about an hour into the event (it was slated from 1-4 p.m.) on Saturday (May 28, 2011), Obi Shawn was holding court in a tent before an audience of rapt children holding up their lightsabers. Later, Darth Vader would read them a story, “Luke and the Beanstalk.”

A Jar Jar Dunk Tank kept other kids busy on the other end, next to a starfighter-themed car. At another booth, Stephen Stanton, the voice of Capt. Moff Tarkin on “The Clone Wars” was on hand to sign autographs. There was a long line of kids and parents there.

For the grownups, the Mandalorian Mercs, a costume club based in L.A., displayed their offerings in their own booth guarded by a couple of well-armed uniformed warriors.

Of course, everywhere there were people moving about in their best Star Wars costumes: Stormtroopers, New Republic pilots, Han Solo, Chewbacca, Princess Lea—and even a Jedi Elvis, who performed a few numbers before the kids.

Once again, the city proves the Force is right at home in Rancho.

Han Solo and a New Republic pilot take time off
from their duties to pose for a photo with kids.

Stephen Stanton, the voice of Capt. Tarkin on
"The Clone Wars," was on hand to sign autographs.
A really nice guy.

Some wares on display from Mandalorian Mercs, a Star Wars
costume club based in Los Angeles. They're a regular
at Star Wars Days around Southern California.

The Inland Empire Fan Force is, according to its website, a

fan club that aims to "give Star Wars fans in the Inland Empire

an opportunity to get together to participate in

monthly fun group activities and events."

Jon Paulson (aka Major Tag Greenly) gets in his "starfighter." He's a

member of "Rebel Legion," a provider of Star Wars costumes
and props. Check out www.sunriderbase for more info.

"Aaarghhhh."

Kirk McConnell is an artist and illustrator who gives
art lessons to kids--and a big Star Wars fan.

Darth Vader spotted me taking pictures
and right away he raised a hand and....

A day with the Pinoy Harley Riders Club

2011-04-12T08:05:00.000-07:00

Strong and content, I travel the open road.

—Walt Whitman, “Song of the Open Road”

Pinoy in America recently got a peek into the Pinoy Harley Riders Club, a group of hardy Pinoy-American motorcyclists and Harley-Davidson enthusiasts based in Southern California. The occasion was the club’s monthly meeting, which this time the club decided to hold at Manila Sunset Grille in Rancho Cucamonga. (The club changes its meeting venue from month to month, but it’s always at a Pinoy restaurant.)

I saw some amazing Harleys and met their equally colorful owners during the meeting, but more importantly it was nice to meet some good old-fashioned kababayans who happen to be die-hard riders and very passionate Harley-Davidson fans.

The club was founded in 1999 and aims to be a “motorcycle group where Filipino Harley Davidson owners can meet, exchange ideas, and ride among kababayans.”

For more information, visit the club’s website at http://pinoyharleyridersclub.com.

This rider shows where his loyalties lie: to the motherland
and to his Harley-Davidson.

Ang magigiting na lalaki ng Pinoy Harley Riders Club—
with Pearl, one of the gems of the club.

Forget Pinoy riders, some of these bikes
will stand out in any Harley-Davidson club.
Like this one, decked out in "Star Wars"
theme. Check out the Darth Vader
break lights, below.

Pinoy touches can be found everywhere
in the club, from this belt buckle to
decals and jacket patches.

Ruben, a longtime rider, and member of the club since 2004.
Below are some of the pins and badges he's collected
over the years, showing he's a true veteran of the road.

The ladies of PHRC. They are not hangers-on but full and worthy members
of the club, providing valuable support. A good example is Armie,
second from left, who is the club webmaster.

The members pay attention during the meeting. On the agenda
were a presentation about the club's previous rides and
briefings on upcoming ones.

The club logo has undergone two changes. From the original (left), it grew
bigger (middle), and finally on the third and current version (right),
the Philippine and U.S. flags have switched places.

The Pinoy Harley Riders Club. Twelve years on the road and going strong.

Nine of the ten founding members of the club, led by current president,
Abet Zaporteza, at left. True leaders, all still go out with the pack on
the club's many rides on the roads and highways of
Southern California and beyond.

Land of the free (—bie)

2011-02-28T10:53:00.000-08:00

Correct me if I’m wrong, but don’t we Pinoys love freebies? My wife gives me a hard time every time I pick up free stuff around here—but she doesn’t get it.

As I remember, Pinoys have always had a love affair with freebies—whether they are T-shirts given away by politicians during campaign season, gas station or bank calendars around New Year’s, or the floral “centerpiece” at a wedding reception. The last one is true even in America. In fact, at the few wedding receptions I’ve been to here, I’ve seen our kababayans jostle for that prized flower arrangement. It’s free, so why not take it? So goes our thinking, it seems.

Which, incidentally, reminds me of the following joke:

A family—composed of a man, his wife and their child—is at a wedding reception. After eating, the padre de pamilya, seeing all the leftover food, tries to come up with a way to take it all home without seeming so zealous about it. Then he comes up with what he thinks is a great idea. He calls over the waiter and says—casually but loud enough so that the other guests at the table could hear him—“Waiter, can you bag the food so we can take it home, you know, for the dog.” Whereupon his little boy exclaims, “Yaaay, we’re going to get a dog!”

That joke cracked me up the first time I heard it, and I’ve been retelling it ever since. Incidentally, it sounds a lot better if you say it in Filipino. The punch line goes: “Yehey, magkaka-aso na kami!”

One reason it’s so funny is that it gets right down to something we all know is true of ourselves, deep down: that is, we’re crazy for freebies or giveaways. Of course you could say that of everyone everywhere. And you would be right. Who wouldn’t want useful stuff if it’s being given away for free?

But I think it’s different for Pinoys. As I said, it’s almost like a love affair we have with the act of scoring stuff for free.

When I was growing up in Bikol in the 70’s, folks around me were always looking to score free stuff, whether it was a snack, a T-shirt from a balikbayan, cigarettes, anything. It didn’t have to be big, just free.

I don’t think it was necessarily just poverty that was at the root of this practice because I’ve seen even middle-income folks pull a fast one when it comes to giveaways. Rather, I think it ties in with our preoccupation with the matter of dilihensiya.

Now there’s a word I grew up hearing a lot. Everyone, it seemed, in those days was out to score, was out para mag-dilihensiya.

The word, it struck me just now, must have come from the word “diligence,” which doesn’t necessarily suggest something that is free for taking but, on the contrary, suggests someone who works hard to earn something. Isn’t that funny?

I know we Pinoys are a hardworking bunch, but some of us seem to be happier and especially proud if the dilihensiya comes with minimum effort. The desire for free things, I think, is just a continuation of that and, come to think of it, maybe even to blame for the widespread corruption in government. Hmmm.

Here in America, I kind of miss being around people who, like me, wouldn’t think twice about picking up libre stuff. J., who’s Manila-bred through and through, doesn’t get it. It’s a shame because there is some good stuff to be had around here. I wouldn’t say there’s a lot more stuff to be had, but the freebies tend to be different from the ones you find in the Philippines.

Coffee mugs, for instance, seem to be a favorite around here. At the moment, we have maybe two or three mugs in the kitchen that were given away somewhere. We also have pens and notepads and all manner of office supplies that either she or I got at some community event or other. They all bear the name of a company or organization.

And here’s a particularly American freebie: license plate frames. I have one that says “Give Hope, Give Life, Give Blood.” It came from the blood bank where I regularly go to donate blood. And while there I get to enjoy free snacks and drinks and coffee. And for every third time I go, I get a T-shirt. But, of course, I don’t go there for those things. Really. I go there to give. But I won’t say no to tokens of thanks. Are you kidding—they’re free.

Seriously Pinoy

2011-01-25T10:21:00.000-08:00

After two decades of stand-up comedy,
Rex Navarrete’s hold on Filipino-American
funny bone is firmer than ever

All eyes are on Filipino-American comic Rex Navarrete during a show at
New York's Gotham comedy club in October 2010. (Photos by Ernie Pena)

Rex Navarrete would be the first to tell you that, off stage, he’s a pretty “serious” guy.

“If you saw me on the street,” he told me during a recent interview [10/26/10], “you’d think I’d beat you up.”

That’s why on some of his promotional pictures and on his CD and DVD covers, he doesn’t always strike a wacky pose, as perhaps you would expect of a stand-up comedian. Instead sometimes you’ll see a buttoned-up Rex Navarrete, unsmiling. In fact, if you dressed him up in shorts and a basketball jersey and sat him down with a bottle of gin in front of a sari-sari store in some kanto in the Philippines, anyone would be afraid to come close.

But Rex Navarrete on stage is a different story.

At a recent performance at the Improv comedy club in Ontario, Calif., he brought the house down with his trademark jokes about Filipino Americans and spot-on impressions of “Tito Boy” and the other characters he’s created over the years: the Filipino American mom, dad, lolo and lola and “fresh off the boat” cousins with their broken English and mangling of standard American pronunciations.

He told new jokes and retold familiar ones such as “Balikbayan box” and “Filipino foods,” though not without adding new touches.

The audience was also treated to a rip-roaringly hilarious, unscripted segue when an audience member (one of the few non-Filipinos in attendance) told Navarrete she “skydove” when she was in the Philippines.

Navarrete pounced on that word as soon as he heard it. “Skydove?” he said, “You mean you’re a skydover?” drawing a fresh round of laughter from the crowd. And it became the running joke of the night. Towards the end of the show, telling another joke, he said “I almost took a dove…. But I survove!”

That’s a big part of Navarrete’s brand of comedy right there. He mangles the English language on behalf of Filipino Americans, allowing them to see themselves in him, and, laughing at him, to laugh at themselves. In fact, when he assumes his characters, he becomes a stand-in for Filipino Americans, free to say anything he wants—which is often what Filipino Americans themselves will not say openly.

That’s why Navarrete’s characters have all become familiar to Filipinos this side of the world. Who can be more recognizable, for example, than “Tito Boy,” the foul-mouthed, ungrammatical, politically incorrect family member that, as Navarrete points out, is present in every Filipino clan?

At the first mention of his name during the Improv performance, the audience applauded in recognition. Though Navarrete doesn’t do his “Sex Education with Tito Boy” routine anymore, the character is alive and well in new jokes.

***

Navarrete is pretty serious when it comes to his craft too.

“You have to respect the audience,” he said when he sat down with me before the show. “You won’t see me playing for cheap laughs.”

From what he calls “real Rex moments” he draws his material, picking out the ones most rife with potential humor.

“If it doesn’t make me laugh, it won’t go on-stage with me,” he said.

Then each routine, each joke is carefully rehearsed, played in his head over and over until he gets it right. And then he performs it.

The characters and voices come more naturally, he said. He tends to just act them out on stage and improvises until he’s satisfied. But he doesn’t rehearse them at home or before a test audience, he insists. He just becomes them on stage. And then he adjusts depending on the audience’s reaction.

Comics do that all the time, of course. They adapt their routines depending on the reaction they get, so that over years what they have in effect is a dialogue with their audience. In Navarrete’s case, the conversation has been going on for more than 20 years.

It was in 1989 when he took the leap—out of his Asian American studies professor’s office (he’d told Navarrete to take his jokes to the stage)—and into the life of a comic.

In the early 1990s, as a young comic just starting out in the business, he pounded the streets of the San Francisco Bay area, looking for gigs, and watching and learning from other comics.

Back then, he worked as a health educator and drug/alcohol counselor in a school district during the day (“serious stuff,” Navarrete says), and then at night he headed for the comedy clubs. He saw Robin Williams, Dana Carvey and Greg Proops—standard names in comedy—in their early days and took cues from their acts.

And then he started landing gigs. One thing he had going for him was that there was an audience virtually just waiting for him. Namely, the Filipinos of the Bay area. He performed for them at colleges, universities and civic events—wherever they were, he was there.

His breakthrough came with the release of his first CD, “Badly Browned,” in 1998. Another CD followed in 1999, “Husky Boy.” “Bastos” came in 2001. Then came the DVDs: “Hella Pinoy” (2003) and “Badass Madapaka (2005).” Finally, his latest, “Komik Organik,” came out in 2009.

At present he travels all over North America, bringing the laughs wherever there are Filipinos: New York, New Jersey, Texas, Hawaii. Manila is never too far from his itinerary either. He was due there in November for a private show.

When I met him for this interview he’d just headlined the annual Festival of Pilipino Arts and Culture in San Pedro, Calif., near L.A., and was doing a series of shows around Southern California. I caught him on the last night of a three-night series at the Ontario Improv. The club was filled to capacity—just like the two previous nights—with an almost all-Filipino crowd, according to one of the club’s managers, who said he found that remarkable.

He said when the club features, for example, a Latino comic, the crowd would be maybe half-Latino and half-everything else. Same with Chinese or blacks. But with Navarrete, he says, it’s “about 90 percent” Filipino.

But that only makes sense. It’s hard to imagine whites or blacks or, for that matter, other Asians, getting—and laughing to—Navarrete’s jokes. Maybe to those of other Filipino-American comics. One of them—Jokoy—has even landed a spot on no less than “The Tonight Show with Jay Leno.” But Tito Boy before the “Tonight Show” crowd? Probably not.

Navarrete is the comic for Filipino Americans.

***

Navarrete has a routine called “The Joke of Jokes,” which he usually tells toward the end of a performance.

It’s a take on the classic three-men-marooned-on-an-island joke. The three men in this case are a white guy, a black guy, and, of course, a Filipino. I won’t tell the whole joke here—I actually couldn’t even if I tried—but it involves the three guys trying to prove to one another who has the hardest “bird” (that’s penis in Navarrete-speak) in the world.

With a single coconut tree on the island, you can imagine how they were going to do that (picture the men trying to get the coconuts off the tree and cracking them open). But, for me, the genius is that Navarrete chooses to have Tito Boy tell the joke.

Navarrete usually prefaces the routine with a spiel about how irreverent some Filipino funerals can be. That is, people laugh and eat and party at the wake, and always, as Navarrete tells it, there’s our Tito Boy telling jokes in his broken English, entertaining everyone.

So, as Navarrete tells “The Joke of Jokes,” you get the joke, which is funny in itself in that ribald way jokes about penises can be, but you also have Tito Boy holding court—broken English, mangled pronunciation and all. You’d think people have tired of hearing Rex Navarrete say “bul-syet” by now but nope, they’re still breaking out each time they hear it. They break out in laughter at every turn in the story, actually.

At the Improv, by the end of the routine, the audience is laughing so hard you can’t even hear Tito Boy’s—or rather, Navarrete’s—closing line, which is simply, “The joke of jokes.” That caps off the performance for the night.

Navarrete, the comic, then drinks in the applause, which goes into a crescendo. People hoot and howl in appreciation. More clapping. Navarrete bows and thanks the audience, and then he exits.

A few moments later, he’s at the club’s main entrance, signing copies of his CDs and DVDs and posing for pictures with members of the audience as they file out. He’s sweaty, a bit harried, but completely professional when talking to each person.

No more jokes—they’ve all been told for now. The show is done. It’s just Rex Navarrete, one-on-one with his fans. As he poses for a photo with a guy, I steal a shot and I catch the comic with just the faintest hint of a smile.

The stateside life

2011-01-17T12:42:00.000-08:00

Pinoys in America like to say it takes about five years to settle into the isteytsayd life. That sounds about right.

By your fifth year you will have settled into your home—your very own home because it’s common for Pinoys in America, in their first few years, to stay with someone else, usually relatives who themselves most probably had to stay with other relatives when they first moved to America. Or friends in some cases. But when you go into your fifth year, you pretty much have figured out which city or maybe which state you want to live in, and chances are you now have the wherewithal (financial or otherwise) to make that move which you have to make sooner or later anyway.

My wife and I ourselves stayed with my brother-in-law and his family for a few months when we first came here. Then we moved into the house of a good friend of my father-in-law’s. We stayed there a few years and finally we moved out of that and into an apartment that for a year now we’ve been calling rightfully and a little proudly our home.

That right there is a story repeated many, many times over for many, many Pinoys who choose to live in America. Rare is the Pinoy who stays in a hotel or moves into his very own home or apartment the very first time he sets foot in this country. I don’t doubt that it happens—as in, for example, the case of Pinoys who move here with jobs waiting—but for the vast majority the norm is when they arrive in America, they are greeted by familiar faces and are brought into warm, welcoming homes.

And by your fifth year, you will have settled into a job too. I would say that’s about the most important benchmark for Pinoys in America which tells them, “OK, now you’re on your way to building a new life here in your adopted country.” Because when you have a job, it means you’ve earned that piece of paper that gives you the legal right to be in this country for an extended period of time, and you don’t have to worry about “overstaying.” And it means you now have a Social Security number, which is another gateway to other necessary things—opening a bank account, getting a driver’s license, starting a business (if you were so inclined).

And by your fifth year, chances are, you will have been driving and learned to navigate the freeway system, both of which happen to be an indispensable skill here in California. There are subways and trains in and around the bigger cities like Los Angeles and San Francisco, but for the most part, if you want to go anywhere, you have to drive.

I distinctly remember during my first year here riding in my brother-in-law’s car (he’d been here about 10 years at that point) and driving for an hour to go to this store, and his telling me later when he tried to explain to me how we got to our destination that we “took the 210, then the 57 and then 91…” referring to the freeways we took. And I remember just hearing numbers.

“One day, he said, you’ll know all that,” he told me, sure that I was going to get behind the wheel eventually and figure out the freeway system. And I believed him, actually. That is, I remember thinking, yeah, all this is a little daunting now, but one day, I’ll do it like everyone else.

It can be daunting. I know some Pinoys who until now won’t ever take the freeway. I don’t blame them because on the freeway you not only have to drive fast—as fast as most everyone else is going—but you have to watch for your exits and interchanges and put up with reckless drivers who switch from one lane to another at will, without using their turn signals. Jerks on the road, as they are called around here, or “crazies.” I know we have them too in Manila but there are a lot more of them here. The number is directly proportional to the number of freeways, it seems to me.

When I was living in Manila, I found myself on the South Luzon Expressway from time to time, and recently I was on the North Luzon Expressway, and I don’t remember seeing too many reckless drivers. Maybe from time to time, one will zip by you. But here it’s a daily occurrence. You’re coasting along on the 210 on the way to work and suddenly you see someone in your rear view mirror weaving in and out of traffic and past you. It makes you wish there were more California Highway Patrol officers on the road.

And by your fifth year too you will have learned the many small things necessary to make your stay in a sometimes still-foreign territory a comfortable one. You know where and when to find good deals on things you need for the house, where to pick up food when you don’t have time to prepare lunch or dinner, where to go for car repairs, and things like that. And speaking of driving and commuting, you know shortcuts not even your GPS or smartphone will tell you about. You know, small things, nothing too grand or profound but taken cumulatively help make life in America a little like life back home.

Heto na!

2010-12-28T11:13:00.000-08:00

The life of a Pinoy in America can be a dizzying one. When you’re in America, it often seems you are waiting for that day when you will be “back home.” But when you get there, you feel restless (anyone with a translation of di mapakali?) because you know your life is waiting for you back in America. So where does that put you? Quite literally nowhere. You’re here, but your mind is there.

— Lorenzo Paran III, from "An Isteytsayd Life"

Praise for "An Isteytsayd Life"

It’s an experience that’s been told many times before by other writers, and indeed the continuing diaspora is the great Filipino story of our time. But Paran brings to it a wry and gentle humor, provoked by the condition of always being in the present and yet also always in transition. The author marvels at his inevitable transformation into a 21st century American, but for those who fear that Paran may have lost his Pinoyness, read the book to see how and why the Pinoy endures, not by clinging to his old self, but by adapting, as Paran does, to the new.

— Jose Y. Dalisay Jr., University of the Philippines, Diliman, Quezon City

No pretentious verbal pyrotechnics here, just the honest musings of a 30-something Pinoy who has (re)turned to writing to make sense of his life after being transplanted to America. In this collection, Paran not only illustrates how a person can never be more aware of being Pinoy than when he or she is living in another country but also explains how the sense of Pinoy-ness will be questioned and changed as it tries to adapt to a foreign land.

— Marie Aubrey Villaceran, La Trobe University, Melbourne

"An Isteytsayd Life" is an immigrant's journal shot with anecdotal and vernacular verve. Filipinos across the shores will see in Paran's homey welter of vignettes and stocktakings an articulation of the everyday tensions, easements and joys accompanying their often self-willed displacements, re-settings and resettlings. An armchair treat for balikbayans, Filipinologists and Pinoys-at-heart alike.

— Par Patacsil, art critic, Quezon City

“An Isteytsayd Life: Not-so-random thoughts from a Pinoy living in America” by Lorenzo Paran III is available at U.P. Press bookstore, E. de los Santos St., UP Campus, Diliman, Quezon City 1101, Telephone: (632) 926-6642, Fax: (632) 928-2558 loc. 102; E-mail: press@up.edu.ph

Returning

2010-10-12T10:20:00.000-07:00

As any Pinoy in America would tell you, the feeling that you are not living at home is clearest not when you leave the Philippines but when you return. For when you leave, sure, you feel sad for a moment, but then your mind instantly turns to the tasks you have to do in your adopted land—work, errands, the business of living. And there’s a comfort in that.

On the other hand, when you come home for a visit, your mind is entirely free of these thoughts and is solely devoted to the things you want to do while you are home, the people you want to see, the places you want to visit.

That is when it becomes clear that the time you are going to spend there (no matter how long) wouldn’t be enough. For it is never enough. And there you go: Returning is more painful than leaving. Both are painful, to be sure, but one is more so than the other.

As you can probably tell, I am planning a trip home. J. and I are getting ready to leave for Manila in about a month and a half’s time. Already, in fact, we’ve started planning what we’re going to do while we’re there. Actually, that process begins a long time before a Pinoy in America goes home—as early, in fact, as his return to America from his last trip home. When he comes back from any trip home, he thinks “Oh this is what I’m going to do the next time I’m in the Philippines. I’m going to do this, do that.”

So in my case that would’ve been July 2007, which is when I was in the Philippines last. Not terribly long ago. A friend of mine just got back from the Philippines, and she hadn’t been home for seven years. And that’s short compared to other Pinoys in America. Some don’t go home literally for ages. So we’ve been lucky, my wife and I.

In any case, we’ve started preparing.

What happens is, your wife is on the phone with her mom and her sister in Manila, and they excitedly (an understatement) talk about all the things they’re going to do and all the places they’ll go. They set and reset dates and modify their plans as they’re talking, and they finalize them—for now. In the meantime you’re in the living room as your wife talks on the phone, and half the time she consults you about all these and you nod in agreement, knowing they’re all going to change their minds anyway as soon as they put the phone down. And then they’re going to go through the same process the next time they’re on the phone. And so on and so forth.

I mean our trip is a month and a half away. When you’re dealing with J. and her mom and her sister, that could be a lifetime.

Not for me, though. For me, the trip is upon us. Coming home from America is one of those things that you feel you have to get everything right, or else the whole trip is ruined. You have to remember to bring this or that, and you have to see so-and-so, and you have to do this and that, etc.

Feel free to fill in the blanks.

My friend R., the one who just got back, has pictures showing her and her husband everywhere—from the beach to the neighborhood she grew up in to tourist destinations to all manner of malls and restaurants—with different sets of friends and family members. That’s pretty much the drill, in this age of Facebook, for any Pinoy in America who goes home. That is, you take tons and tons of pictures, and the online albums go up so you could share—and relive—the experience. About the most poignant photo I saw in R.’s album, though, is of her dad and other family members holding up a banner that says in big bright letters “Welcome home R. and J.”

That’s what you get when you don’t go home for seven years. Of course all the wise guys out there on Facebook asked R. when they saw the picture, “Where was the marching band?”

That’s what I’m looking forward to in December—seeing and hearing my friends make all their smart-alecky comments and comebacks in person. I get the wisecracks on Facebook too (don’t we all?), but Facebook isn’t the same as face to face. I like face to face.

But I know, as I said, you can’t do everything you would want to do back home. And truth be told, a lot of time has passed since you left, and your friends have all moved on without you, and you without them. Even now I still make the mistake of assuming that we’re all still where we are when I left. Emotionally and mentally, sometimes it seems I never left.

So this time, I think I’ll try not to do too much—I’ll leave that to J. If I can see my lola in Cavite and my cousins and titos and titas in Bikol, then it would’ve been a good trip and I’ll be happy. And if I could have a San Mig light or two with my buddies, ayos na.

Shi-ye-et! It’s Rex Navarrete

2010-10-04T09:36:00.000-07:00

Pinoy in America saw Rex Navarrete live! The stand-up comic did a series of shows at the Improv in Ontario, Calif. That’s just down the street from me so Mrs. PIA and I hustled over on the last night and saw Navarrete bring the house down with his rib-tickling routines and impressions.

So good to see “Tito Boy” is alive and well. Tito Boy, of course, is the ungrammatical, potty-mouthed, politically incorrect family member who, as Navarrete points out, is present in every Pinoy clan. He’s also one of the characters that Navarrete plays at each performance, along with the Pinoy-American mom and dad, lolo and lola and other relatives with their broken English and mangled pronunciations.

Says the mom: “Let’z gow or we’ll be late for the air-fort!”

A highlight of the performance was when a member of the audience (one of the few non-Filipinos in attendance) told Navarrete she “skydove” when she was in the Philippines.

Navarrete pounced on that word as soon as he heard it. “Skydove?” he said, “You mean you’re a skydover?” drawing more laughter from the crowd. It became the running joke of the night. Later on, during another routine, he blurted “I almost took a dove!” and “But I survove!”

That’s Navarrete’s brand of comedy right there.

I also got to sit down and chat with Navarrete before the show. We talked about his more than 20 years in stand-up comedy, among other things. The guy has been at it for two decades! His passion is still there, he said, and he still loves performing for Pinoys in America. A good thing because, the way I see it, Pinoys in America need him. That is, we need to be able to laugh at ourselves, see the comedy in our lives. And there is a lot of comedy!

Still Pinoy…?

2010-09-15T12:55:00.000-07:00

I guess one loses it, after all.

I’m referring to the urge—for a Pinoy in America—to make sense of his life in a foreign land. I guess it only makes sense: the longer you live in America, the more you become “American.” I don’t think you’ll ever lose being Pinoy no matter where you go and no matter how long you stay there. I’ve spoken to longtime Pinoys in America who after decades of living here still consider themselves true Pinoys. They’re the type who keeps small Philippine flags in their car or office, that sort of thing. But at the same time you wonder if the time has long passed when they still think much of their Pinoy-ness on a daily basis.

That is, maybe they’re not so much Pinoys who happen to be in America anymore as Americans who happen to be Pinoy.

I’ve lately come to wonder the same thing about myself, for example. Of late I haven’t felt the urge to really write another piece for my blog. And the last one wasn’t so much a blog-blog as an addition to one my several off-and-on “regular” features. Namely, No. 7 and 8 in my tsibugan series.

I’ve had several false starts, would-be posts that eventually ended up nowhere but my desktop.

That has made me wonder if perhaps I am really losing what compelled me to start this blog in the first place, five years or so ago. That is, the recognition that I am a Pinoy in America and the need to share my perspective.

Life has a way of intruding on life sometimes. That is, you get caught up in your day-to-day business. Throw in a lousy economy and stress at work and your team plays badly and where does that put you? Down in the pits, that’s where. Share a perspective? Forget it. Let me just get through the day.

I wonder too if my “book” has anything to do with it. As I’ve made known here and there, I’ve compiled the hundred or so entries in this blog into a book (to be published probably at the end of the year). So I spent some time revising and editing the manuscript, and I wonder if that has killed some of my appetite for writing new stuff. I don’t know. I’ve never written a book before.

And everyone talks about the bane of the first book. That is, everyone usually feels they can write a book, but for most, that’s it. Only a few go on to write a second book and then a third, fourth, etc. That’s, in fact, what led someone (I forget who) to say that a writer isn’t a writer until the third book.

I have no idea what kind of writer I am or going to be. As I’ve said before, I’m only “like a writer.” And a lazy one to boot.

So I was actually thinking of turning my blog into an online magazine, where I’ll write features on Pinoys in America and things Pinoy in American. And I actually have sort of lined up my first project to this end: An interview with a well-known Pinoy in America. One of the most well known, in fact—the comedian Rex Navarrete. So let’s keep our fingers crossed.

Of course, I’ll still write my usual “thoughtful” and “honest” pieces on the Pinoy-in-American condition if and when I get that urge back. Who knows—maybe it’s here and I just don’t know it.

After all, I’ve just written this one.

Tsibugan #7 and 8

2010-07-14T10:39:00.000-07:00

Pinoy in America was on the road this summer and got to sample two tsibugans, one in Delano, Calif., and the other in South San Francisco, Calif. You couldn't come up with two more contrasting Pinoy restaurants than these two, but both offered a filling, satisfying, reasonably-priced meal. And I say that not because Mrs. Pinoy in America and I happened to be two road-weary and hungry travelers but because we’re always looking for a good serving of Pinoy grub wherever we go.

First one is "3D's Grill: Filipino Cuisine and Teriyaki House" in the dusty Central Valley city of Delano, Calif., which we passed on our way to our summer road trip destination of Yosemite National Park.

Don't let the modest and unassuming look of the store front fool you. Inside you'll find a few Pinoy brothers cheerfully tidying up the place, folding table napkins and taking orders. But my big boo-boo of the day was trying to talk to them in Filipino. While Ramon, who seemed to be the man in charge, said he could understand me, they were all obviously more at home speaking English and Waray, their native tongue. No matter. We got our food, and it was yummy!

I got the chicken teriyaki, the specialty of the house, and it was tasty and sweet (but not overly so)—just the way we Pinoys like it.

So for all you Pinoys in America, if you're passing through Delano (that's [D-ley-now], stop by 3D's Grill, look for Ramon and he'll hook you up with some good eats!

Intramuros, on the other hand, in the heart of downtown South San Francisco, is a more upscale restaurant and seemed to be, at the moment, the dining destination of choice for many of our kababayans in the Bay Area.

I’ve heard a lot of good reviews of its food and service since it opened about two years ago so I must admit that when I walked into the place I was expecting quite a bit, especially since the owners obviously invested a lot in spicing up the atmosphere of the place—in this case by recreating the feel of Old Manila in this one-story affair. You see something like that in a restaurant and you say, “the food better be good or else…!”

Well, Intramuros didn’t disappoint. Complementing the posh and tidy interior are well-prepared old-fashioned Pinoy dishes sure to please the Pinoy ngala-ngala. We tried too many of them for me to enumerate here. Suffice it to say, they were done right and, as I said, justifiably priced.

Well, there you go. Two California tsibugans—one modest, one not so, but both hitting the Pinoy gustatory spot!

Pinoy in America strikes again

2010-07-14T10:33:00.000-07:00

As you can probably tell from these posts, I have a habit of eavesdropping on other people’s conversation—not deliberately, of course, but just when I happen to be around people and they’re talking. It’s almost like a pastime for me.

Most of the time, as you can expect, the things I hear don’t mean anything. But once in a while I come across something that is worth something—at least to me. I don’t necessarily mean earth-shaking news or extra-juicy gossip, but something that falls right under the category of what I’ve come to call “ka-Pinoy-in-America-han.” I consider that a reward for my being so, not nosy, but “attentive.”

It happened again a couple of weeks ago. I was at the gym, and these two women walked in and started talking. They talked about a lot of things but eventually they got around to the matter of beauty salons.

We were all on the treadmill and I was minding my own business—or pretending to mind my own business—when the two started to share notes about beauty salons, which one they go to and when they might go again.

And then one of the women said to the other: “You should go to this place on So-and-so Street. There’s a woman there who’s really good. If you go there before I do, ask for her, but I don’t remember her name. I want to say it’s Kim, but you know these Asians at salons. They’re all named Kim or Sue.”

That’s, of course, just my reconstruction of what the woman said. But it more or less captures the content and tone of what she said. What I wanted to point out was the last part, about Asians at beauty salons, according to the woman, always being “named Kim or Sue.”

I have to say it’s true. Not literally true, of course—I don’t have to go to all the beauty salons in America, or even to the salons in this area, to know that the female Asians there are not all named Kim or Sue. But I have heard comments like that before from locals—that when you walk into a beauty salon, one, almost always it’s exclusively staffed by Asians and, two, there’s always one who’s named Kim or Sue.

There’s a stereotype, in other words, but one that’s not too far from the truth. There are a lot of beauty salons and barbershops in this area which are owned and staffed by Vietnamese, in particular. I myself go to two barbershops, where all the barbers are Vietnamese. I actually don’t know the names of the women (because there are women there), but it’s customary for them to use American first names. The barbers who cut my hair, for example, are “John” and “Tyler.” I wouldn’t be surprised if one of the women has taken the name Kim or Sue.

The other thing I wanted to point out was that here the term “Asian” is usually applied to the Chinese, Japanese, Korean and Vietnamese, but not always to Pinoys. Which Pinoys might find strange. “Of course, we’re Asian,” some of us might say, if somebody says otherwise. Well, in America that’s not necessarily true.

On government forms, it’s common to see “Filipino” listed separately from “Asian.” And interestingly, sometimes the designation for Pinoys is “Pacific Islander,” along with those from Tonga, Fiji, the American Samoa, etc. I myself thought it strange the first time I knew about it. (And I wondered if that was how Asi Taulava ended up in the PBA—controversially, I might add.)

Also, you would think the woman in the gym who was talking about Asians would be more careful in expressing a generalization about a group of people if a member of that group were around, right? But that’s the thing. To her, most probably, there were no Asians around. She could’ve taken me for either Pinoy (who, in her eyes, would not be Asian) or Latino (in which case, my presence in that room truly would’ve been unremarkable since there are Latinos all over California and Latinos all over America).

Or maybe the woman didn’t think my presence there was in any way remarkable. I’d after all talked to them earlier, before they started talking about beauty salons. I think one of them had asked me about changing the channel on the TV and I’d said—in my flawless American English—“sure, go for it.” And maybe that had clued them in on the fact that I’m a local, just like them. So they felt comfortable talking about Asians since there were no Asians around.

Of course, it’s entirely possible too that the woman did think I was Asian but didn’t care about saying what she said since what she was said was true and wasn’t something that was necessarily insensitive, which it really isn’t. Or maybe the woman might have thought that what she said was somehow insensitive but she was the type who says what’s on her mind so she said it anyway.

People, after all, can be candid in America. Too candid sometimes. You just have to think of the verbal gaffes that American politicians have committed over the years, some of them in fact dealing with the matter of race or ethnicity. Joe Biden, the vice president, for example, once said Barack Obama was “the first mainstream African-American who is articulate and bright and clean and a nice-looking guy.”

I mean on one hand I don’t blame him for saying that—if that’s the reality he knows. On the other hand as a politician there’s a higher expectation for Biden to know better. But that’s the thing: How could Biden be aware of what he didn’t know? I suspect that’s usually the case when it comes to political gaffes. It’s not that people who make them are insensitive; they just don’t know any better. Of course, there are real Nazis out there too. But that’s another story.

Gaffes of the kind that politicians make are highly possible in a melting pot that is America. There are so many ethnicities, so many realities to be aware of. Too many, sometimes, for the unsuspecting.

I’m not suggesting, by the way, that the woman in the gym made a gaffe. Not at all. Like I said, she was probably just speaking freely about what was on her mind, which wasn’t even necessarily offensive. But I can see how her remark, in another situation—say, she’s a politician speaking before a large crowd—can be construed as politically incorrect. But as it is, it’s just food for thought for this Pinoy in America.

Celebrity near-sightings in America II (continued)

2010-06-06T08:13:00.000-07:00

I also saw and met comedian Martin Lawrence’s dad, who was my brother-in-law’s co-worker at one time. My brother-in-law took me one day to the building where he worked and there he was, Martin Lawrence’s father. A distinguished-looking gentleman with an easy smile, a natural jokester like his son, of “Bad Boys” fame.

I met Landon Donovan’s twin sister, who was my wife’s co-worker when she was still at the school. I didn’t even know Donovan had a twin sister. But she and J were both teaching assistants at an elementary school. A bunch of them went out to dinner one night, and I dropped in and met Tristan, Donovan’s sister. Landon Donovan, of course, is the U.S. soccer star. The two were born in Ontario, Calif., which is right next door to Rancho Cucamonga, and grew up in Redlands, which is just a short drive away. So he’s very much a local boy. Once in a while too he comes back to attend sporting events at schools. Each time he does, the sports sections of the local papers put him on the cover.

My wife took my mom and my sister and her husband sightseeing in Hollywood, and on Rodeo Drive they saw Andie MacDowell, the actress. I wasn’t with them because I was working. Too bad because Andie MacDowell happens to be one of the few Hollywood actresses I like.

That’s about it, my near-brushes with famous Americans. It’s not such a big deal, of course, whether you see celebrities or not. I just like to take note of these things because, well, it’s a good conversation piece if you see someone famous. Also a friend saw a veritable Hollywood A-lister, Patrick Dempsey, at a cycling event recently, and it made me wonder if I have seen anyone famous. I haven’t, I thought, but I’ve come close several times.

I guess another reason I thought about the matter of Pinoy and American celebrities was, the other day J and I were at a Pinoy restaurant and the TV was on, tuned to a Pinoy soap, and I didn’t recognize any of the actors and actresses except for one. Granted, many of them were child actors and actresses, but there were a few adults, only one of whom I could say I knew—namely, Joel Torre.

And I thought, yes, it was bound to happen. One day, I wouldn’t recognize most people I see on Pinoy TV or the movies. And I’ll be like those Pinoys in America who’ve never heard of the Eraserheads or Parokya ni Edgar or Tado. Who knows? Maybe that has happened. I wouldn’t know until maybe I go back to Manila and I find unfamiliar faces on TV and on movie posters. And then I'll start asking about this or that well-known person from the 1980s, ’90s and early 2000s.

On the other hand, I’ll know all about America’s famous people, though I doubt I’ll see them in person as often as I saw Pinoy stars back in the day. America is such a big place and I happen to live in a place where celebrities’ relatives seem to live, but not the celebrities themselves.

I hope, though, to see at least one famous American. I'll settle for Mr. Bradbury, or a big-name actress. Or Lebron James. One thing’s for sure: If and when that happens, I'll let you know.

Celebrity near-sightings in America

2010-06-03T09:08:00.000-07:00

In Manila, like every other person, I saw celebrities all the time—movie actors and actresses, politicians, professional basketball players.

I saw Eddie Garcia coming up an escalator once at Shangri-La in EDSA. I almost didn’t recognize him because as anyone who’s seen him perhaps can attest, he doesn’t look like his onscreen persona. Maybe it’s because on TV or in a movie, he’s always flashing a villainous scowl or his signature toothy grin. Expressionless, his face is almost anonymous. But my sister, I think, elbowed me and pointed him out as we were coming down. And there I saw “Manoy,” who is a fellow Bikolano, incidentally, and probably my favorite Pinoy actor.

I saw Carmina Villaroel on the walkway leading from SM City’s main building to the Annex. She was just starting out in show business then so there was no big crowd tailing her, only a woman whom I assume was her mom. But I recognized her instantly as one of the new faces making the rounds of the TV shows in those days.

I saw Joey Marquez once as I waited for a cab at a Shell gas station on EDSA in Makati. I was standing there and a Jaguar (or was it a BMW?) pulled up, and out came “Chong.” He walked over to the Select and got a six-pack and some smokes. This was around the time Kris Aquino had accused him of hurting her and pointing a gun at her. So I wonder if the beer and the cigarettes had anything to do with that. Joey Marquez had a morose look about him that night, and it was late—around midnight—so I didn’t bother to approach him. Otherwise I would’ve shaken his hand, especially since people have been insisting all these years that he bears a resemblance to me.

At the UP I saw a whole bunch of movie stars. Richard Gomez, Joey Marquez’s “Palibhasa Lalake” co-star, for a time took classes there. In fact, he had a class around the same time I did on the fourth floor of the AS building. So I always ran into him and the bevy of girls who, not surprisingly, were always hanging around the area at that precise time. This is incidentally why I don’t believe people who say Joey Marquez and I look alike. Because if I did, then those girls on the AS fourth floor, at the exact moment “Goma” and I walked by each other, would’ve begun shouting “Palibhasa Lalake”! “Palibhasa Lalake”!

Maricel Laxa, Ogie Alcasid, Candy Pangilinan, Giselle Sanchez all went to UP at one point or other when I was a student and, later, a teacher there. And I saw all of them around campus.

Zsa Zsa Padilla and Dolphy were at my brother’s wedding because my sister-in-law and the singer are cousins.

When I was living in Makati, we lived on the same block as Jejomar Binay, the apparent vice president-elect. He was still Makati mayor then. As I waited for a tricycle to go to school, I sometimes saw him walking up and down the block, in deep conference with someone, or getting in his car, surrounded by his ever-present retinue of alalays.

I saw Fidel Ramos’ presidential motorcade on Buendia Avenue in Makati one morning as I waited for a bus. I caught just a glimpse of “Steady Eddie” reading a newspaper in his limousine.

Among other national politicians I saw were Kit Tatad, Raul Roco and Edgardo Angara.

And then there were professional basketball players.

Though he had graduated from UP by the time I got there and was already playing for Shell in the PBA, I used to see Benjie Paras around the College of Human Kinetics building, hanging out at the outdoor canteen there, with his old teammates, probably.

I saw my idol, Alvin Patrimonio, once in Cash and Carry in Makati. That was when his Purefoods team had just won their first PBA All-Filipino conference title. I shook his hand and said, “Congrats.”

I also remember seeing Jojo Lastimosa somewhere. And Bogs Adornado, another fellow Bikolano. In fact, I went to elementary school with his nephew, Lorenzo Adornado. We all called him “Bogs,” of course. Incidentally, another elementary schoolmate of ours was Renato “Ato” Morano, who went on to a noted playing career in the MBA and PBA.

In America, I have yet to see my first celebrity. But I’ve come close several times.

Then-President George W. Bush was here in Rancho Cucamonga, where we live now, a few years ago at the same exact moment I happened to be here, running errands. But I didn’t know about it until much later, when I read about it in the paper. I came probably within five miles of him when he was here. I’m not a George W. Bush fan, incidentally. It just would’ve been interesting to see him in person, especially since he’s done so much as president.

Speaking of Rancho Cucamonga, Arnold Schwarzenegger, California’s “governator,” has visited this city, more than once, I think. But never when I was around. Next time a big name comes, I’ll probably make it a point to go see him or her.

Ray Bradbury, the Ray Bradbury, one of America's greatest writers, was supposed to come here for a meet-the-author kind of event at the library, but it got canceled. If and when they reschedule it I’m going to try my best to go see him. With any luck, he will be the first real American celebrity whom I’ll see in person. And what a first celebrity he would be. (To be continued)

A Pinoy-in-American life

2010-03-16T08:46:00.000-07:00

Yes, I live in America now. I know five years is a long time to arrive at that conclusion, but that’s about how long it took me.

And why do I say it? Because it’s true. I live my days in America now. I live my months, my years here and not in Bikol, where I grew up, nor in Quezon City, where I lived most of my adult life. It’s here, in a borrowed land.

Before coming here, I remember saying I would probably be one of those people who lived in two places, who maintained a presence in two countries. I think I’d read an article in a magazine about “transmigrational”—I think that was the word used—families who did just that. People who leave their home country without really leaving it. Not physically, of course—if there were a way to physically live in different places simultaneously, wouldn’t we be all over it?—but rather, people who divide their time between two places and maintain work, connections and parts of their lives in both the land where they were born and the land where they choose to live.

Well, that was then. Now I’m so set in my “new” life—which, after five years, isn’t really new anymore—that I can’t quite imagine being a resident of any other place or spending even some time away from here other than for vacation. Even when J and I talk about going to the Philippines, we’re starting to say to “go home” less and to “go on vacation” more. Somewhere in these pages I say that’s how you can distinguish Pinoys who just moved here from Pinoys who’ve been here a long time. It’s true.

I guess my comment about wanting to be “transmigrational” was, more than anything, a reflection of my wanting to stay in the Philippines. I wanted to leave too, of course, but at the same time, I wanted to stay.

What happened, I think, was this: With the prospect of moving to America looming, I entertained the faint thought that it would be possible to somehow hang on to my life. I guess when you are about to leave a life you like, you’re never quite ready to go, and you’re not quite ready to let go. So you tell yourself no, I won’t really be leaving, I’ll be “transmigrational,” I’ll be around. Somehow.

And then you leave, and five years later, you’re writing a blog, correcting yourself. That’s what happened.

No one can live in two places. It wouldn’t be living. To truly live you must be rooted in the land. A virtual life doesn’t count. It’s not a life if you can log out.

Now I live in America. The Philippines is where I used to live. When I catch myself saying “When I was living in the Philippines…” when I’m talking to my friends, I have to pause. That’s when it becomes really clear.

Another sign that I really live here now is, I don’t “convert” anymore. That is, I don’t convert from dollars to pesos anymore. When I spend money here I don’t compare it to its value in the Philippines. A new Pinoy in America will make the mistake of converting dollars to pesos every time he pulls money out or uses his credit card. I say mistake because if you did that and thought how much more you could do with the money back home, then you wouldn’t be able to buy anything.

I converted all the time when I first got here. But not anymore. Now, testimony that I’ve really begun to use this life as my base and the other one I used to live in the Philippines as my old life, I spend as I would spend. Which doesn’t mean I overspend, by the way—I just spend without thinking I would be better off spending the money in Divisoria. I know my money would buy so much more in Divisoria or Green Hills or at the ukay-ukay. But there’s a slight problem: An ocean separates me and those places. I live in America now.

My father, when he’s here visiting, is always converting. We go out to eat at McDonald’s, and he goes, “ang mahal naman.” Sa Manila, PhP100 lang ’to.” I want to tell him, OK, could you run and get us a couple of Big Macs there?

But sometimes it shocks me when, after I pay for something here—a meal for example or something we need for the house—I realize that I’d just spent the equivalent of ____ thousand pesos on it. But that comes after the fact—hardly ever before, these days.

When I need to buy something, I buy it—guiltlessly.

Speaking of buying things, yet another sign that I live in America now is, when I’m at the store I realize I’ve become pretty good at speaking in English. I mean I think I was good before—or else the English department at U.P. wouldn’t have let me loose on all those Comm classes all those years—but speaking to sales associates at stores, I find it amusing that I can indulge in small talk just like I was from around here and even from time to time say something funny or smart. In the idiom of this place, I might add.

But that’s the thing: I am from around here. I am now.

Once in a while, though, I’ll mispronounce or misuse a word. The more famous boo-boos in my book of my kapalpakans in America include saying … well, let’s not go there.

That just goes to show, I guess, that my Pinoyness will always pull me back. It’s no wonder that despite what I’ve said, I still think I’m living in the Philippines sometimes.

I think my friends are just a phone call or a text away. In the fantasy world I’ve created at the back of my mind, we’re all still living in Q.C. and will be seeing one another later in the day or over the weekend. But the truth is I haven’t seen them in years and won’t be seeing them for a long time yet. They are truly a world away. And they’ve all moved on without me—and I without them.

And I sometimes think when I go back to the Philippines, it will be as if I’d never left. But of course things started to change the moment I left.

That’s how my thinking goes when I’m not careful.

But most days, I am careful and live my days as anyone in America or in any country should: in the present, with eyes set firmly on the future. You should also look back at the past, of course, but only to look back, not to relive it. Or else you’ll get left behind. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: You try to live in two countries, and you end up living in neither.

In the movie “Cinema Paradiso,” Alfredo tells Toto when Toto is about to leave town for the city “Don’t come back. Don’t look back. Don't even write.” Those are pretty cold words from a guy who loved him dearly, the one person who would’ve missed him the most. And yet Alfredo tells him that—perhaps because Alfredo knew if Toto left and came back, he would only be opening himself up to heartache.

That’s an advice I think Pinoys in America should heed. That’s to say, it’s an advice I should heed.

Now that I’ve lived in America for five years, I could now, if I wanted to, apply to be a U.S. citizen. I tell my wife I want to stay a Pinoy citizen because I want to one day run for president of the Philippines (we all know anyone can run, right?). But she tells me I can have dual citizenship. And that’s true. Still, I’m pretty sure my political rivals will take that against me. So I may have to just give up that dream of one day leading our nation, and opt to be an American citizen. We’ll see. Abangan ang susunod na kabanata.

Living, leaving and kinda lovin’ it

2010-02-04T13:25:00.000-08:00

I’ve lived in a lot of places. Not necessarily countries (outside of the Philippines and America, I’ve only really lived in South Korea), but places. I was born and raised in Bikol and then moved to Loyola Heights, Quezon City, when I went to college in UP Diliman. After graduation I moved to Makati and then went home to Bikol for a while. And then I moved back to Makati while I went to graduate school.

When I started teaching, I stayed in an aunt’s house in Kamuning, and then after about a year, moved into a room on the UP campus. After about two years there, I moved a floor down into another room, where I would stay for about a year, and then finally into an apartment with three ladies (strictly, might I add, on a house-sharing arrangement).

I had to leave that place when I was assigned to teach in South Korea, where I would end up staying for three semesters. When I came back to the Philippines and to UP, I think I stayed in Kamuning again for a few weeks, and then found a room in an apartment being rented by, of all people, a 50-year-old guy from New Zealand with an 18-year-old girlfriend. That was fun. MH eventually moved into another apartment, so I inherited that place, which I would occupy for another year or so, until I left the country to live in America.

Here I’ve lived in three places. First, my brother-in-law’s house, and then my Tito P’s house and then, most recently, this second-floor apartment, which J and I just moved into a few days ago. In fact, you could say, that’s the occasion for this blog: Once again, I find myself in a new place, trying to sink roots in still-unfamiliar territory. And once again, I am trying to find a home, as I have to.

It’s no fun, though, if you keep moving and moving. In fact, I’m surprised that I’ve managed to move this much all this time, being very much an unadventurous, creature-of-habit kind of guy.

But I’m not complaining. I am lucky that most times I moved, I moved largely out of convenience, not really of need. Many, of course, move because they have to move, because they have no choice. So I am mindful of that.

But to be honest, I sometimes wish I could also just stay in one place and build a home there. Which doesn’t mean you won’t go anywhere, of course. You would, but you always have a place to go back to, which is the point of a home.

Which might precisely be the problem. I think home is an outdated concept these days. Everyone’s always moving out, moving in. Everyone’s someplace temporarily. Everyone’s on the go. Which, for me, is as sad a state as can be.

But what are you going to do? It is what it is.

I suspect I’ll keep on moving for many, many years yet. Ironically, in search of a home.

I might even be moving again soon. But what I wanted to say right now was, as far as country is concerned, I think the matter has been settled. I live in America now.

I’ve been living here for the past five years (it was five years last December), and I think, barring cataclysmic events (which is always possible, of course), this is where I’ll be for the next 10, 20 or 30 years. I’ll be one of those old Pinoys in America, an occasional visitor in his homeland. Ooops—that doesn’t make sense. You can’t be a “visitor” in your “homeland.” It wouldn’t be a “homeland” if you’re just “visiting.” So let me rephrase that. I’ll be one of those old Pinoys in America, an occasional visitor in a land he once knew.

!!!

Announcement: Pinoy in America the blog will soon become Pinoy in America the book! Tentatively titled “An Isteytsayd Life: Not-So-Random Thoughts from a Pinoy Living in America,” the book will be published by the University of the Philippines Press and will be launched this year in Manila and, hopefully, America too. Details to be announced as they become available. Abangan!

“An American Moment”

2009-11-12T08:14:00.000-08:00

“An American Moment.” It’s a common phrase the people of this country use to describe events or experiences that are distinct to their culture and customs. “Classically American” would be another way of putting it, but “An American Moment” has a more dramatic ring.

It would be equivalent, I would say, to when we Pinoys refer to events and experiences unique to our culture using the phrase “Sariling Atin.” It calls up a sense of nationalism, a feeling of pride. Every people and culture, I think, has such a phrase, maybe even just a word, that they use when they want to call attention to their race or nation.

“An American Moment” was last applied, for example, to the election of Barack Obama to the U.S. presidency. Incidentally, I think that occasion also was the best—or the most well-known at least—example of the phrase’s use.

Many publications—in print and online— precisely called the section they devoted to the presidential election of November 2008 and Obama’s subsequent rise to the highest office in the land (a full year ago today) “An American Moment.” It was the apt title.

Politics, in general, is rife with many “American moments.” The presidential inauguration—held last year outside the U.S. Capitol in Washington D.C.—is another example. The famous speeches of the great political and civil-rights leaders (John F. Kennedy, Dr. Martin Luther King. Jr., most notably) would be another.

But the phrase can also be applied to commonplace events: the singing of “The Star-spangled Banner,” the national anthem, at the start of a baseball game, whether played by Little Leaguers or big leaguers; baseball itself, that quintessentially American game, every time it’s played, is in and of itself an “An American Moment”; the World Series too certainly is unique to America and calls for that phrase.

Other images I think of when I think of the phrase “An American Moment” include a Fourth of July parade (with a street full of waving American flags) and a NASA space shuttle launch. They are all distinctly American, and Americans are fittingly awed by them.

There are others, I’m sure.

The reason I’m thinking of these things is recently I experienced a little “American moment” of my own. It’s nothing as grand as a presidential inauguration or a shuttle launch, but it was a moment, nevertheless, which made me wonder if I am becoming an “American.” But I don’t know, I’m not so sure.

What happened was this. A few weeks ago, I’d just gotten off work and was getting in the car with A, J and M, three of my co-workers who were my carpool-mates for the day.

We all settled in our seats and strapped on our seat belts, M and myself in the back seat and A, who was driving, and J in front. And then I thought I’d put the armrest down in the middle of the back seat for a comfier ride, so I asked M if that was OK with him.

“Sure,” he said.

Jokingly (M is always joking), he added “Just stay out of my way!”

At this A and J laughed, and, taking their cue as it were, joined in.

“Stop it, you two! Don’t make me go back there!” A said.

“Stop it, or we’ll turn this car around!” J chimed in.

And so went the playacting. We all had a good laugh. The scene that the three were trying to act out was, of course, that of a typical American family on a road trip, with A and J as the “parents” and M and me as the “unruly kids” in the back seat.

There were a few more exchanges along that line. I don’t remember the rest of it for by this time a realization about what was going on had dawned on me.

And what was that? Well, namely that I, a Pinoy in America, got the joke, and, more importantly, was in on the joke.

Like I said, that may not be such a big deal. It certainly wasn’t to my three co-workers. They were, after all, just being their usual, kidding selves. They would’ve made the same joke with anyone in the same situation.

And that’s precisely the point. For this writer, who doesn’t really yet feel he belongs in this country, the situation was a moment when his Pinoyness became, for a second, insignificant—even to himself. It was a moment when he felt he was treated just like anyone else in this country. Maybe he is just like anyone else in this country. That’s the sense I got from that experience.

Most Pinoys who come here, I think, don’t go through moments like that too often, moments when they pause to wonder about a joke and somehow relate it to their ka-Pinoyan. I would think most Pinoys would just take it for what it is and then move on, as most anyone would.

Fortunately or unfortunately—I’m still deciding which—I’m not one of those people. I live a cursed life, and my curse is that I will think and over-think, analyze and over-analyze every single thing that happens to me.

So moments like that when my ka-Pinoyan is called into question is the perfect occasion for me to start thinking. I’m not saying I’m special in this regard, by the way—a “special case,” maybe, but not special. That is, I don’t think I’m alone in having moments when I wonder who I am in relation to America.

Once in while, at Pinoy gatherings around here, I’ll talk to someone who, you just know, has given much thought to himself, other Pinoys, and life in another country. It shows in their expression when they talk or in a statement told with sudden, unmistakable conviction and preceded by “Alam mo, ganyan talaga dito…”

Going back to my “American moment” above, I’ve thought about it and what I’ve come up with is this: There is no Pinoyness, as my three co-workers showed. Or there is one but it’s only in my head. In other words, there is Pinoyness only when I say there is Pinoyness. Otherwise there’s nothing.

For example, if during the experience I described above I did not think so much about my ka-Pinoyan, then the whole thing probably wouldn’t have meant anything to me beyond what it is: a fun, light moment with my co-workers on our way home after another day at the office. I probably would’ve just laughed along a little harder, and after it was all over, would’ve forgotten about it. But instead here I am writing about it.

Another example is when I was first got here. Whenever I told people I met at the supermarket, bank or blood bank that I was new to the area and to America—I didn’t mind saying that (it was the truth after all)—almost always they would ask “So how do you like it?” which is precisely what anyone would ask someone who’d just told them they’re new to the place. I wasn’t “Pinoy” in that experience; I was just a person—and was treated like one.

Ultimately, I think notions of race and nationality are just that: notions. Essentially there are no differences between peoples. And again as my friends have shown, no one is likely to make a big deal out of it, unless somebody does first.

But what makes life interesting—and complicated—is that we all have these notions of us and others, of Pinoy, American, Pinoy in American, Asian, Indian, European, etc. They are necessary concepts, to be sure. They make understanding life easier, even possible.

Plus it makes things fun. Just think about all the things that make you say, “Hay naku, ang mga Pinoy talaga.” Every race has an equivalent of those things, bar none.

The problem starts when some people focus only on the differences between races and say their race is better, even the best.

For example, the impetus that leads some to say “An American Moment” is the same impetus that leads others to say “America is wonderful.” From there it’s quite easy to say “America is the best,” which means, of course, “Others are not as good as America.” And lest I be accused of being antagonistic, try replacing “America” with “Philippine,” “Russian,” “Korea,” “Islam,” “Christian,” etc.

We’re all wonderful.

But unfortunately there are people whose business it seems is to make life even more complicated and hard for the rest of us. They’re called “haters” around here, by the way. What an apt word.

So I sometimes wonder if thinking of oneself as belonging to a particular race does more harm than good. If it does, then I’d be one of the guiltiest people around because I’m always talking about my ka-Pinoyan. If it were a crime, I’d probably be locked up for life, with no possibility of parole.

Seriously, though, I think the solution is at the same time that we point out our differences, we should also highlight our similarities. Sabi nga ng mga Pinoy, pareho-pareho namang bigas ang kinakain natin. Or since that won’t necessarily work in this multicultural country, we all breathe the same air, as the Buddhists say.

OK, I think this is enough thinking for the day. Besides, I have to go to work in a little while. I think today, for a change, I’ll try not to think so much of my ka-Pinoyan. Instead I’ll try to act just like everyone else. “Hey, man. How’s it goin’?” I’ll say to the first person I see. And when he asks how I’m doing, I’ll say “Oh you know, I’m…” Naku, ’wag na lang. Baka mabarok na naman ako nito.

Wapakman in America!

2009-11-12T08:12:00.000-08:00

Cover of the Sports Section of Nov. 11, 2009, issue of the Inland Valley Daily Bulletin.

Mga Kapinoyan: APO, Lea, etc.

2009-10-23T10:07:00.001-07:00

This week in America 10-15-2009

2009-10-16T08:51:00.000-07:00

This week in America Pinoys are still helping Pinoys back home. Just the other night (by which I mean, of course, the night before last) I was talking to a friend, whom incidentally I hadn’t seen in 15 years, and she was telling me that she, her sister and her sister’s family have also sent “care” packages for flood and landslide victims in the Philippines. They did it, she said, through the Ayala Foundation USA.

I must admit that I had not heard of this foundation until C. told me about it. But it’s good to know that there is an organization that’s doing the work that Ayala Foundation is doing for the Philippines. A quick check on its Web site tells me that it serves as a “bridge between US-based Filipino individuals and communities, and Philippine-based social development institutions” and as a “mechanism by which donations and other forms of support can reach intended beneficiaries in the Philippines.”

It’s not the best-worded mission statement, but I think the message is pretty clear. It’s channeling help from Pinoys in America to Pinoys in the Philippines.

Although my wife and I and our immediate relatives here have not worked with Ayala Foundation or similar organizations before (pang-LBC lang kami), it’s good to know Pinoys here have options as far as sending donations during times of need such as this one.

As C. and I both said, Pinoys in America consider it important, when they are trying to send help home in the wake of calamities such as those Metro Manila and the north have just seen, that the help is delivered by reliable and dependable people. For, as we often say, after we send something, who knows what happens?

It is unfortunate that as we all have observed time and time again, there are people all around the world who will take advantage of any outpouring of concern (pagmamalasakit, to use a Tagalog word) to fatten their own wallets. It’s nothing new. So Pinoys in America are just making sure—naniniguro lang—that their donations go to the “intended beneficiaries,” to borrow the words from Ayala Foundation’s Web site.

So help continues to pour in.

In fact, the Philippines again made it to the front page of the newspaper, this time, the San Gabriel Valley Tribune, which the newspaper company I work for also produces.

This time the article was about how Pinoys here—in particular Pinoys in the San Gabriel Valley area of Southern California—are coming together to raise donations to send to different agencies and organizations in the Philippines that are helping the victims of Ondoy, Pepeng and the resulting mudslides.
The San Gabriel Valley, incidentally, is a string of communities lying east to west along the foothills of the San Gabriel Mountains, an area consisting of cities in both Los Angeles and San Bernardino counties. Perhaps the most well-known among them would be Pasadena. More importantly, it is an area known for its large and growing Asian population.

It’s where, for example, one would go if one wanted to go to a really good Chinese restaurant. It’s also where the big and more popular Pinoy supermarkets and restaurants in Southern California are found—testimony to the large Pinoy population there. It’s the kind of place where in some street corners, for example, it wouldn’t be out of the ordinary to hear nothing but Tagalog, Bisaya, Bikolano and other Pinoy languages being spoken.

The San Gabriel Valley Tribune serves that area and the paper’s editors deemed it worthy to cover—and display on the front page—a fundraising effort organized by the Filipino Ministry of the Archdiocese of Los Angeles as a way to highlight the effort of Pinoys in the valley to help their kababayans.

The headline read: “Storm relief sought: Valley residents rally for victims in the Philippines.” A nice enough, bold-sounding headline that does justice to the story, which described, as any good report on the subject would, the destruction wreaked by Ondoy and Pepeng, what it has meant to Pinoys here, and finally what is being done by members of the Pinoy community here for the folks back home.

Incidentally, this is the second time that a major story about Pinoys or the Philippines has made it to the front page of the newspaper and I wasn’t around to help package it (which is what the job of a copy editor is). Both times I was off on my weekend. I’m not saying, by the way, that I would want to be around to read and write captions and headlines for that story. I’m just curious, I guess, what it would be like for me to try to be an “objective” journalist while working on a story about something so close to me. Would my biases color my work? Would I act more as a Pinoy or more as a copy editor? I actually may have an answer to that. I’ll probably act as a Pinoy in America, which would be something like a combination of the two.

Speaking of newspaper articles, USA Today, a major national daily that I sometimes get, also followed the calamities in the Philippines (I’m still speaking of the storms, by the way, not yet the politics) and ran article after article about the aftermath and rescue and recovery efforts following Ondoy and Pepeng. And I thought I’d also show one of them.

“At least 240 killed in Philippine flooding,” this one read, and it showed a couple of really heart-wrenching photos of some of our brothers counting their losses or being moved to safety. Words fail me at this point.

That’s all for this week in America.

This week in America 10-06-2009

2009-10-06T11:34:00.000-07:00

This week in America Pinoys are coming together to help the victims of tropical storm Ondoy and typhoon Pepeng back home. In fact, it wasn’t even a day after Ondoy hit the Philippines that our e-mail inboxes began to be flooded first with news about the calamity, along with links to video showing the floodwaters’ fury, and then with calls for help, pleas for donation. And, just as quickly, we began hearing of Pinoys in America who have done something to help. My bayaw and his wife, just to give one example, quickly sent money through ABS-CBN.

LBC offices here began accepting donations on behalf of the victims. The donations will go to LBC’s Hari ng Padala Foundation with the company’s express promise that they will be specifically delivered to the flood victims. Shipping is free, of course. My wife and I, in fact, have taken advantage of the program and were able to quickly fill a balikbayan box with mostly old clothes and other items that could be useful around the house. It gives us comfort that we’re helping in our little way.

Other Pinoys are actively spreading the word about the disaster. Others are organizing fundraisers.

And we continue to hear about the relief operations in the Philippines not just through inquirer.net or mb.com.ph, but also through e-mails and status updates of friends and family members in the thick of things. Pati na mga tsismis—we all get them.

I was particularly moved, though, by an Inquirer article about Bikolanos’ efforts to help. The writer pointed out—rightly, I thought—that those folks were doing this in part to “repay the kindness” that they received when they were the ones ravaged by a typhoon. The story told of people throwing plastic bags of goods to trucks coming by to collect donations. I probably would’ve done the same thing were I there, kahit na sardinas lang o instant noodles. It’s very touching and makes me proud to be a Bikolano. But Bikolano or Tagalog or Bisaya or Ilokano, it doesn’t really matter. We’re all in this together.

I just thought I’d point out that Pinoys in America are doing their bit as well. I’m not talking about myself or my wife or our relatives but the many others across America that I’m sure are helping in their own, anonymous ways. That’s been the week in America.

Pinoy in American pop culture II (Continued)

2009-08-28T08:41:00.000-07:00

And how about Manny Pacquiao (or Manny [PEK-yaw])? Now there’s a Pinoy who, fight after fight, just keeps on solidifying his place in the world of sports, certainly in American sports. Pacquiao essentially has turned Las Vegas, all-American city and still very much the mecca of boxing, his private little playground, a kind of second “home” turf for this fast and furious Filipino fighter.

Might I also say that Pacquiao’s personable character has enhanced his appeal to sports journalists, and hence to sports fans. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that through the years, he’s also honed his skills in the English language (I guess that’s a bonus if you work with Freddie Roach, an Amerikano). In that way, he is able to communicate quite directly to America’s sports fans, helping turn “Pacquiao” into a virtual household name hereabouts.

Speaking of another kind of English skill—on the pool table—here’s another Pinoy who’s made his name well known in America: Efren “Bata” Reyes. His nickname—“The Magician”—I think says it all. It’s not an exaggeration to say some of his feats—some of his shots even— have become legendary in the world of pool.

On the other hand, there are names which are recognizable in America which bring up the not-so-amusing or palatable, in fact, the downright ugly side of the Philippines. Just to give one example: Gracia Burnham.

Gracia Burnham, of course, is the American missionary who was kidnapped, along with her husband, by the Abu Sayyaf in 2001 and brought to the jungles of Basilan, where they would be held captive for more than a year. Her husband Martin would eventually be killed during a rescue attempt by government forces.

Burnham’s story was widely covered by the American media, from the time the couple were kidnapped in Palawan to her court testimony against the Abu Sayyaf, to her eventual, final return to America. She of course would write her own book about her ordeal, “In the Presence of My Enemies” (2004), thereby helping ensconce the kidnapping of foreigners as one of the indelible realities—for Americans—of life in the Philippines.

I’ve also seen a TV documentary on the subject, where a speaker warns Americans that if they go to the Philippines—anywhere in the Philippines—they will be kidnapped. That may sound harsh but I’m sure that’s a reflection of how some quarters here think of the Philippines. That the rash of kidnappings is actually limited to certain parts of the South doesn’t seem to make a difference. I sometimes think that’s unfair, but who can blame people if they think that way?

That’s just the way it is. Fortunately, with the negative things that Americans know about the Philippines, come the good. In addition to the people and things I’ve mentioned, there’s these days “Journey” front man Arnel Pineda, Charice Pempengco, our idyllic beaches, World War II veterans, and what I consider our greatest export: the multitude of hardworking and cheerful Pinoys living all over America, doing our country proud in their anonymous ways.

And to be sure, there are professional Pinoy-American organizations working to promote a more positive image of the Philippines. There are countless of them in America.

Just to name one, there is the Kabalikat Society, which hosted a Philippine Independence Day Festival in July not too far from here. The festivities, in fact, made it to the front page of one of our newspapers—again a testimony to the presence of Pinoys in America.

But I have some misgivings about the work that these groups do. For example, at the Kabalikat festival, they made a great deal out of the tinikling, a photo of which would wind up on the front page of the Inland Valley Daily Bulletin.

What’s wrong with that? Well, what’s wrong is, that’s not the Philippines. That may have been the Philippines once upon a time, but not anymore. It’s 2009, not 1959.

But many of these groups act as if they’re stuck in the ’50s, which in a way they are. Many of these groups were founded generations ago, hence the names that harken to an older, more idyllic homeland: “Kabalikat,” “Bahay Kubo,” “Samahan,” “Sarindiwa,” etc.

I sometimes wonder if that does more harm than good, if it merely reinforces an image of the Philippines conjured by Americans and Pinoys (under American influence) of the post-World War II era, when the Philippines was seen as a country liberated by America and thereby a country beholden to America.

To make matters worse, the caption for the big, 4-column display photo on the front page of the newspaper said the tinikling is a “well-known” dance in the Philippines, as opposed perhaps to saying it’s a “traditional” or “folk” dance. I thought the caption made it sound as if Pinoys still dance the tinikling at parties.

I admit that’s the fault of the photographer who came up with the caption (or his source) and maybe also the copy editor who was supposed to rewrite it. Unfortunately, I wasn’t working the day they ran the story. I could’ve edited it to better reflect the real picture in the Philippines.

As I’ve told some of my friends here, probably the only place where Pinoys perform the tinikling is overseas. Well, overseas and at Philippine elementary schools where hapless students are forced to master the dance for the Independence Day program.

Maybe I should start my own Pinoy-American organization. I may be able to talk my wife into joining. And my co-worker Nestor. Actually, that may not be a good idea. There’s already a ton of Pinoy organizations in America. As the old joke goes, put three Pinoys together and they'll come up with four or five Pinoy organizations.

I have done my bit in promoting the Philippines, though. Whenever I get a chance, I always tell my American friends, if they want a cheap, nice vacation, to go down to the Philippines, where with what they would pay for a typical overnight stay at a hotel here, they could rent a cottage on a nice beach for a whole week, maybe even two.

My friend Sam, in particular, seems to have taken that to heart. He says he would like to spend his retirement days in the Philippines. I don’t know how serious he is. When I ask him why, he says when he’s retired he would just like to sip margaritas in the beach. With his pension dollars, he can certainly do that in the Philippines.

I tell him, when he’s ready to move to the Philippines, I’ll “hook him up” with my friends. His eyes light up like you wouldn’t believe.

It’s heartening to know that despite the bad rap that the Philippines has gotten through the decades, not everyone is disillusioned. I guess our thanks should go out to Ninoy Aquino and People Power, Manny Pacquiao, Efren “Bata” Reyes, Lani Misalucha, Arnel Pineda, Lea Salonga and Charice Pempengco; the Kabalikat Society, Katipunan U.S.A., Sariaya Association of California, Sons and Daughters of Paoay, and the other Pinoy organizations working hard to promote the Philippines; the countless Pinoys all across America—the veterans, the nurses, entertainers and copy editors (yehey!); and, let’s not forget, the humble but crunchy contribution of the lumpia.

Pinoy in American pop culture

2009-08-27T10:57:00.000-07:00

When I first got here, one of the things that surprised me was finding out that the locals know about Pinoy lumpia.

I think I was on the phone with a photographer—an American—whom I was trying to hire to take pictures at my wedding, and we had gotten to talking about the reception plans, when he blurted, “Is there going to be lumpia?” I wasn’t ready for that.

I should have been ready. I mean I should’ve known that, of course, Americans—or other people, for that matter—would know about some of our traditional foods. Just the sheer number of Pinoys living in America and other parts of the world alone would ensure that word would eventually get around not only about lumpia, but also pansit, adobo, sinigang, palabok, etc. And other Pinoy things, for that matter. Plus there’s the power of media—both old and new—that keeps everyone informed about everyone else, so that nothing and no one is ever really unknown anymore.

The guy’s mention of lumpia—by which, incidentally, I mean our good old-fashioned lumpiang shanghai—and his associating it with Pinoys simply brought that to light.

In fact, since the incident I describe above, I’ve talked to other locals who’ve mentioned both lumpia and some of those other dishes that I mentioned. Pansit, in particular, seems almost as well known—or, as they say, [PAN-sit], as opposed to how we say it, which is [pan-SIT].

For a while, I wondered where they learned about Pinoys and lumpia. Like I said, it could’ve been our kababayans to blame, but I sometimes wonder if it was also simply mentioned on a mainstream TV show or a news article—things like that have a way of establishing a stereotype. I guess it doesn’t matter now—the locals are on to us and lumpia.

So don’t be surprised if one day your American friends ask you about lumpia. I haven’t heard anyone mention fresh lumpia, though. But that’s another story.

That’s just one of the Pinoy things that I’ve realized exist in American popular culture. There are other characteristically Pinoy things, people and ideas which the locals are aware of and even knowledgeable about.

Americans also still remember Imelda Marcos and her shoes, for example. And of course, they also remember her dead, deposed husband Ferdinand Marcos. In fact, my more politically-minded friends often ask me about what we Pinoys make of the Marcos dictatorship. I gladly oblige them, of course.

And then, when you talk about the Marcoses, not too far behind are the Aquinos: Ninoy and Cory, both of whom also remain very much a part of popular American memory. In fact, more than the Marcoses—and only rightly so.

Tita Cory’s recent passing brought this to the fore once more. My friend Sam, who is the wire editor at work (he’s in charge of putting together the world and nation pages of the newspaper—in fact, he ran the story about Cory Aquino the day she died, editing it and writing a headline and photo caption), said he “loves” Cory Aquino. Not romantically, of course, but that was just his way of saying he thought her story was an endearing and powerful one.

Also, one of the editors in charge of the local news section asked me what Pinoys in America had to say about her death. He was thinking of doing a story about her from the perspective of the many Pinoys living in our coverage area. I don’t think they ever did that story, but it doesn’t matter. He knew who Cory Aquino was and what she stood for not just to Pinoys but to everyone. That incidentally speaks not just of Cory Aquino but also of the significant presence of Pinoys in American life.

In the end, what our newspaper ended up doing was running the main obituary and photo from The Associated Press on an inside page and “referring” to that story from the front page via the scoop item at the bottom, which ran with a photo of her smiling and flashing her famous “Laban” sign. That’s still an undeniable testimony to her stature in America and the rest of the world. (To be continued)

Confessions of a Pinoy in America

2009-07-26T08:05:00.000-07:00

I have a confession to make. I, Mr. Self-styled Pinoy in America, have not exactly been in a Pinoy-in-America-blogging state of mind. It’s mainly been because I haven’t had much time to write. When I first started this blog almost four years ago, I said one of the reasons was that I had the time for it. Sometimes that’s all there is to writing.

Well, lately, I haven’t had the time. It has been about six months since I started driving about an hour to go to work—compared to 10 minutes previously—and that commute has just been, as they say around here, “a killer.” A killer of energy, a killer of the mood to write, a killer, like I said, of time. Unfortunately, I’m not one of those people who, given less time to work with, just operate in a hurry, work double-time. I think I’m getting old.

Another reason I have not blogged as much as I would like is that I have not exactly had a Pinoy-in-American mind-set. Don’t get me wrong: I still have Pinoy-in-American thoughts—I don’t see why I wouldn’t have—but they have not been foremost on my mind. Times have been tough around here of late, as everyone knows. And when the economic climate is not the best, it has a way of casting a gray pall on almost everything.

It’s funny: In my last blog I was just saying that my wife and I have largely escaped the stress of life here thanks to, among other reasons, our friends. But now, just a few weeks later, I’m talking about how I might be starting to suffer from it. Maybe I might have even been suffering from it all along.

If you, like me, wonder what makes one “Americanized,” there might be your answer—the economy. I’ve realized it’s the great leveler, equalizer. It affects everybody in America—Pinoy, Latino, Chinese, black, white, rich, poor, etc. In different ways maybe, but it affects everybody. In my case, as I said, it makes me think of my Ka-Pinoyan less and my being “in America” more.

I’ve had something to worry about, in other words, other than my blog. It’s hard not to be affected by what’s been called the Great Recession. Not when you see people you know get laid off, when you see your own pay cut or your benefits taken away, etc. You think of looking for another job, but you can’t find one. Fewer companies are hiring and there is more competition. Things remain pretty gloomy.

I guess for the Pinoy in America, the situation is compounded by the fact that you don’t find the same emotional support that you enjoyed once upon a time in the Philippines.

What do I mean by that? Well, one of the differences I’ve found between my life in the Philippines and my life now is that in the Philippines I had more friends and more relatives—that’s obvious, of course, but what that means is as a result of that network you have a much bigger emotional support group. In fact, it’s so big and so well established and so customary that we take it for granted. I never appreciated that myself until I left the Philippines. You never know what you have until you lose it, as they say.

In the Philippines, you step out of the house to leave for work and you see a familiar face and he says something to you—it could be anything: something as silly as “Aba, gagong gupit tayo ah” (if you happen to have just had a haircut) or “OK ang japorms natin ah”—and instantly your face brightens up. Suddenly it’s a beautiful day.

There’s none of that here—simply because of the fact that you know fewer people and have even fewer people whom you may consider friends.

And they say Pinoys are such cheerful people. I guess that’s true too. We’re always smiling and exchanging banter with one another. My friends and I were certainly that way. We almost never had a serious conversation. When someone said something, someone always came back with a wisecrack, a clever retort.

And when you happen to be feeling down in the dumps, someone is always around to tell you, “OK lang ’yan.” It’s been a while, actually, since I heard someone say that.

Here’s another example.

This was recounted to me by my uncle who lives here too. The story didn’t happen to him actually but to his brother—also a Pinoy in America—who was in the Philippines when our Bikol hometown got yet another lashing from a super typhoon.

I’ve lived through many a super typhoon in my time but this one, from what I’d read and heard about it, was particularly destructive: Whole villages buried in mud, scores of bridges toppled over, deaths in the hundreds, etc.

Well, my uncle’s brother, the very next morning after the typhoon hit, found himself in the middle of a baranggay whose residents had lost their houses and were trying to collect whatever of their old possessions they could find. I imagine everyone in the village just trying to do the little they could to try to piece together a semblance of their homes and their village.

But here’s the thing, my uncle’s brother said: As they were doing that, the villagers were laughing. Not simply smiling, but hooting and rolling in laughter and having hysterics.

I try to imagine the scene again and I see grown men especially, but also the women and children of the village, picking up a palanggana here or a piece of a roof there, but as they’re doing so, they are guffawing and bantering and playing jokes on one another. They are having fun. A whole village, just stricken by a disaster, doubling up in laughter, like a scene in an absurdist play perhaps. It almost makes you wonder if we Pinoys are, you know, a little loose in the head. Maybe we are, and that’s the trick.

I know the story comes to me secondhand, but I don’t have any reason to doubt my uncle’s brother. I’ve seen the same thing myself.

That’s the Pinoy for you.

Don’t get me wrong: People in America laugh too. But the way I see it, people here, when they come under stress, are much more likely to take it out in a negative, even destructive, way first before laughing, whereas Pinoys, ever the cheerful soul, will laugh first before worrying, if at all.

Our historians point out that it is the centuries of foreign domination that have taught us to laugh at whatever life throws at us. I can understand that. If I worked my ass off for a prayle or an alcalde mayor, who in return showed no appreciation and gave no just compensation, I wouldn’t take anything seriously either. Why would I? Come to think of it, that’s a little bit like what I’m going through now. The problem is, maybe I’m taking it a little too seriously. I think it’s time to find my inner Pinoy.

With a little help from my friendsters

2009-06-30T08:26:00.000-07:00

When a Pinoy first comes to live in America, one thing he’ll realize is that he knows a lot of other Pinoys who are living here as well. I mean beyond his close family members and friends that of course he knows are here, he’ll find out there is a host of other people whom he knew in the Philippines who have, before him, made America their home. They include other, more distant relatives, friends, friends of friends, acquaintances, old schoolmates, former co-workers.

In fact, every Pinoy in America goes through a period when he is constantly finding out who else among the people he knew in the Philippines are here. I certainly went through a phase like that.

Actually, what happened to me was even before I got here, I started getting all these news about all the people that I was told were living here now and that I should call them up and say hi, even try to see them.

And when I got here I met or at least talked to those people, and found out about even more Pinoys I had no clue had migrated to America. One finds out about things like that, of course, through the Pinoy grapevine. “Si ganyan nasa L.A.” or “Si ganun nasa New Jersey,” I was told by friends and relatives.

I guess that’s testimony to the sheer number of Pinoys there are in America. There are so many of them that one way or another, a Pinoy in the Philippines is connected to five, 10 or more Pinoys in America. And when a new one comes over, he both expands that network and strengthens it.

Incidentally, this also proves what I have always said about us Pinoys: We are such voracious social animals. Other people try to “network” on purpose. We, on the other hand, don’t even have to try. Once we are born, we are connected. Meeting someone we immediately try to find out how (not if but how) we are connected to each other—even if it’s through the cousin, thrice-removed, of our neighbor’s former driver. In a manner of speaking, we are our own living Facebook accounts.

Leaving the homeland only seems to amplify that compulsion to uncover the network—not necessarily on the part of the person leaving but rather on the part of the people being left behind.

To illustrate the kind of network a Pinoy in America may have, I am tempted to talk about all the Pinoys I know here. But that is going to take some time. There are too many. And I seriously doubt I’ll remember everyone. Besides, I don’t think enumerating them would be very helpful for my purpose as would be, say, showing a map of America and marking with dots the places where these people are. My map will easily have a hundred dots, I think. Probably more.

And I’m still finding out, by the way, about even more people. Just a few months ago, for example, I learned that my cousin JD—whom I essentially grew up with in the Philippines, but somehow lost touch with over the years—lives only about an hour away from where I live. My wife and I finally drove to see him and his family for the first time last week.

It helps to be around people you know in America. It’s a big, largely foreign, place. Familiar faces make it less daunting. And, when you’re starting out, you need kababayans to tell you what life here is like for a Pinoy. You need their advice and their insight into living in this land. Different people have different perspectives of life in America; the perspective of a kababayan can be an invaluable tool.

I mean that on both a practical and psychic level. A new Pinoy in America needs to know where to find the best shopping deals; and he needs a way of making sense of this new place. (There are Pinoys, who finding the first but not the second, cannot cope. Sometimes this malady takes the form of homesickness that won’t go away.)

There is an unspoken rule among Pinoys in America that dictates that the “veterans” of the game should help the ones just starting out—on the condition that the ones being helped will do the same for others when the time comes. That is how the Diaspora is sustained.

J and I in our five years in America have learned so much from other Pinoys that I don’t know how, truthfully, we would have survived psychically. We would’ve made it physically, for sure. But emotionally, psychologically? Who knows? One, or both, of us might have given in to the stress.

That’s why one could consider oneself lucky if one has good friends living nearby. I think I’m very fortunate that, among all the Pinoys in America, I have not one, not two, but three good friends from way back living somewhat close to where we are. “Somewhat close,” though, means “quite far”: They all live in Northern California, around the San Francisco Bay area, while my wife and I live in the southern end of the state. It’s about the distance, I always say, between Manila and my Bikol hometown: About an hour by plane and a good number of hours if you drive.

To put it another way, they live far enough to make it impossible for us to see each other every weekend or even every month, but close enough to see them at least once a year. The three of them, though, are lucky to be living close to one another.

Even before I came here, I’d always known that they were here. But we’d never really kept in touch. When I got here I think a former classmate of ours told one of us about it, and we started calling one another. It wasn’t long after that that we all saw one another.

In fact, during that meeting, just a few months after I got here, two other friends of ours—also classmates from grade school—happened to be around too. One was living in West Virginia and the other in Colorado. It was just everybody’s luck that we were all in the same city at the same moment. That made for a riotous (as these meetings tend to be) mini-reyunyon in America.

It still gets pretty wild when we get together.

We always tease CT, who at our age is still single and still looking for “the one.” JE, on the other hand, while now a family man with big responsibilities, is still the same easygoing JE we knew in grade school, always ready with a smile.

The three of us are all in awe of JG, a nurse, who has done really well in his profession. And I don’t necessarily mean in financial terms but in terms of the recognition and respect he has received from his co-workers and the institution (which happens to be a very prestigious one) where he belongs.

It’s about time that we saw them again. It’s around this time of the year that we make the drive up north. But we may move the trip up a bit because they are actually going home to the Philippines in July for our grade school reunion. I won’t be there unfortunately because we’re saving our trip for next year, when my family is having its own reunion. It’s too bad, I know, but a Pinoy in America can’t go to all the reunions. That’s the reality in this Pinoy in American life.

Mga Kapinoyan: Divas

2009-06-06T10:14:00.001-07:00

This week in America 05-28-09

2009-05-28T09:20:00.000-07:00

I might as well call this piece “This year in America” or “Resesyon in America” because that’s what I’m going to talk about: The U.S. economy, which has been down in the dumps for some time now. But I’ll stick to “This Week in America” because this is to be part of my series on the news of the day, as opposed to my more lighthearted ka-Pinoyan posts.

Actually, the U.S. economy may be starting to show some signs of recovery. Just a few moment s ago I was reading a news story with a headline saying “Economic indicators up more than expected in April.” Even the Dow and Nasdaq, of late, have been going more up than down. The Dow hasn’t dropped below 8,000 points in a while. But, to be sure, people are still hurting because of the recession.

People like me.

I don’t like to talk about myself too much on these pages. If I can find it, I’d rather talk about other Pinoys’ experience in America. But in this case, I actually think my situation is a good example of what the recession has meant for many people in America. So here goes.

At the outset, it’s important to note that the newspaper industry, in this day and age when information is literally at everyone’s fingertips—through cell phones, laptops and home computers—isn’t doing very well. In fact, some say it may even be dying (in America at least; in Asia newspaper readership is reportedly continuing to grow).

We’re not even talking about the economy yet. The Age of iPhones has just not been a good time for newspapers. More and more people much are going online to get the news. And where readers go, advertisers—which provide most of newspapers’ revenue—follow.

That has forced newspaper companies to “rethink” (so goes the corporate speak) the way they do business. And when you start hearing the higher-ups use words like “rethink,” “reorganize” and “reposition,” it can’t be good for a lowly employee like myself. It often means cost cutting and, not too far behind that, layoffs.

In fact, since I joined the company in 2006 until early last year, just before the economy completely soured, we had two rounds of layoffs. A good number of reporters, photographers, copy editors and even news editors were let go.

And when the recession accelerated, things began to look really ugly.

First, we had yet another round of layoffs in January. In fact, one of the people we lost on the copy desk was R., the Pinoy whom you might remember from one of my blogs about my Pinoy co-workers. He’s gone. But I saw him at the mall recently and it was good to know he was, in his own words, “doing fine.”

He did look like he was having fun. He was walking his dog (it was an outdoor mall) and he said he was enjoying his free time as he collected unemployment benefits, and was focusing on his other job (trust a Pinoy in America to have a second job) as a real-estate agent. And, he said, since he had been laid off, his college-bound son was eligible for more-generous-than-usual student aid, which they otherwise would’ve missed out on. Good for them.

Sorry for the digression.

The worst part of layoffs is you never know who’s next. It could be you, for all you know. That’s the nagging and demoralizing thought everyone who’s left has.

Also in January, the company stopped contributing to our retirement accounts.

And then the company decided to move the nine copydesks for the company’s nine daily newspapers to one place. Namely in West Covina, which for me and many others has meant a much longer drive to work.

I myself have gone from a 10-minute commute to almost an hour one way. That’s about two hours a day that I’ve lost just getting to and from work. A longer commute of course also means bigger gas expenses. But we’re not complaining because, as we all say at work, “we’re lucky we still have a job,” which, I’ve realized, isn’t the best motivation for work. On the contrary, it may be the worst.

And then in February and March, the company hit us with furloughs, or forced vacations. Everyone was ordered to take five days off—unpaid, of course. That amounts to a week’s pay, which is a lot.

Speaking of vacation, the company also “suspended” the accrual of vacation time for all employees until July. That’s more money employees lose, and more money the company saves.

Looking back, it does seem incredible that one company can implement all these measures virtually all at once. But similar things are going on in other companies and other industries. I mean this is a time when entire retail chains (including one, incidentally, that I worked for, and which was a big advertiser in our papers) have shut down completely, when whole industries have turned to the taxpayers for a bailout. There was a stretch of a few months—and it may be even happening till now—when about half a million people were losing their jobs in the U.S. each month.

My wife can tell you more about that last one because she works for the county office that helps people in the welfare program who are unemployed find jobs. As you can expect, her office has lately been swamped by clients. In fact, when companies are laying off employees left and right, if not going out of business altogether, her office is actually hiring people to keep up with the demand for their services.

My Tita S., a longtime Pinay in America, was telling me about some Pinoys (her children’s friends) who have packed up and left for the Philippines precisely because times were hard here. I know of course that to say that was the only reason they left would be too simplistic. There are, I’m sure, other factors involved. There always are. But the fact that the economy is one of them does say something. Isn’t America supposed to be the Promised Land, after all?

The story also points out that at least Pinoys in America—or other immigrants, for that matter—have an option. I mean if times get too bad for them, they have somewhere to go. In fact, J and I sometimes say that as a joke. “Uwi na tayo," we tell each other. I think we’re still joking when we say that. I’m grateful that we’ve not reached a point when that isn’t funny anymore.

But this makes me wonder about others who don’t have a similar option—who have no option at all. What can they do? From that point on, I would say it’s the same everywhere. People begin to do crazy things. But I won’t go there right now.

Well, that’s been the year so far in America.

The land of flying jeepneys

2009-04-11T08:56:00.000-07:00

I

When I was living in Quezon City, I used to take public transportation all the time. When I first moved into my apartment in U.P. Village, I would take a tricycle to Philcoa where the U.P.-bound jeeps were, and one of them took me right into the U.P. campus. But soon I found out it was more convenient if I walked a short distance from my apartment, through an alley, to Kalayaan Avenue where I could then hail a Cubao-Fairview jeep, and get off at Philcoa.

Commuting home, I had more options.

I could simply take the reverse of the steps I describe above. That is, I could take a Philcoa jeep, which in fact I often did, to the tricycle station near Mercury Drug and then take one of them back to my apartment. But it wasn’t as easy as it sounds because taking the tricycle meant waiting for two other passengers going in the same direction as you, which late in the day (or evening) when you are tired and hungry could be unbearable. So another option was to hire the tricycle all for yourself for a “special trip” home. There was no waiting, and you were home in no time. But that meant paying the fare for three passengers. Often, though, I didn’t mind waiting—plus I’m kuripot—so a regular trip was fine.

Before long, I realized it was easier if I just got off at the opposite side of Philcoa, hail a Cubao-bound jeep, which passed through Kalayaan Avenue, from where I could simply cross the street and walk the rest of the way to my apartment. It meant going through a narrow, dark and foul-smelling alley—I cannot imagine a lot of women (the ales and the pretty kolehiyalas of the neighborhood) taking the same route—but it got me home just the same.

U.P.’s famed IKOT jeeps—or TOKI, as the case may be—were another alternative. If I took one and got off at Sarah’s sari-sari store in Krus na Ligas, I could then take a tricycle or simply walk home. That is, if I didn’t get held up at Sarah’s first.

Sarah’s, you see, is where everyone in U.P. (it seemed to me)—students and teachers alike—went for a beer (or two or three or…) after class. The place was little more than a hole in the wall with monobloc chairs and tables all around. All my friends went there. Many a night, in fact, that was my destination, before I headed home. It always made for an interesting walk or tricycle ride.

I could also simply walk straight home from the Faculty Center. There were days when I felt doing just that, days when I didn’t feel like going through the smog and traffic (both pedestrian and vehicular) in Philcoa. That place could be a jungle at rush hour.

So I walked, sometimes with my friends N. and P., sometimes alone. I liked it firstly because it was free and also because it meant a traipse through some of the campus’ most tranquil areas, where there were lots of greenery and where in the afternoon and early evening the air was fresh and cool.

When the weather was nice, which beginning in the –ber months through January and February, it almost always was, it was a shame not to walk.

I would exit the FC through the back, cut across the U.P. Veterinary Medicine area, and by the fine-arts building, then the U.P. Equine Stud Farm, across Carlos P. Garcia Avenue, and finally through an alley in Krus na Ligas.

Then I was on the residential streets of the village. They had names like Maginhawa, Mahinhin, Mahusay, Maayusin, Mapayapa, Mahimbing, Malinis, Marilag, Masaya … And they were. A friend of mine offered to give her teacher a ride one day. My friend asked her teacher, “Ma’am, isn’t your house on Maalindog?” And my friend said her teacher, with an eyebrow raised, told her, “No, it’s on Mapang-akit,” which struck us as funny because her teacher didn’t remind you of those words.

I lived on Matahimik, which for the most part it was.

Whenever I walked with N. and P., we would sometimes go by way of Philcoa so we could grab some snacks—bananacue, a bag of fish balls or chicharon, and a liter of Coke—which we brought to P.’s house in the heart of the village. The three of us were neighbors for a time.

We would climb up to P.’s terrace, where we enjoyed our merienda and the solace that was there. Treetops and rooftops as far as the eye could see made for our view. In that age, that more than sufficed.

II

Of all the public modes of transportation in Manila, the one I liked least was the bus. A lot of them were in horrible shape. Of course, the word was these vehicles were refurbished rejects from Japan and South Korea. Hence the Korean and Japanese signs onboard, as if Pinoys had a need for them.

Not only that, the driver and conductor took forever at some stops to wait for passengers, who sometimes didn’t bother to board anyway precisely because the bus waited too long. Would-be passengers much preferred to catch a bus which was about to pull away or one which was about to cross the intersection, thereby creating a traffic jam.

For the most part you couldn’t blame the driver and conductor because you knew they were just trying to make their boundary. So you blamed the boundary system instead.

The Metropolitan Manila Development Authority, or MMDA, at one point implemented a 30-second rule, which required buses to stay at a stop for only that long. But given the state of Manila’s streets and highways, the size of the commuting public, the volume of traffic, and again drivers only trying to put food on the table, the passengers were often literally stuck. The situation often appeared to be hopeless. But that was then. I honestly don’t know about now.

So when the MRT on EDSA came, it was a godsend. Now you could make it from Quezon Avenue to Makati’s Ayala Center in about 20 minutes. Starting when it first became operational up to the time I left the Philippines, I took the MRT all the time. It was the only way to go if you were heading from QC to Makati or vice-versa. In fact, some say, if not for it, I wouldn’t have met my wife, who at that time was living and working in Makati. But that’s another story.

III

These days my commuting life is so much different. No more jeepneys, tricycles or dilapidated buses for me. And no more MRT. Life in suburban America means driving. You drive to work, you drive to the supermarket, you drive everywhere. Without your own car, you would literally go nowhere.

There is mass transit, to be sure, consisting of buses and trains, but it’s often impractical. Buses move on a rigid schedule; It’s nothing like Manila. You can’t just go to a bus stop and expect a bus to come by. You have to check the schedule online or in the bus schedule booklet the authorities pass out. Schedule is OK, you might say, but often it means a lot of waiting. You end up having to kill time at work because you get there early or have to stay there later or worse, both.

And while the bus driver doesn’t wait too long to pick up passengers, he makes a gazillion stops in an already roundabout route before you get to your destination, making what is, say, normally a 30-minute drive, a 2-hour commute. I’m not kidding.

The train, on the other hand, is handy for extra-long commutes, which fortunately I don’t have to make.

There are no subways around here either. If there were, I’d be all over it.

So I drive. I often tell myself, I’ve become sosyal, which is what I called my friends in Manila who drove their own cars, just to tease them. Well, I’ve inadvertently become one of them.

Last year I started riding my mountain bike to work, but they moved the copy desk to a newsroom in a city 50 miles away. So much for going green.

All this reminds me of the song “Manila” by Hotdog. I grew up listening to it, but have never given the words much thought until now. I’ve always just thought of it as a catchy, well-executed tune, but now I finally find that I can relate to what it’s saying.

For those who don’t remember, part of the song goes: “Hinahanap-hanap kita Manila / Ang ingay mo’ng kay sarap sa tenga / Mga jeepney mo’ng nagliliparan / Mga babae mo’ng nagagandahan / Take me back in your arms Manila / And promise me you'll never let go / Promise me you'll never let go.”

I’m not about to sentimentalize the life I used to live, but when I think about it, I realize I do miss my time in Manila—some of it at least. I miss Manila itself—Q.C., especially because it was my home for a long time. I miss even Philcoa—just the good parts of it, though (the eateries, the food stalls, the bananacue), not the smog, the traffic.

And of course, I miss U.P., which gave me an education, though not necessarily an academic one. And I miss Sarah’s. And I miss the walk home.

Mga Kapinoyan: Fliers II (Continued)

2009-02-25T16:39:00.000-08:00

I saw Anthony Castelo sing a few songs at a gathering of Pinoy war veterans a few years ago. But that wasn’t a concert. And the stars were the veterans. Mr. Castelo just came up to do a few numbers. He sang his signature hit “Balatkayo” and, I think, “Panaginip” and “Hahanapin Ko.”

He gave a masterful and moving performance of those songs, by the way, certainly a well-applauded one. But one thing I would never forget at that event is the sight of Mr. Castelo hawking his CDs after the program. I mean I don’t blame him for trying to make an extra buck—he was in the right spot for it as there were quite a number of people who wanted to get his CD. Nostalgia, you see, sells big time in America.

I guess I was just caught off-guard because before that night, I mostly remembered him as the big-name balladeer whom my aunts idolized back in the ’70s and ’80s, along with Rico J. Puno, Haji Alejandro and Basil Valdez. And for a while, he was a Quezon City councilor too. But I’d never heard of him after that.

So to see him that night in Cerritos peddling his music, alone, in a dimly lit corner of the hall was a little unexpected.

I guess he’s based here now, as news on the Internet also seems to suggest. So add his name to our list of Pinoy ex-stars who have made America their home.

There are all kinds of Pinoy artists coming over for shows year round: Martin Nievera, Willie Revillame and Pilita Corrales (a perennial visitor), just to name a few. The Megastar herself is doing another show in June in L.A.—at a major concert venue no less (The Shrine Auditorium and Expo Hall). That’s according to a full-page ad in the Pinoy-American newspapers. Her “special guest star” is her daughter, KC Concepcion. Hmmm, I wonder if erstwhile Mega-husband Gabby Concepcion, who I know is based in these parts these days, will show up. Probably not.

Lea Salonga recently did a show at a popular casino not far from where we live. But I’m not really big on Lea Salonga. At another casino, the APO Hiking Society trio of Danny Javier, Jim Paredes and Boboy Garovillo also held a concert. Now that’s more like my kind of music. Unfortunately, I couldn’t go watch it because of work. My wife and my brother-in-law and his wife went, though, and reported having a great time.

Is there a Pinoy band or singer I would go see, if they came over? I would actually go to any show, given the chance. As I’ve said, it would be interesting to see what it’s like to be in an auditorium filled with Pinoys in America and a major homegrown talent performing on stage. Plus, it would simply be fun. We all know how kuwela some of our showbiz stars can be. Of course, according to my wife, some of them are not kuwela but bastos (I think we were watching some YouTube videos of Rico J. Puno at that time). I tell her, kasama na ’yon.

But if there were one Pinoy concert that I could watch here in America, it would be…let’s see, maybe Side A, whose songs essentially formed the soundtrack of our lives once upon a time. Or maybe AEGIS. Those ladies, to me, are the real divas, songstresses who sing not just from the heart but from the gut. That show would be something.

But the more I think about it, I think it would really be fun to watch a show by our famed “hitmakers” from what is said to be the Golden Age of OPM, the likes of Rico J. Puno, Haji Alejandro, Marco Sison and Rey Valera. Throw in Basil Valdez, if you can, and Nonoy Zuniga, Ray-An Fuentes, Tillie Moreno, Ella del Rosario, Hotdog, VST and Co., Sampaguita, etc. The list goes on.

As you can see, I’m very much a child of the ’70s. And still very much a child of the Philippines.

____________________________

Mga Kapinoyan: Fliers

2009-02-25T16:28:00.000-08:00

Here’s something we don’t see in the Philippines—and why would we?—fliers promoting concerts in America featuring Pinoy artists, in this case, the so-called “divas of the Philippines”: Kuh Ledesma, Zsa-Zsa Padilla, Pops Fernandez and Regine Velasquez.

But we do hear about these isteytsayd shows when these artists “guest” on the Pinoy talk shows and announce that they are leaving to do a series of shows, for example, in America or Hong Kong and Japan. And true enough, they are unseen in the next few weeks. When they come back, looking not necessarily refreshed (artistas always look refreshed) but invigorated, they report what a great time they had performing for kababayans abroad.

It must be quite an experience for them to do what they do for a living in another country where they can get a bakasyon at the same time. And when they say that it was a joy to make all the kababayans living overseas happy for one night, who can doubt them?

Of course, it becomes a source of scandal when a member of their travel party misses the trip back home. Remember the Regine Velasquez controversy of the early ’90s? But I digress.

I must say I’ve never been to such shows since I moved here. Well, I’ve been to one—sort of. But the singer in question lacks the draw and fame of a Kuh Ledesma or Pops Fernandez. I’m talking about Kitchie Nadal whose show at a medium-size venue in West Hollywood we saw a few years ago.

Though I was still living in the Philippines when she first broke into the music scene, I didn’t really have the chance to watch Kitchie Nadal perform. (Let’s just say my musical tastes are for a different generation of musicians.) So I didn’t quite know what to make of her singing or her songs.

The young Pinoys at the venue, though, gamely sang along with her, and endlessly took pictures with their cell phones. Which made me ask myself: How many of them actually knew Kitchie Nadal from living in the Philippines and how many knew her from The Filipino Channel and/or the Internet? Which is to ask how many of them were born in the Philippines and then moved here, and how many of them were born here. It’s an interesting thought.

That’s assuming, of course, that they knew Kitchie Nadal at all. It’s highly possible that most of those kids in the hall were either born here or born in the Philippines and then pulled out of the Philippines when they were very young and transplanted in America—and now they are taking pictures of Kitchie Nadal more out of curiosity (someone from my parents’ homeland!) than outright idolization.

In any case, Kitchie Nadal’s backup act was an interesting choice. It was the reuniting “Introvoys”—remember them? Actually, it was one of those so-called band “reunions” where only a couple of guys from the original group showed up. Of the band’s original lineup from the late ’80s and early ’90s, only Paco Arespacochaga (drummer) and Jonathan Buencamino (lead vocals) were there.

But they gave a rousing performance. The crowd again sang along to “Line to Heaven,” “Di Na Ko Aasa,” “However Which Way” and, perhaps their greatest it, “Will I Survive”—though this time I think it was mostly the older members of the audience who were singing along.

I thought the concert was a very poignant moment in that way: A hall full of Pinoys in America harking back to the homeland, in song. The feeling must be far greater at the bigger shows. I wonder what it’s like, for example, at a Sharon Cuneta or Side A concert. (To be continued)

Mga Kapinoyan sa America

2009-02-19T09:08:00.000-08:00

Mga Kapinoyan: Rizal monument

Rizal bust and plaque in front of Seafood City supermarket in West Covina, Calif. Picture taken February 2009 (by JR).

Tsibugan #6

2009-02-19T08:20:00.000-08:00

“D.J. Bibingkahan”
West Covina, Calif.

With branches in other parts of California and also in Las Vegas, D.J. Bibingkahan, I would say, is one of the more reliable Pinoy restaurants in America. Not too fancy, but the food is good and the price reasonable. Plus, this particular branch in West Covina sits right across Seafood City, the Pinoy supermarket where we get our stock of bangus, Pinoy-style hot dogs, pan de sal and other staples in Pinoy diet. A visit to Seafood City inevitably leads to a stop at D.J. Bibingkahan. You know, just to get an order of adobo, laing and palabok. And maybe sinigang too. And lumpiang shanghai. And lechon kawali. And maybe also a couple of turons and some ensaymada and...well, you get the point.

Tsibugan #5

2009-02-13T09:20:00.000-08:00

“Banaue Terrace Grill”
Rancho Cucamonga, Calif.

I first heard about “Banaue Terrace Grill” over Thanksgiving dinner. My brother-in-law’s father-in-law, who was the host of the evening, told me about this new Pinoy restaurant and told me where it was.

Tito Art’s exact words were “sa may church.” I should say that though I live in another city, I’m familiar enough with the layout of Rancho Cucamonga to know there is a Church Street somewhere in the city, so I thought that’s what Tito Art was referring to.

You see, Tito Art is not one to mix English and Tagalog. He’s fluent in English and fluent in Tagalog, deep Tagalog even, having lived most of his life in Laguna. But, as far as I know, he’ll speak only one language at a time. And at home, of course, he speaks exclusively in Tagalog. In fact, one of the things I look forward to whenever I am invited to a party at their house is the good old Pinoy-style banter and jokes that we exchange in Tagalog.

“Pare! Kumusta ba, pare?” is a typical greeting I get from him when we meet.

In other words, I wouldn’t have expected him to say “sa may church” while referring to the actual, physical church where people go to hear Mass. He would’ve said “sa may simbahan,” if he meant that.

Good thing I didn’t go looking for Banaue Terrace Grill on Church Street. I would’ve just wasted my time.

It turns out the restaurant is actually a few miles away, in fact near the Catholic church that everyone in the family goes to. Malapit nga sa simbahan.

Ewan ko kung ano ang nakain ni Tito Art at biglang nag-Taglish. Pati tuloy ako na-confuse.

Anyway, last Friday, I finally went to the restaurant with my wife. Here are some more photos:

This week in America

2009-01-24T09:22:00.000-08:00

When I look back at my posts on this blog, one thing I notice is I never seem to write about the news of the day. I mean generally I don’t seem to dwell on the big events taking place in America: political events (for example, the historic 2009 U.S. presidential election, which capped an unprecedented campaign season, came and went without my ever mentioning it here), the tanking U.S. economy, wildfires (a staple of California life), sensational crimes, that sort of stuff.

I guess the reason for that is, first of all, I would much rather write about the everyday stuff that concerns Pinoys in America—for the most part, my own daily experiences with life in a borrowed country and with American life in particular, but also other Pinoys’ experiences that I hear about.

Secondly, I am trying to stay in theme, and those events I mention above don’t particularly concern Pinoys in America. They do concern Pinoys, of course, but largely in the same way they concern other citizens and residents of this country. If you tried hard enough you can still find a Pinoy angle in those stories (there’s always one), but I don’t consider that my job.

It’s the job of the Pinoy-American newspapers. Now those guys can be relied on to find the Pinoy perspective in major news stories. For example, they’ll have headlines like “Filipinos among those displaced by San Diego wildfire” or “Filipino storeowner elected councilman in San Mateo County,” or for that matter headlines like “Charice rocks Obama pre-inaugural balls.”

I have to write about Pinoy-American newspapers one of these days. They are always an interesting read, a treasure trove of leads for the Pinoy-in-American blogger. But in the meantime, I’ll keep focusing on the misadventures of everyday Pinoys, the tsismis, the “salacious” stuff, as one of the editors in the newsroom likes to say.

There’s still a lot of stuff I haven’t written about which I feel I should have written about already: Manny Pacquiao, for example. I think since I moved here he has come, won and gone three times already, but nary a word about him in these pages. When the Pac-Man is in town, diyos ko, all the Pinoys come out and act a little more Pinoy than usual. And, naku, months before a fight, nakikipagpustahan na. And then I also want to write about what happens when it’s a Pinoy who’s driving on America’s roadways.

But here I go again, promising to write about this and that and not following it up. I give no excuse; I’m guilty as charged.

However, there was a bit of news this week in the American landscape that I thought was worth a mention in this blog, for all my claims to indifference to the world outside me. Namely, the assumption of Barack Obama to the American presidency. The first black person to do so.

Need I say more? I just think it’s one of those events that transcend place and time, like People Power and the toppling of the Berlin Wall.

Of course, whether Obama is going to be a successful president or not is another matter altogether. But in electing him president, the American people have already accomplished much. That’s my take on that.

So this is my little paean to that accomplishment. And perhaps my way of saying I’m not such a snob after all.

Well, that’s the news this week in America.

“How are you?”

2008-12-11T08:53:00.000-08:00

“How are you?”

“I’m fine, thank you. How about you?”

If you were like me, you would’ve been taught how to say that in elementary school English class. In fact, that would’ve been one of the first things your teacher made sure you could say.

The same is true, I would say, in other countries where English is spoken as a second language. I certainly saw the same thing in South Korea and Japan. Everybody you met could, and in fact did, ask you how you were doing, and when you asked them back, they could say, “I’m fine, thank you.” But beyond that, well, let’s just say things got a little more interesting.

But anyway, what I wanted to say was, now I know why we were started with that simple exchange.

It’s because that’s how Americans—the speakers of the variety of English that we are taught—talk to one another. Around here, people are always saying “How are you?” or “How are you doing?” or “How’s it going?” I swear one guy in a cowboy hat that I came across in the street even asked me, “Howdy?”—just like we were in a Western.

But the thing is, one is not always expected to say how one really is doing. “How are you?” in other words is just how people here say hello. Of course, if one wanted to give an answer, one can say, “Good. And you?” Or if one were asked “How it’s going?” a lighthearted but appropriate response would be “It’s going.”

I should say that here no one really says “Fine,” by the way. In fact the only person I know who does that is me. I guess I took my elementary school English lessons a little too seriously. But of course “Fine” is a perfectly appropriate and idiomatic response too, and people don’t see any problem with it when I give that answer. But I feel silly somehow, like I’m still in a classroom. So I usually just say what others here say— “Good. And you?”—and get it over with.

But like I said, the question doesn’t really need a response. It’s simply a customary greeting, an icebreaker, something along the lines of “Ano ba’ng balita?” or “Ano’ng bago?” for Pinoys.

People say it at work, at the store, at the bank, on the phone, etc.

“Hello. How are you?”

“I’m good, and you?”

“Good.”

“Good. Well, I was calling because…”

In fact sometimes I still make the mistake of answering the question when I don’t need to. I can’t help it. As a fairly new resident here, I sometimes still feel I have to answer all the questions I hear. Of course, I don’t have to. If I choose to, I can just make light of the situation. And in fact sometimes I do just that. Which reminds me: Back home, when somebody asks “Ano’ng balita?” some joker always says, “Eto. Guwapo pa rin.”

But I don’t know: I don’t think America is ready for that comeback. Imagine: If somebody at work asked me how I’m doing and I said, “Here, take a look. I’m as handsome as ever,” they might not get it. Then again, maybe they might.:)

Tsibugan #3 and #4

2008-12-06T21:53:00.000-08:00

“Kusina ni Lola” and “Bamboo Bistro”
West Covina, Calif.

I decided to tackle these two Pinoy restaurants together because I think the fact that they are sitting right next to each other kind of illustrates just how many Pinoy eateries there are in this West Covina business complex and perhaps in America itself.

I have actually not tried “Kusina ni Lola,” and in fact do not know anyone who has, so I’m afraid there’s nothing I can say about it, although I would point out the “A” sign near the door. That of course represents the restaurant’s rating as determined by the city’s health department. Here as in Manila and other places, businesses—restaurants, especially—are subject to regular health inspections. And you can’t get any higher than an “A” rating.

So Kusina has at least that going for it. As for the food, we’ll have to try it one of these days.

Bamboo Bistro, on the other hand, reminds me a lot of Trellis or Gerry’s Grill in Quezon City, two restaurants I regularly went to when I was still living in Manila. Trellis especially because it was just a few blocks away from where I was living. At these three places, the food is served pretty much the same way, and you find the same laid back atmosphere.

The one thing that would distinguish Bamboo though would be the music. When my wife and I ate there recently, our server told us they have karaoke nights, and that from time to time they also have live bands. That sounds about right for a Pinoy restaurant.

Speaking of Gerry’s Grill, there is Gerry’s Grill in America. I mean an actual branch of Manila’s Gerry’s Grill, and not just a restaurant with the same name. There are two, in fact. There’s one in Union City, Calif., which opened last year and which we were able to try when we happened to be in the area. And then there’s another in Artesia, right here in Southern California.

So there you go: Another Pinoy restaurant opening branches in America. That’s quite remarkable, incidentally, because if I’m not mistaken, that makes Gerry’s Grill the first Philippine restaurant that’s not a fast food to open a branch in America. A sign of the times, perhaps, and more important: Could Trellis be far behind? Hmmm.

Pinoy Thanksgiving

2008-11-29T07:46:00.000-08:00

I call Thanksgiving the Great All-American Holiday. The Americans’ devotion to it is very touching. Even now, when the economy is going down the drain and people are having a hard time making ends meet, it’s amazing to see how far they would go to mark the occasion. People still talk about finding the perfect turkey, preparing it right, and, of course, having everyone in the family come over (though travel is expected to show a decline this year).

On the radio, I heard a woman say Thanksgiving is her favorite holiday because it’s “like Christmas, but without the gifts.” Indeed what a nice holiday it is if you see it that way.

And it really is a joyous occasion. On the street everyone wishes one another a good Thanksgiving. There’s no work. Or, if you happen to have work that day, your employers make sure you and the rest of the holiday staff have a feast. It may be from a restaurant, but it’s delicious and plentiful nonetheless, with turkey and cranberry sauce, salad, and pie—all traditional Thanksgiving fare.

That’s, incidentally, what happened to me the past two Thanksgivings, when I had to work. That’s one of the downsides of working at a newspaper company. There’s work every day of the year. Weekends and holidays, you have to get the paper out.

Now I feel sorry for my wife, who has to spend some holidays without me. I’m glad we have family and friends nearby who have really been generous with their invitation and warm with their welcome. I’m thankful for that.

Thanksgiving is a time when people recall what they are thankful for. Our newspapers always devote a page to people—both well known such as public officials and civic leaders, and everyday folks—talking about what they are thankful for.

That always adds to the upbeat, festive mood that is the hallmark of the occasion. For one day, it’s a happy world.

And then the bloodbath starts the very next day: Black Friday. Although not officially a holiday, it may very well be one. It is traditionally regarded as the start of the Christmas shopping season, a day when retailers offer some of the biggest bargains of the year.

Stores and malls open earlier and close later than usual to accommodate the hordes of shoppers. This year, I’ve even heard of one mall vowing to open midnight of Thanksgiving and another (a competitor obviously) opening a full hour earlier. I don’t blame them. On Black Friday, huge crowds are known to turn up at stores (electronics stores are a favorite)—many camping out outside as early as the day before to get to the deals faster than anyone else. Parking becomes impossible. It’s a well-named day.

In fact, this Black Friday at a Wal-Mart in Long Island, New York, a store employee was trampled to death by onrushing shoppers as he tried to open the door.

But you do get amazing deals. I know someone, a Pinoy, who got his high-end laptop one Black Friday a few years ago for an incredible price of $200 or something like that. But he had to line up starting at 4 a.m. outside the store to get it. It was a fair trade, I suppose.

If I didn’t do any shopping on Friday, it’s only because I tried very hard to hold myself back. But, actually, it wasn’t too bad. I don’t really need anything and it’s not a good time to be indulging yourself.

What does the Pinoy in America do for Thanksgiving? Why, he celebrates it of course. He can’t miss out on all the fun, can he? Though Thanksgiving is not our holiday, we Pinoys would use any excuse to party.

I think that’s what it all boils down to. I doubt many Pinoys in America know the full story behind Thanksgiving or appreciate its significance. I mean, you can say that of some Americans. Even my knowledge of it would be sketchy, if not for Google and Wikipedia. It’s just something that we never really got to know in the Philippines.

But, as it happens, it’s a chance to gather loved ones, close friends, and other Pinoys who may not have a party to go to. There’s turkey and cranberry sauce at the party, sure, but it’s prepared more as an afterthought, a concession to the American way, whereas for Americans, they are central to the meal. Instead, there’s nilaga and patis with kalamansi (perfect for a cold winter night).

There’s also rice, baked mac, ham, and, for dessert, ginataan. Picture-taking with everyone’s digital camera and the obligatory family portraits rule the night. And talk turns to Christmas. Now that is a holiday we know.

Pinoytown, U.S.A.

2008-11-16T08:02:00.000-08:00

About once a month, my wife and I drive out to West Covina, a city about 45 minutes away where there is a bustling “Pinoytown.” I enclose Pinoytown in quote marks because it’s not really a Pinoytown in the sense of a Chinatown or Koreatown. I just call it that. There aren’t really legitimate Pinoytowns around here—at least none that I’m aware of. There are places well known to be Pinoy enclaves, but they lack the permanence, economic power and political clout of a Chinatown.

In fact, that’s exactly what many have said about Pinoys in the Diaspora. That is, though we have been around America and other countries for a long time, we have not really been able to stamp our presence via a defined piece of real estate that we can rightfully call ours. Unlike the Chinese, for example, who quickly lay down, as it were, a piece of the Chinese mainland wherever they go. We in the Philippines only have to take a jeepney ride to Binondo (and some would say to the SM mega-malls) to see proof of this.

I don’t think it’s any great loss, I mean our not having our own version of Chinatown. Some would say America itself is our home. I won’t go into that right now, but that’s the position I tend to have.

In any case, there are always places like West Covina, which harbors a small corner populated by businesses run by kababayans.

The biggest and, I would say, most important of these businesses is the local branch of “Seafood City,” a chain of Pinoy supermarkets, where all the kababayans go to get home-style patis, toyo, suka, instant pansit, bangus, snacks like hopia and ensaymada, and much much more.

Red Ribbon. Unfortunately, the food there doesn’t taste like it does back home. The same is true for Chowking (unseen in this photo), which is on the other side of the supermarket. So we never eat at either of these places. But it doesn’t matter. There are four or five other Pinoy restaurants nearby.

Note the tabo on the shelf on the right. That’s prime commodity in America. When I came back from the Philippines last year, I brought with me seven or eight of these because they’re just hard to come by around here. It made for good pasalubong too.

Seafood City’s main endorser: The Megastar, Sharon Cuneta.

Another product endorser: Former President Fidel V. Ramos pushing “Haliya,” which I believe is a brand of wine produced in America by a Pinoy-owned company. Incidentally, some of the other familiar faces that a Pinoy would find in print ads in Pinoy-American newspapers and commercials on The Filipino Channel include the comedian Bernardo Bernardo and the Megastar’s erstwhile husband, Gabby Concepcion.

Unfortunately, you can’t get Purefoods corned beef or pork and beans at Seafood City. There is, however, “Martin Purefoods” canned goods which are good enough substitutes.

The “taste” of home.

Step out of Seafood City and you’ll find beauty salons, a PNB remittance center, a bakeshop, a travel agency, and gift shops like this one—all Pinoy-owned.

Valerio’s bakery, home of stateside hot pan de sal. Every night, outside this bakeshop there’s a balut vendor—I’m not kidding.

I swear I’ve seen this sign in Cubao.

Posters announcing Pinoy shows.

Two of the Pinoy restaurants in the area: Kusina ni Lola and Bamboo Bistro. We like Bamboo Bistro because it reminds us a little bit of Gerry’s Grill or Trellis—old haunts of ours when I was still living in Q.C.

Somewhere there is also a DJ Bibingkahan and a Jollibee. There was even a Max’s restaurant too, but we found out recently that it has closed—but only because it is moving into a shopping mall nearby. I guess it’s going mainstream. It would be interesting to see how it fares at its new location, and what non-Pinoys would think of it. I have to remember to check on that one of these days.

Tsibugan #2

2008-10-29T17:50:00.000-07:00

“Alimango”
San Mateo, Calif.

For Tsibugan #2, I don’t have my own pictures to show. And, actually, the restaurant is not anywhere near where we live so I can’t just go there to eat and take pictures. It’s all the way up in San Mateo, Calif., in the San Francisco Bay area, where my wife and I recently went on vacation.

But I thought it was worth a spot in this series because it was actually what reminded me of my plan to write about Pinoy restaurants in America.

What happened was, when we were in the bay area, we heard about this new Pinoy restaurant that was apparently the happening place for all the kababayans there. “Alimango” we were told was its name. How much more Pinoy can you get with a name like “Alimango?” I thought.

We, of course, had to check it out. But unfortunately we couldn’t get a reservation. That was the kind of place it was, incidentally, the kind where you call in to reserve a table—definitely not turo-turo. Pang-klas, as my mother-in-law would say.

Luckily, on our last night, my wife and I, along with my tita and her family, happened to drive by the place just by coincidence, and we decided right there and then to try it.

As soon as you walk in and you see the chic interior and hear the soft piped-in music, you realize you’re not at Nanay Gloria’s or DJ Bibingkahan. The place is classy indeed. The tables and chairs are new and nice. You see uniformed waiters going about their chores. A well-dressed manager is hobnobbing with the quests. (I’m not going to give a full description here. Like I said, I would have wanted to show pictures instead. In the meantime, maybe you can look at the pictures at www.alimangorestaurant.com, the restaurant’s Web site.)

The food, though, was so-so. It didn’t really grab me or any of my companions. I would say, if not for the ambiance, I wouldn’t go to Alimango for a meal. I would rather go to, say, Bamboo Bistro or even Manila Sunset. It’s not so much that the food at Alimango was so bad; it was just uneven. Of the four dishes we ordered, one was very good, one was OK, and the other two were passable bordering on unappetizing.

To be fair, however, we didn’t try the restaurant’s specialty dishes, which features—what else?—alimango. But my view is, if you are going to put other dishes on the menu, you assume the burden of preparing them right, not to mention the diner’s expectation that they’re going to be good.

But the thing is, at places like these, you don’t really go just to eat. You go there, as the expression goes, “to chill.” To hang out with your friends, have drinks, etc. For that, Alimango is not a bad place to start. It has a nice-looking bar, and we hear on Friday nights, the tables are moved to make way for a dance floor, a band plays, and there is dancing.

Incidentally, the other thing that struck me about Alimango was the servers weren’t Pinoy. Not one of them—not to me, at least—looked like one. But I don’t know: I was there only that one time so I don’t know the real story. I very well could be wrong. But if I’m not and Alimango doesn’t have Pinoy servers, that would be kind of odd. Usually, you go to a Pinoy restaurant and you find the servers are all kababayans. I have to check on this next time I’m in the bay area. And maybe then too I’ll have my own pictures to show.

Well, that’s Alimango, Tsibugan #2.

Tsibugan #1

2008-10-17T15:27:00.000-07:00

Tsibugan #1: “Manila Sunset Grille”
Rancho Cucamonga, Calif.

“Manila Sunset Grille” in Rancho Cucamonga is a relatively new place, only a few months old. In fact, I went there for the first time only last week—to have some nice Pinoy food and also so I could get this “tsibugan” series going.

I said I was going to focus on its remarkable aspects when I talk about a particular eatery. Well, I would say the remarkable thing about Manila Sunset is the food. There’s no question about it. My wife and I and all the other Pinoys we know who’ve tried it have all said that the food at Manila Sunset is good. I wouldn’t say it’s to-die-for good (I reserve that description for my lola’s cooking), but it’s expertly done and tasty. In fact, my brother-in-law, who lives just a few blocks from the restaurant, has quickly become a suki there since it opened. I don’t blame him.

But the other noteworthy thing about Manila Sunset is that while it’s undoubtedly a Pinoy restaurant—that is, it has a Pinoy name and is owned by Pinoys, serves Pinoy food and is patronized almost exclusively by Pinoys—it doesn’t completely feel like one.

For one thing, it’s not “point-point” (turo-turo). As the guy at the counter told us when we were ordering, they prepare the food as it is ordered. I guess I just haven't been around all that much, but most other Pinoy restaurants that I’ve been to are turo-turo. That doesn't necessarily mean they're better, of course, but it just seems more typical for me when I’m at a Pinoy eatery to line up at the counter and point out which dishes I would like—rather than order from a menu.

Another thing that makes Manila Sunset different is, there was no TV showing The Filipino Channel. This is something I’ve come to expect when I’m at a Pinoy restaurant. The first thing you notice as you enter is the sound of The Filipino Channel blaring from a TV (depending on the time you go, it could be showing anything from “Wowowee” to a teleserye). No TV at Manila Sunset.

For a touch of home, the owners have installed a three-piece bamboo sala set in the waiting area; a menu board framed by bamboo strips; and two large paintings depicting, if I remember correctly, a fiesta in a typical Pinoy baryo, complete with nipa huts, a parade, a carabao or two, and of course, Pinoys in traditional clothing. Very Pinoy but not authentically so. On the other hand, nothing could be more authentic than Wowowee.

Finally, the servers (which is what waiters are commonly called around here) at Manila Sunset kept talking to us in English. This is in stark contrast to the other Pinoy eateries that we go to, where you’re addressed in Tagalog—that is, if the server doesn’t realize you’re Bikolano/Ilokano/Bisaya first, in which case he’ll try to talk to you in your language.

But actually I don’t blame the Manila Sunset folks for choosing to address everyone in English. It’s safer. When we were there, I saw a good number of what I assumed were second-generation Pinoys. I think I’ve talked about them before—those who look Pinoy but can’t speak a word of Tagalog.

Rancho Cucamonga is not especially known to be a Pinoy enclave. There is a growing Pinoy community there (hence the presence of Manila Sunset), but as it is, I would say if you were opening a Pinoy restaurant, it would make sense to assume that your customers—even the Pinoy-looking ones—don’t necessarily speak Tagalog.

On the other hand, there are other Pinoy eateries located in famously (infamously?) Pinoy areas, where only Tagalog is spoken. In West Covina, for example, there is a business complex that—I’m not exaggerating—could be mistaken for a corner of Cubao. There is a Max’s (the fried-chicken place) there, a Red Ribbon, a Jollibee, a Goldilocks, about 3-5 other Pinoy restaurants, a big Pinoy supermarket, and—here’s the kicker—if you stay there until it gets dark, you will also find an honest-to-goodness magbabalut—a Pinoy carrying a basket laden with good old Pinoy balut for sale.

And of course, in that corner of West Covina, the Pinoys are all over the place, and you can hear all manner of Philippine languages spoken.

I have to show that place here one of these days.

Eating at the restaurants there is just like—I mean really like—being back home. If you blindfolded someone in Manila and sat him down at, say, Max’s, even if he looked out the window, he wouldn’t have a clue that he’s in America. Imagine: he would see Pinoy food, on TV he would see Pinoy TV shows, around him would be other Pinoys, and the server would be talking to him in Tagalog. The illusion would be broken perhaps only when he looks at the menu and sees dollar signs instead of peso signs.

Going back to Manila Sunset, at the moment it’s like any restaurant that only happens to serve Pinoy food and have a Pinoy name and Pinoy workers. Who cares as long as the food is good, right? I agree. Besides, as I said, the place is new. It really hasn’t had time to develop a character, to add the bits of spice that not really make a place but give it flavor. Sometimes that takes time.

So kailangan balikan. And maybe then, as soon as I come in, the server will ask me, “Ano’ng order niyo, kuya?” And just to throw her off, I’ll reply in English. “I’m sorry. What did you say? I don’t speak Tageylog.”

Mga tsibugan sa America

2008-10-08T19:54:00.000-07:00

One of the things I’ve thought about doing on this blog is to talk about the many Pinoy restaurants here in America. I think it’s a neat idea and I wouldn’t be surprised if someone else—another PIA like myself—is already doing it. I mean anyone claiming to be reporting on the Pinoy-in-American experience surely must dwell on the subject of food and of stateside Pinoy eateries.

Food is such an important aspect of life in general and of Pinoy life in particular that failure to tackle it would simply be wrong. That’s why I thought about doing it in the first place. But I’ve never been the ideal reporter or blogger so I’ve largely left that project untouched—until now.

I’m not necessarily talking about doing restaurant reviews, by the way. What I have in mind is not supposed to be that disciplined or “serious.” My idea is simply to show what Pinoy restaurants are like around here—where they are and what they literally look like. In fact, what I thought of doing is not so much talk about them but to take pictures, which I can then show here. And if there were anything remarkable about a restaurant in question, then maybe I could also talk a little bit about that. But, like I said, I’ve been remiss—tamad, in other words.

Finding a Pinoy restaurant is not the problem. There are a lot of them around here. On a recent drive to San Francisco, my wife tried to find a Pinoy restaurant somewhere along the way using her GPS unit, and she came up with a good number to choose from. And that was after only looking near where we happened to be at the time. Who knows how many we would’ve found if we’d searched every so often during our drive from Southern California to Northern California.

In our area, off-hand, I can easily name at least 10 places—and those are just the places that I know of. I’m pretty sure there are others lurking somewhere. Where Pinoys are—and in California they’re everywhere—there’s bound to be eateries serving old Pinoy staples like adobo, sinigang, pansit malabon, etc., cooked just like back home.

Incidentally, when I say “Pinoy restaurant” I could be referring to American branches of popular Pinoy fast-food or restaurant chains such as Jollibee, Goldilocks, Max’s or Red Ribbon. Yes, don’t be surprised: There’s Red Ribbon in America. I knew about Jollibee before coming here. But Goldilocks, Max’s and Red Ribbon? Who would’ve thought? Perhaps this is testimony that swaths of America—or of the Golden State, at least—really have been Philippinized.

I could also be referring to branches of Pinoy restaurant chains that someone in the Philippines would’ve never heard of. “DJ Bibingkahan” and “Pinoy Pinay” are just a couple of examples. Don’t be fooled by the name of “DJ Bibingkahan”; it serves more than bibingka. For breakfast, it has all manner of “—log” combos such as tapsilog, longsilog, hotsilog (hot dog, sinangag at itlog), cornsilog (corned beef, sinangag at itlog), etc.—just like back home. The only difference I can think of is each order comes with “bottomless” coffee, which I think is a concession to the American norm. Most breakfast eateries here offer unlimited servings of coffee. For lunch and dinner, DJ serves exactly the same fare as eateries back home do.

And then there are smaller, mom-and-pop type businesses that are more homey in character and, if not for the fact that they are located on U.S. soil, could be any of the familiar roadside eateries one would encounter if one were driving through, say, Batangas or Bulacan. These places have names that of course harken to the Pinoy homeland, names like “Nanay Gloria’s,” “Ito’y Atin,” “Taste of Manila,” “Bamboo Bistro” and “Manila Sunset,” just to name a few.

I actually haven’t been to all of these places that I’ve just described. But I hear about them all the time. My wife and I regularly go to only about three or four of them because, like anyone, we tend to have our favorites. But it looks like I might have to start trying out the rest now that I’ve announced—and finally started—this project.

Baka mapalamon ako ng husto nito. But, hey, a reporter’s got to get his material, right? Abangan.

LBC stories (not a plug) II (Conclusion)

2008-08-24T08:38:00.000-07:00

The LBC box is pretty handy for traveling too. When I went home to the Philippines last year, I didn’t even bother to bring any luggage. Instead, I brought two balikbayan boxes, which I realize now must have easily given away the fact that I was a balikbayan, but I don’t care. It saved me from trying to cram everything into a maleta, which when it’s a Pinoy traveling can be hard to do.

In fact, I’m not the only one who has this bright idea of traveling with boxes instead of luggage. The Philippine Airlines counter at Los Angeles International Airport’s check-in area—especially around the holidays—becomes a virtual LBC store when the Pinoys start to come. I swear you can’t tell which one there’s more of—passengers or LBC boxes—in line. If I were in charge of advertising for LBC, that’s what I would show: Pinoys and LBC box after LBC box in line at the airport. I mean there’s no greater image of the relationship between a Pinoy in America, LBC and home. And if we were to make a commercial out of that, the slogan can be “It’s the thought that counts.”

Would you believe, at LBC, you can also have an honest-to-goodness Pinoy lechon delivered in the Philippines? Or flowers. We’ve not actually availed ourselves of this service, and actually don’t know of anyone who has, but we see the posters for it each time we’re at the store. Apparently, you can order lechon and then they’ll have it sent to any party (or maybe fiesta) in the Philippines that you want, at the appointed time. You’ve got to give it to LBC. Their product research is spot on on this one. But I wonder how many Pinoys here actually avail themselves of this service, because, after all, wouldn’t one rather send money home so the folks back home can decide what to do with it, what food to get for the party?

Speaking of sending money, we’re not necessarily talking about ourselves here, but a lot of people also seem to find LBC’s money remittance service convenient. Right behind the counter at the store you’ll see a prominent sign announcing the day’s exchange rate, right next to clocks showing the times in Manila, Los Angeles and New York, which incidentally lends a cosmopolitan touch to the otherwise homey atmosphere in the store.

It’s not a rare time when I see someone come in to send money and ask if the exchange rate would change (in favor of the peso, I assume) later in the day. It’s a very poignant—sad, touching—scene. It only takes a second for you to realize that in terms of the currencies, a little change here may in fact mean a lot for some back home.

On an amusing note, my wife says when she was at LBC several months ago—around the time the peso started gaining on the dollar—she heard someone say “Ibalik natin si Erap!” referring to when the U.S. dollar was worth about PhP60. You can expect jokes like that when Pinoys are around. And at LBC, Pinoys are always around.

The place is a veritable community center: Only Pinoys go there (with the exception of the odd American spouse or kids, from time to time), it’s staffed exclusively by Pinoys, and Tagalog (or Bisaya, Ilocano, Kapampangan, as the case may be) is freely spoken. And images of the Philippines abound in the posters and calendars on the walls.

And usually, too, there is a Pinoy restaurant or grocery nearby, so that a trip to LBC is not complete without grabbing a serving of bistek or sisig—“to go”—from the eatery. Inside, the smells are undeniably those of a Pinoy kitchen—or an SM food court.

For all these and much more, it wouldn’t be too much to say that the little LBC store in the middle of American suburbia, in fact, is a little piece of home.

LBC stories (not a plug)

2008-08-24T08:32:00.001-07:00

Maybe I should start by saying that this post is not intended as a promotional piece or plug for LBC. If I end up saying something favorable to LBC (I’m talking about the Philippine cargo/courier company, by the way), it’s not because I’ve been asked to do it, and certainly not because I’m getting paid.

I’m writing about LBC simply because I’ve found that one of the things that the life of a Pinoy in America revolves around—at least from what I’ve seen of it so far—is the LBC store. It’s a fact of life around here: the Pinoy in America constantly finds himself going back to LBC—whether it’s to send a package home, to send money, or to get a box for a trip home.

I don’t know how many times I myself have gone to LBC. There have been the times when someone back home was celebrating a birthday and we wanted to send a simple present; the times when we needed to send documents; and the times when we’ve filled a balikbayan box with stuff for folks back home.

That last one is interesting. The balikbayan box is a common fixture in many Pinoy-in-American households. If you go into the house of a Pinoy in America and you get a chance to look inside the garage or some other storage area, there’s a good chance you’ll see a half-empty (or half-full?) balikbayan box—and usually it’s a white one with the distinctive red letterings of LBC. I myself have one right now, sitting in the next room. It’s nowhere near filled but it’s there.

That box is there as a receptacle for the things that the Pinoy in America has perhaps outgrown but is not ready to quite part with either. It’s a box for possible hand-me-downs, in other words, for the family back home. You know how, being the matipid people we are, we’re always looking to hold on to things that we may not really need anymore, you know, just for a little while, until we or maybe someone else finds a use for them. Even if that someone is in the Philippines. That’s what the LBC box is for. So books and magazines, clothes, shoes, and the like find their way into it.

But I would be remiss if I don’t also say that the box is for brand-new items too that the Pinoy has bought precisely for sending home to the Philippines. What I like to do is if I happen to see something at a store that’s available for a very good price but I don’t really need it myself, I go ahead and buy it—for future pasalubong or padala. And when I get home, it goes straight into my LBC box. I should add, though, that that doesn’t happen very often. You’re talking about the most matipid Pinoy on the planet here. But I suspect that with other Pinoys, it happens frequently. I only have to look at all the boxes piled high at the LBC store for proof.

When the box is full, the Pinoy simply calls LBC to arrange a pickup. Then the guy (a kababayan, of course) comes and you pay and the box is on its way, first to the local LBC store and then for a cargo ship that leaves once a month for the shores of home.

Incidentally, we often say that it costs more to ship the box than to fill it. And I would say it’s generally true. But it doesn’t matter. For many of us, remembering to send something is what’s important. As we love to say, it’s the thought that counts. (To be continued)

Where in the world is Ariel Rivera?

2008-08-06T10:12:00.000-07:00

Living overseas is a little like living in a time capsule. That is, you’re stuck in the past.

I mean the past of the homeland, not of the adopted country, because in your adopted country, of course, you live in the present. You work there, you unwind there, and you live through the real-time events there.

But when you remember the homeland, you remember it as you left it, not as it is now. That’s why I think any homecoming is necessarily a futile exercise. You go home expecting to find the same people and places and things that you left behind, but you don’t find them. You find, instead, slightly older faces, different-looking places. You find in general new things. I think that’s what led someone to say once that you can never go home. You can’t, because home (that is, the home you knew) is no more. It’s been replaced by something else. The saying “you never step into the same river twice” also comes to mind. And doesn’t the Pinoy in America know it.

To illustrate: I know someone—a Pinay in America—who came home in the late 1990s. For the first few weeks, she went on and on excitedly about Ariel Rivera, the singer. But everyone else around her could not really relate to her. This was after all long after Ariel Rivera had been the so-called “kilabot ng mga kolehiyala” that he was said to be and had become just one of the many faces in the Philippine noontime variety-show scene. But my friend wouldn’t stop talking about him, as if he were still a big star.

It turned out that he was the singer that my friend, our Pinay in America, had idolized before she left the Philippines (or come to know during one of her other trips home—I forget now which exactly). So I don’t blame her.

Like I said, living overseas means being stuck in the past. What it means too is you miss out on the new things in the Philippines. You can—and you do—live your life in your adopted country largely unaware of the goings-on in the Philippines. You’re out of touch.

For example, I know someone who lived in America for most of the 90s, during the Eraserheads’ heyday. Remember the Eraserheads? He said if I hadn’t sent him cassette tapes of the band’s albums (no pirated CDs back then) he wouldn’t have known about them. Now tell me, what Pinoy doesn’t know about the Eraserheads? Well, in America, I’m guessing you’ll find a few of them.

Incidentally, my friend adds that whenever he got the new Eraserheads album, he and his friends—his fellow Pinoys in America—would fight over who gets to keep it. Pinag-aagawan daw nila.

These days, I grant, are a different story. The examples I’ve given above are from a generation ago. Now there are a gazillion ways to keep in touch with the homeland. There is your cell phone, “TFC” (or The Filipino Channel), YouTube, and all manner of “social networking sites” (Friendster being the most popular before I left the Philippines—I don’t know about now). In fact, if one only set one’s mind to it, one can be virtually in two, or even more, places at the same time.

But of course virtual is not the same. Unless technology allows us to actually be in more than one place at one time, we would continue to exist in one place, and miss out on another.

Pinoy ka? III (Conclusion)

2008-07-10T08:50:00.000-07:00

Once M and O start talking, it’s a completely different story. Goodbye to the Pinoy image. They are as American as Americans get—from the way they talk to the expressions they use to what they say.

I mean for all intents and purposes, they’re American. The only reason they may be Pinoy too is that I’ve frequently heard them make references to the Philippines. And I’ve heard O say at least once that that’s where his family (not necessarily him) is from. (That’s an important distinction, by the way, that we have to make between Pinoys in America: Namely, those who say they are from the Philippines and those who say their family is from the Philippines; and those who say they go home to the Philippines and those who say they vacation in or take a trip to the Philippines.)

In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that M and O were both born here or at least were brought here when they were very young. I could find out and ask them, I guess, but I don’t need to. There are a lot of “Pinoys” or “Pinoy-Americans” or “Americans” (however you want to call them) that are just like them. And I don’t have to look far for other examples. My own cousins are perfect case studies.

I have cousins who fit both descriptions—cousins who were brought here as kids and cousins who were born here. In fact, one of the truly fascinating experiences I had when I first came here was seeing all of them gathered together and acting like American kids—so unlike myself and my relatives in the Philippines, and yet our very own flesh and blood.

I mean I hesitate calling these stateside cousins of mine Pinoys or even Pinoy-Americans because, frankly, to me they seem more American. A good example would be the youngest of them, who also happens to be my inaanak. She’s a cute little bundle of joy who talks and acts like a character in an American TV show, which she could be, except that she looks like she’s stayed a little too much under the sun. She talks to everybody in English, knows American things, and does what American kids her age do (pee wee soccer, for example).

My stateside cousins even exude—on the part of my cousins living in New York, a brood of three 20-something young men—a sophisticated and cosmopolitan outlook that doesn’t at all suggest the tiny Bikol town where our family is from.

But it’s funny: Up to now when some of them are grown and holding their first or second jobs and are well on their way to leading independent grownup lives, I still hear them talk about how they have to go to church on Sundays with their parents—didn’t we all have the same complaint when we were growing up? And they’ll suddenly pepper their speech with the few Filipino or Bikolano words they know. Does that make them Pinoy? I don’t think so. I mean, when a Pinoy peppers his speech with English or celebrates an American holiday, that doesn’t make him American.

So what does make someone Pinoy? Is identity determined by one’s birthplace? Or one’s nationality? Or is it necessarily determined by the place where one comes of age? I tend to go with the last, which would mean my stateside cousins, along with M and O from work, are not Pinoy.

There is also, to complicate things even more, the matter of what one considers himself or herself to be. Surely that counts for something. For example, for the purposes of this piece, I’ve labeled N, E, C and R “Pinoy.” But what do I know? For all I care, some of them may consider themselves American, or both Pinoy and American, or something else entirely. Hay naku.

I guess you could say it doesn’t really matter what one is, by whatever standard. But on the other hand, you could say it does. For a Pinoy in America, for example, holding an American passport offers several practical advantages—eligibility for certain jobs, for instance, or visa-free travel to many countries (though at the same time you would want to avoid places like Iraq or Iran). Not holding one, on the other hand, means not being called to jury duty—which nobody seems to like to do around here—and not being able to vote or run for public office. It could mean the difference, in other words, between Arnold Schwarzenegger (one of America’s most famous immigrants) the Terminator and Schwarzenegger the California governor.

Whenever my wife and I talk about these things, I tell her I want to remain a Filipino citizen because I want to run for president of the Philippines one day. But she tells me, well, you can have dual citizenship. That’s true. So much for my joke.

Seriously, though, I think having a clear idea of what you are with respect to where you are does make a difference. As I have said before, to be a success in America, it is best that you think not only that you belong to this country but that this country belongs to you. That’s what I have learned from the many Pinoys in America that I have met—those above included.

That’s why sometimes I think this blog is bad for me. The more I write it, the more I seem to say to myself that I’m not one of them, that I’m different, that maybe I don’t belong. And maybe that’s why I have not really gained any headway into the so-called American Dream. And maybe that’s also why my wife complains that I don’t take her anywhere for the Fourth of July. Because the Fourth of July is not mine, this blog seems to remind me.

But what can I do? This is how I feel right now about my place of residence. Come to think of it, maybe my legal status here as a “permanent resident” is appropriate after all. I live and work here but I am not of here. When I ask myself, though, if I am of the Philippines, I say yes—but the longer I stay here the less sure I am of my answer.

Maybe I just have not lived here long enough to find my place like N, E, C and R have done. Maybe I need more time. Maybe it’s coming. Or maybe I should stop writing this blog.

Nah, maybe not.

Pinoy ka? II (Continued)

2008-07-06T10:32:00.000-07:00

Believe it or not, N has a younger brother who also works for the company. But E, a building maintenance specialist like his brother, works mostly in the production plant, which is in another part of the complex, so I hardly see him, as I am stuck mostly to my computer in the newsroom for almost the entire time I am at work. (In fact, I want to put up a sign somewhere on my desk that says, “dyinggel lang ang pahinga”). When I was new and worked the late shift, I used to go to the plant all the time to get copies of the papers. But that was late at night—around 11 p.m. or even midnight sometimes—so even then I wouldn’t have run into E. From what I can tell, he works the early-morning shift.

But I’ve seen him a couple of times from across the parking lot and we both smiled and waved at each other in that characteristic way Pinoys in a foreign land do.

So N, E and myself: That makes three Pinoys.

And then there’s the only Pinay in the group. C works in the advertising department as a graphic illustrator. I don’t see her too often either but I see her work all the time because she composes some of the ads that fill the pages of our newspapers.

But once in a while, we would run into each other in the lunch room and we would share a table to talk.

Like N and E, she was born in the Philippines. But compared to the brothers, she’s a fairly recent arrival (she moved here, I think, in the late 90s) so talking to her—in Filipino, I might add—is just like talking to a kapitbahay or ka-opisina in the Philippines, especially since C is the kind of person who only five minutes after meeting her, is already talking about the problems she’s having with her family and inquiring about the problems you’re having with yours. But she’s not so much madaldal as she is ma-kuwento.

Finally there’s R.

R works on the copy desk like myself, though he’s assigned to do the features sections, while I mostly help with the dailies, so our interaction is very minimal. It used to be nonexistent because R used to work in the company’s other facility in the next city, and was only brought over to where we are now during a companywide reorganization a few months ago. That’s why I never met him before.

Anyway, from what he’s told me, R is also Philippine-born. But he’s one of those Pinoys who have lived in America for a long time (he moved here, he said, in 1984) that they’ve imbibed many of the ways of the Americans—from the language they prefer to use (English) to the way they dress, to the holidays they mark. And yet they go home to the Philippines frequently, treat their children in much the same way Pinoys in the Philippines do, and if you speak to them in Filipino, they understand perfectly.

So that makes five Pinoys. Crystal clear, right?

And then you meet M and O, who are the newsroom’s videographer and assistant news editor, respectively.

Now if you just looked at these guys’ names, you would think “this guy is definitely Pinoy.” I mean they couldn’t be anything else. The only reason I’m not giving their full names here is they don’t know I’m writing about them. But believe me when I say they have distinctly Filipino-sounding names, something along the lines of “Christopher Dimaculangan” or “John Michael Catacutan.” I mean they come straight out of a yearbook of a Philippine high school.

And even if you saw these two guys, say, in the middle of Glorietta or SM Megamall they wouldn’t stand out at all—well, maybe O would but only because he has a spiky hairdo which, if I’m not mistaken, not a lot of Pinoys in the Philippines have. But give him a regular haircut and he could be your batchmate in college or the neighbor’s ka-barkada.

Just don’t get him to talk. (To be continued)