Monday, May 21, 2007

On coming back. Part 1
Can you believe that one of the first few days I was in the Philippines a few weeks ago that I was saying to myself that this would probably be the last time I would visit?

I really hadn’t settled in yet. I’m not sure where I was except for initially feeling unsafe. The economic situations of many of the people there are at such dire straits that being a “balikbayan” and being a prospect of possessing wealth can be dangerous. Obviously, feeling unsafe somewhere is uninviting.

But eventually, I settled back in. I hadn’t been back since 1997. I can say that I was going back because I was born there. Upon my first visit back in 1993, my mom’s friends commended us, my sister and I, for understanding Tagalog. To them, I was American. In reality, I was American – I am American and even more so now than I was before despite learning even more about Philippine History and Culture throughout college. I, like we all are, am a reflection of my environment. I may be an active part of that environment, but I’m still a reflection nonetheless. Still, in 1993, my mother said I was a “very Philippine-ized” American and I have taken that to heart ever since. Though, as I stated, I’m evermore American than Filipino as my years in the U.S. have increased.

Being home, felt differently than it did when I was a kid (at 14 and at 19). I still felt young but in a strange uncertainty of my role. I spent seconds prior to some reunions with my uncles and aunts and other yet-introduced family members stressed out if I should mano them. Then, I ended up being somewhat inconsistent about it. Sometimes I would. Sometimes I’d handshake. Sometimes I’d hug. Sometimes I’d just smile. It was all rather confusing. As a kid, you know what’s expected. As an adult, that cultural sign of respect seemed outdated though I never minded doing it at all.

I also, as I do in New York, represent the buffer between my aunts and uncles to my younger cousins. Since we’re educated and successful, we’re seen as role models for the younger ones. I didn’t really actually talk to many of my younger cousins. I think there were some shyness and confidence in language issues. Yet, there were five who were always around while we were in the province. Just being around them, sharing smiles, sharing space with them was wonderful. I tried a little bit harder to connect with some of the older cousins, who were 6 and 10 when I last saw them, because at least there were real memories attached. One of them, who has since had a baby and is working on graduating college, I talked to for a few hours (ONLY) like we hadn’t missed a minute except for the fact that 10 years of life had missed us in between our two conversations. I told her how much a sister I really consider her as – actually, I wrote that to her. I felt cheated, by no one in particular and not exactly in a bitter way, that we only had such a short time to reconnect. So, during times of waiting around for other things, I wrote her a letter before I left the country. I told her there what I felt when I found out she was pregnant (at 17, I think) and how I wanted to show her that I was there to support her even 13 hours and an ocean away – but that message never really was transmitted properly. I didn’t really try that hard in making sure it was delivered anyway. I know that she’s 20 years old and a mother, but to me she’s still the kid I left in 1996. More time to talk about now will help catch me up – but even without leaving the country I already missed her knowing that we only really had that one short day to talk.

So, now, I’m experiencing a hangover of sorts. It’s been a week since I’ve been back and being in the U.S. still hasn’t felt like a comfortable home like it obviously did three short weeks ago. I feel angry here. I feel like this isn’t a happy place – that, in the end, I don’t belong here. At least, not right now. I feel that this is a beautifully beneficial and wealthy country (of various things) but the people here who love their benefits also are extremely selfish, wasteful, and spiteful of them. Why else do we bicker about so many petty things like who wins a cross-bridge baseball game? Really. In our supposedly multi-culturalized community of the Bay Area, we still tear each others’ hearts out for ridiculous matters.

There are obviously things about the Philippines that I could never be down with either. I feel like, if I were to be there semi-permanently, my political action would be drastically diluted if existent at all. The lethal threat of speaking out there would convince me to shut up on a global/community level. Sad? Probably. But I don’t find any value in death if my life could mean I could still be a humanistic role model to my younger cousins and now my growing generation of nieces and nephews.

When one of my little cousins was given some clothes, her pasalubon, from my mom – a simple skirt and t-shirt we bought for probably a total of less than $15 or $10 – her smile LIT UP. It was the most humble and appreciative smile I’ve seen for so long. Whereas, here, I’ve seen piles of Christmas gifts tossed aside for the next in a whirlwind conditioned greed-fest. It was all well intentioned, but it made me sick. That was the year that I rethought the whole practice of gift-giving.

Anyway, this isn’t meant to be an ignorant, hateful diatribe against American greed because greed and other issues are everywhere. I am thankful and appreciative of what the “American Dream” provided through my parents’ hard work. All I really wanted to do was to unload these feelings of yearn and (hopefully) temporary discontent of my present situation. Struggle and appreciation are obviously all relative to present standard. I understand that, but I can rightfully still feel inadequate. In the end, it really falls on the presence of my family.

To be continued…

Ulam cooked @ 5:00 PM

 0 of the headscratch variety