Better late than never!
Philippine congress just passed a bill that will push for the synchronization of the nation’s clocks, watches, internet cafe computers, and the Folexes of the trapo.
If you ask me, a blogger at Productive Pinoy wrote the real “bill” on his blog months before. Follow his advice to the tee, and you will see how much more fashionable it is to be ON TIME!
Note: I meant to post this earlier but, that damn traffic.
Note 2: I meant to post a picture of a clock, but Time magazine with a Filipino on it felt more adequate.
Dear Am-Boy, Fil-Am, Kano…
Like you I was born and raised in the United States, in a small town called Daly City. Daly City is a peculiar place because it isn’t exactly a city. It is also a suburb south of San Francisco, and north of South San Francisco, which always added to its peculiarity. Why not call it Mid San Francisco?
And just like Daly City, I always felt “in the middle.” Living in a sort of cultural limbo. I was neither here or there.
I grew up being told I was Filipino, in a city whose majority was the minorities. Eventually I learned how to speak the dialect of my parents, and visited the Philippines often. And then one day I was told that I was American, and not a Filipino, by a Filipino.
So I discarded the labels altogether and embraced the label that is my name. At least THAT I was sure of. After having been born and raised in America for 20 or so years, I was American for the 1st time.
And then one day during another trip back home, I met a 5 year-old son of a family friend. He was born and raised in Bohol, but he couldn’t speak a word of Filipino. Not even a single word of Bisaya, the dialect of his parents. I was told that his parents wanted to give him an opportunity, a chance to succeed by teaching him only English.
So who was “more Filipino?” What is Filipino? Is it phenotype? Is it the blood in your veins? Your Pinoy Pride t-shirt? Do you have to be born there to be Filipino?
I believe one is Filipino when they look back at that nation of Catholicism and corruption, palm trees and prostitution, Muslims and militants, and say that is MY LAND.
One day when he is old enough I hope that boy will say to himself, “that land is my land.” And whether he says it in English or not, that land will still be his. And that land is mine too.
So Kano, Am-Boy, Fil-Am… before you say “Filipino pride”, you must see how the “masa” survive. How they support each other, and how they ruin each other. If you can see this reality, and still call that land your own, then you’re good to go.
The question then is, unsay sunod ani naho? The answer is, go home.
Sometimes (actually, all the time) I forget that despite my misunderstandings of the culture from which my mom and dad were from, that there is a growing and immense appreciation of Filipino culture where I am… the Bay Area!
“Tabi po” means, “excuse me” in Tagalog. But within the context of the paranormal it means “please don’t possess/eat me!”
“One of the world’s most perfectly formed volcanoes oozed lava and ash overnight, threatening to explode over a picturesque tourist town in the Philippines.”
Halloween typhoons and Christmas Volcanoes. A constant juxtaposition of celebration in the midst of impending doom. It is no wonder the Filipino has the “bahala na” attitude.
