Still Here

He flashes through my mind at certain moments, especially in the past month when I feel his spirit and his memories so vividly that it feels as though he is calling me. Sometimes it seems as thoughI could breathe him in, he is so close. I was no one special to him, just a companion in the last few months of his life. Not a lifelong friend. Not the love of his life. Just a passerby that happened to love him very much despite our differences, despite our weaknesses, despite the depression, the confusion and the anger that would suddenly show themselves during our time together.

He is hard to forget. His smile, his eyes, his voice, his determination, his focus, his love for his family. No, he is an unforgettable man. It’s been more than a year and when I feel his presence, I often wonder where he walks, if he is now passing by me, reminding me of his vibrant existence during this life.

Walk in peace. We miss you.

Her Wild American Self

I'm finishing up a set of short stories by M. Evelina Galang called Her Wild American Self. The book came out in 1996. Part of me wonders why I didn't read this earlier. I guess I was a bit young to read it in '96. I do have a vague memory of seeing the cover and not being ready for it. In any case, I'm glad I found it at Arkipelago Books when I did. The stories about Filipino American families and Filipina American women in particular are honest -sometimes painful, sometimes sweet and always familiar.

One of my favorite paragraphs in the book is from the story "Lectures on How You Never Lived Back Home." In the first lines of the story, Galang writes:

You grew up hearing two languages -one you can pull apart, name, slap a series of rules to, twist like clay-dough in a child's hand -the other you cannot explain, you listen and you know. It is a language you understand intuitively -like being able to read the sunrise, the strips of pink and orange, the clumps of uneven clouds, a thin patch of grey and the moon and somehow, without thinking twice, you know what kind of day it will be. You understand like this because you are the first born. First generation. First American. First cousin. First hope.

How does she know me so well? How does she know what it feels like? What I can do? What it sounds like? Did she write this for me?

Yes, yes. I think she did.

Re-Discovering NY: Pedestrian Protection

I spend a lot of my time driving...too much time driving, actually. Today, as I was running errands in Harlem for work. I was in such a rush and traffic on 125th was not moving (I didn't expect it to, just saying. And yes, I know, who the heck takes 125th when they're in a hurry?). As I approached the intersection of Adam Clayton Powell, the light turned yellow and I decided to try to make it. Alas, I got stuck in the middle of the intersection because of some pedestrians and a too slow moving car.

After a few seconds, I noticed the broad back of a young man in red standing directly in front of my car. He had his arms out like a crossing guard and was motioning for people to walk. To his left a young woman stood in front of a truck, similarly, with her arms held out as if to block oncoming traffic from careening into the pedestrians. Though the truck and I in the middle of the intersection managed to garner harried honks from the cars being blocked from crossing, I had to smile at the two civilian crossing guards protecting pedestrians with their bodies.

It's little things like that that make me really miss living in a city, close to other people, where I can watch, listen and constantly learn. They also really make me appreciate how communities continue to creatively adjust and strategize around ways to protect our people.

Rediscovering New York

Despite the inhumane weather conditions, there are moments when it strikes me hard that I am home in NY and I become immensely grateful. Whether it be seeing two brown men chatting on 174th, watching some fly women walking down Stanton in leather jackets and 4 inch heels, getting stressed about because there are too many shows and too many events to see, riding the subway next to a gorgeous baby, or driving by the Sprain Brook everyday to work, it all makes me smile.

In some ways, it all seems so familiar while being brand new. After nine years away from my hometown, I'm rediscovering New York, so look out for the new posts about another semester in the Re-Education of Ms. Fu-Daddy.

Lisa Ono -Dahil Sayo

Wow. This version of Dahil Sayo is pretty dope if you like Bossa Nova. Love it.

Diwang Pinay -Spirit of the Filipina

When I heard about the production of Diwang Pinay, I was unsure of whether I wanted to attend. Would I want to see something about Filipinos overseas workers here after coming back? Would it be watered down compared to my last four months or would it be too much? Did I want to deal with either of those outcomes?

Ends up I didn't have to deal with either of those possibilities because it was perfect for my reentry to the us. I'm no critic but I felt and learned so much from the show which was brief but laden with the density of truth, love and struggle.

Each of the seven scenes focused on common themes experienced by real Pinay domestic workers living and working here in ny. The actors taught us about the struggle of raising other people's children, the interchanging monotony and rush of tasks, abuse, being away from one's family for years at a time, economic struggles, and coping mechanisms.

The play was powerfully created and produced using the stories and voices of the actresses themselves many OFW's for at least 5 years. because of the way it was created and produced. These were the stories of real women working in ny and they wrote the play themselves through a process that empowered them to have a voice.

So often I've seen the lines of OFW's in the airport and my heart always wrenches at the sight of modern day manongs and manangs who still have to make it work away from family, in a foreign place with so few resources. Diwang Pinay allowed us to hear intimately those voices on the OFW line and the voices of those who never or rarely even make it to that line.

In the last scene, the writers came to the front to share messages written to their families, mostly to their children. The room was filled with the tears and sobs of both the actresses and the audience who felt the separation, "the distance" as Geologic says "between our souls and our hearts."

I'm so grateful I was moved to go, even though I was uncertain of how it would make me feel. It's the little things that can keep us connected and it's the little things that will keep us apart. Diwang Pinay was definitely a bridge to home for which I am so thankful!

Welcome Back!

I couldn't be more thankful for the welcome back that I received this week. Despite my withdrawal and the cold, I had such a wonderful time reconnecting with my parents, my cousins, and my friends. I had a fabulous week of freedom with my parents, a few warm move in/shopping/tea/movie/sleepover/lunch with Leigh, a lovely brunch with Tina and Anthony, a great birthday party for Jodi Ann, an AMAZING reunion with Oli and Feven full of reading, dancing and firfir, and an awesome lunch with my family.

Tina and Anthony!

Happy Birthday, jaebee!!

Fev rockin the merch -fly as ever.

Never static

Yummy lunch with the fambam.

I really couldn't ask for a better re-entry.

I Miss My Friends and Cuzzos!!

I've jokingly been saying, "I need friends" here. But I'm not really joking. lol. I am beyond grateful for this time to be mentally alone. When I was teaching, the grind did not give me the time to read, write, and think at my own leisure for myself primarily. At the same time, I hecka miss being able to kick it with people my age that I love and trust.

I miss my cousins.

While I have my dope cousins here in the PI, they work and aren't always free to bum around with me.

Thankfully, I've reconnected with my homegirl Cris, who was one of the coordinators of my PI 2003 trip and have found an amazing friend in her while here.

Spending time with Cris made me grateful for her presence in my life and even more grateful for my family at home. Yall make my days move with meaning and love. xoxo.

Day 55 -Family First: Our Barangay Lifestyle

Even though Christmas and New Year’s have passed, it is still holiday season here in the Philippines. We go through til the Feast of the Three Kings. All the time I have been spending with extended family makes me think of the Filipino American community back in the States and the upbringing that we experienced together. While I can’t say it was purely Pinoy, for sure, there were many remnants of the Pinoy lifestyle brought to life throughout my childhood –the Barangay being one of them.

I’ve been reading about Pinoy culture and history while here and have come to a better understanding of the word “Barangay,” through my research. I was first introduced to the word in 2003, when I studied here. At that time, I understood it to mean community or neighborhood. Lots of small neighborhoods are named Barangay this or that, have a barangay captain and even a barangay council who represent the interests of the community.

This year, I came up against a more formal definition of a Barangay and its etymology. A barangay is the smallest political or social unit here in the PI. It comes from the word “Balangay” which was a boat used to travel with a whole clan and/or kin. People used the word “kabangka,” meaning ‘from the same boat’ to describe relationships with family or clan members. In Luis H. Francia’s book A History of the Philippines: From Indios to Bravos to Filipinos, he describes how the history of the balangay impacted the way Filipinos operated. He says, “Blood ties were thus of the utmost importance for they guaranteed fealty to the barangay…the barangay was essentially an extended family, a gathering of a particular clan” (33). Family came before any other ties because of the shared experiences and loyalty promised to the leader and to one another –not so different from the modern day Philippines and some Filipino American communities in the States.

The concepts of ownership and public space were also impacted by Barangay culture. Francia argues that land ownership was irrelevant saying, “Every member of the barangay was a shareholder theoretically and could derive profit from land use” (32). This is very different from the life we are used to in the States and the modern Philippines where ownership means so much to us whether or not we have strong family ties. This idea of shared space extended into what Westerners call the public and private spheres –the government vs. home, the work place vs. home, etc. In barangays, the distinction between these spaces did not exist in the same way that we think of it in the States:

“Made up of kinship ties, the barangay did not constitute a system independent from its inhabitants...a barangay had no public buildings for government or community affairs, no castles or town halls. The datu’s (chief’s) residence would have been the largest building and the center of the barangay. The idea of what passed for ‘public’ was really the private world write larger” (34-35).

In the States and modern day Philippines there are clear and purposeful distinctions between government, political, or communal interests and life in the private home sphere. These oftentimes opposing Eastern and Western views of space and relationships were always things that my peers, my family, and I had to negotiate on an everyday level. It wasn’t always something we were hyper aware of though. We didn’t go around thinking, “Oh, I really have to negotiate this bi-cultural lifestyle that is occurring in my life,” since assimilation and acculturation can happen so quietly today. The impacts were subtle yet defining at the same time. It was more than food and language that was different from the other American families around us. It was our way of being with one another –a way of life that manifested itself in the way we treat(ed) one another back at home.

Similar to the Filipinos of long ago, you might say that my family was part of a barangay in Queens when they arrived here. Queens was and still is a center of Filipino immigrants. Drive down Queens Blvd. and you will see restaurants advertising longsilog, tapsilog, menudo and other Pinoy foods. My parents landed there with other folks they knew, my father following a job and his older brother from Manila to New York City. While there were many groups of Filipinos there, my family stuck with a few of the same people –almost as if they were “kabangka.” When some of these families, including my uncle’s, started to move up North to a suburb of New York City, my family followed moving to a house about five minutes away from my cousins’ house. I even lived with my cousins for a bit while my parents settled the move from Queens to the burbs.

Our families created another small barangay in our tiny town. We celebrated together, prayed together, mourned together. Sundays, we would see one another at Church, the majority of us children singing in the folk choir while our parents directed or played instruments for the group. Afterwards, we would all play tennis and eat at the local park. Parents and older kids would rotate on the tennis courts while other kids were listening to music, playing at the park, biking, rollerblading, or entertaining ourselves in some other way. About once a month, we had Block Rosary where a statue of Mary jumped from house to house in the county. Our families would pray the rosary together, end the prayer with a unified, “Good evening,” and then of course, grub.

Family Parties at Our House

Even if we weren’t related by blood, everybody was Tito or Tita. At get togethers we had to greet each elder. Even if there were as many as 30 lolos, lolas, aunts and uncles, we had to make sure every adult was greeted properly. You can imagine how crazy weddings and funerals are with all the greeting! Holidays were always together. It was pretty weird to even consider going to a non-family member’s house for Christmas, Easter, or New Year’s. Even in college up to now, I never even pretend like I’m going to party outside the family for New Year’s and it was rarely something I even wanted to do since being with the family was so much fun!

Tina's Bridal Shower -Jam Packed with Fam

~

My cousins were my best friends. While so many kids at school were playing over their friends’ houses, we were playing at our cousins’ houses. We went on trips together to Florida, Rhode Island, and Wildwood together. A large group of us went to Catholic school for seven or more years together. Some of us even shared the same classrooms and homeroom teachers. We followed one another’s footsteps and once the first generation had gone through St. Paul’s and Albertus Magnus High School, the teachers knew who was coming up and what to expect. In those moments of otherness, when a kid would make fun of our food, say that we were dirty, or not invite us to their parties even though the whole class would be invited I always had my cousins. After a while, my otherness didn’t matter as much and while we eventually made friends with many of the white kids in our classes, the drama that often occurred in social circles passed over our heads because we just didn’t care. Granted, we had our own drama in our own circle, but it rarely got aired out in public the way some of the other kids’ crap did.

Together Forever

1997

1998 or 1999

2009

My family was my safe, home space. I grew up in a diverse New York firmly believing that everybody should assimilate and not segregate themselves into cultural/racial groups, little acknowledging the safety and confidence that I ended up having because of my barangay. After I read Why Are All the Black Kids Sitting Together in the Cafeteria by Beverly Tatum in college, I finally realized the value of having a place where my culture was understood, accepted and practiced. It didn’t/doesn’t have to be my whole life, but it was and still is a legitimate space and foundation for who I was, am, and will be.

~

Now that I'm here, I see exactly where our Filipino American barangays came from. Here, everybody takes care of one another. While I don't have many friends, I have my family on both sides. We go on trips together. Eat meals together. Celebrate holidays together. Pray together.

Fullons at Coco's Wedding

I listen to stories about the Castros and how the cousins spent summers together in the province with their Lolo, my great grandfather. They can name small intricacies about one another from childhood that nobody else will ever know -Lolo's strict schedule, Mom's clumsiness

Castro Cousins with Lola Pat

Castro Cousins with Lolo Joy

Castro Cousins 2009

Castro Reunion 2009

Dad's family is similar, recounting the days when they spent summers at their Lola's in Iloilo all together. Even today, they value the little time they are able to spend together. When my aunt said she was thinking about not coming to the wedding in Manila, my uncle who rarely talks said, "Huh? Why?" So, up to Manila she came!

Fullon Cousins in Iloilo

I watch all of my aunts and uncles and realize how much the family meant to them, how good it was for them to be around cousins their age and to know that there were aunts and uncles in addition to their parents who were supporting them. That's why we are the way we are -like brothers and sisters with our cousins. Tons of unconditional love, different as we may be.

My parents brought that with them to the States and I'm thankful.

~

Barangays have their weaknesses, though –infighting, grudges that last for years, heavy chismis, and other downfalls of the human condition. Sometimes, if not handled thoughtfully, community becomes so important that individuality is bruised and stunted. For me, the concept of the barangay is not necessarily the culprit, but our weaknesses as humans are at fault for breakdowns in both the barangay and the individual –pretty common for most social structures out there, I suppose. Acknowledging that though I still have to say that the barangay played and still plays a powerful role in my life. I always know I have a home to go back to. I always know that I have people supporting me and praying for me.

I hope this little girl can make her barangay proud, help it grow, and serve its people the way it serve(d) me.

Congrats to E.P.I.C. Motion

Since my little brother entered college, he has been a dance fanatic. He is know one of the directors of E.P.I.C. Motion Dance Company in NY. He and his team just won first place at Pride 3. Wish I was there for this amazing performance!! I am one proud ate.

Just for Me

Before I left, I had a feeling I'd start getting homesick around Thanksgiving and Christmas time. Well, it's here. I wrote my family a long update and told them that I missed them and that I wished they were here. My Mom's first line to her response was amazing. I wanna cry every time I read it:

"Hey, Beebs...what a great experience you are having. Wish we were there with you---but God has arranged this just for you."

Countless blessings in my life, starting with my parents.

PI Day 108- Tagalogin Mo Na!! (Say it in Tagalog Already!): My Life as a PLL

Like any good ELL teacher, I will provide for you a list of characters and vocabulary that will be helpful for you to do this reading:

• Laloo/Lola Eling: My mother’s mother
• Lola Lydia/Lyds: My father’s mother
• Yaya: Babysitter
• Nen: My family’s yaya of 23 years
• Tiangge: flea market/open market
• Pasalubong: Gifts for family at home
• OA: OverActing, over dramatic, extra
• Ma-OA: To be OA
• Tagalog/Pilipino: National dialect of the Philippines
• Kapangpangan: Dialect specific to certain provinces in Northern Luzon, primarily Pampanga and Southern Tarlac
• Ilongo: Dialect spoken in the southern island province of Iloilo
• Lambing: tenderness

So, is this what it feels like to be a PLL (Pilipino Language Learner)?

In the education world, Immigration and Language Acquisition were and still are hot, trendy topics. How many professional developments and seminars we had to attend about this topic, I can’t even count anymore and of course, for very good reason.

In ed school, you learn about the cognitive, emotional, and social issues that ELLs may experience when encountering a new culture, language, and school –the intricate needs of every individual student based on their linguistic ability and experiences. If you’re in a halfway decent program, you are taught that people don’t acquire language in a vacuum and boy am I learning how true that is!!

As I struggle to learn my family’s languages, I keep in mind all of the English Language Learners that I taught at my high school.

In my own moments of linguistic struggle and occasional exhaustion, I remember times when I saw students crying with the effort of learning a new language and living in a completely new place, when my students would treat someone who spoke the same language like a breath of fresh air or a sip of cool water in the dessert, when a student would trip over a word or search endlessly for the right word to say, when a student would be asked to repeat the same word/phrase over and over again because the listener didn't understand, when a student would overcompensate and use intricate words in the wrong way, or when a student got so tired of trying he or she would just put his or her head down. I know some of that feeling now, only some. Sometimes you want to shut your brain off when it’s too much, sometimes your brain is speeding to catch up with what’s going on around you –you have just enough understanding to stay interested in what’s going on. I feel my brain constantly moving in those moments.

~

I listen a lot and don’t talk too often (I know, would you believe it?). I sleep on Laloo’s pull out couch in her room. The tv is right next to my head. Laloo lets her “dramas” lull her to sleep with volume on high, so the Tagalog dialogue is blasting next to my face and I’m listening to this Pinoy telenovella unfold before my eardrums. Drama people, drama. But seriously, it’s good listening practice for me. If I am really getting it, I start to imagine the scene that’s playing on the screen and I find my mind trying to keep up with the story even when I’m kind of trying to fall asleep.

When I’m with my two families, I sit, savor, and try to soak in the demanding, staccato tones of my mother’s northern dialect, Kapangpangan, and the sweet, sing songy southern Ilongo dialect of my father’s family. In my listening, I recognize when I use those tones in my English. My mother’s ancestors push argumentative, emphatic tones out of my mouth when I am in a heated discussion or am just plain excited about something important to me –education, religion, common sense, lol. I speak imperatively, excitedly -sometimes leading people to think I am angry or annoyed.

“Don’t yell at me!” Nora exclaims.

“Ay, sorry! That’s just how I talk,” we always apologize.

Kapangpangan Castro ancestors

When I am in love, consoling, or empathizing, my tones become gentle waves, similar to the waters surrounding my father’s island people. “Lambing” (tenderness) is how my yaya describes their tones –on some “Let me wash you over in my love, love you down,” type R&B music.

Contemplating the waters of Iloilo for the first time, January 2010

~

As my ears are perked to the dialects around me and to the different accents Tagalog is spoken with, I try to produce in Tagalog/Pilipino. At Church, song and prayer words are projected on a large screen and I find I can’t fix my mouth to say some of the words on the screen. Try saying 'ipinagbubunyi' or 'pinasasalamatan' while keeping up with the song or prayer. Ouch, that just made my jaw hurt.

Words and sounds that are so natural to folks here, I trip over and say slowly, like a five year old learning how to read. There are moments when I feel my mind and my mouth trying to meet. I want to respond in proper Tagalog, I really do I just don’t know how yet! I want to ask questions, but don’t know the structure. I want to talk to you.

Sometimes I need to take breaks and revert back to English, which is easy enough here. But yesterday, as I was speaking to MyHanh, I realized that even some of my English has escaped me. While I’ve been writing a ton, I haven’t been speaking to many in deep, philosophical English, the way I would at home. I grasp for SAT words I implemented in my everyday vocabulary to no avail.

It’s challenging, confusing and awesome all at once. My brain is often in high gear. Speaking, which most of you know is very easy for me, becomes painstaking. I search for the right words, the correct sentence structure, and mangle my tenses.

On the rare occasion that I do have words they can come out inappropriately –sometimes disrespectfully, in the wrong tone, using the wrong synonym, or with the wrong accent. I'm not familiar with formal language, the only models I had were my parents and their close friends or stereotypical Pinoy movies -too casual or too ma-oa (overacting) respectively. There's no way I can use that tone with Lola Eling whose hearing is getting worse and whose best language is actually Kapangpangan, a dialect I cannot produce correctly at all! I can just barely make out the gist of a story when the women are speaking Kapangpangan around me. Meanwhile, when my father’s family breaks out in Ilongo I may as well write my own cartoon script to match their facial expressions and gestures I know so little.

Everything moves so quickly that sometimes I can’t hide my dismay and emotions. I am not in control. I remember every time a kid seemed to be disrespecting me with their tone or facial expression. It wasn't about me, it was just frustration with the situation. Now it's my turn... My face is blank and my eyes shift, searching for escape, a pass or for the words in my limited air dictionary. Nope, the word’s not there. Maybe next time. I gotta remember to look that up when I get home.

~

Sitting in the car with Eric, Lola Lydia’s driver on the way to Makati the traffic is endless. I'm wishing I knew more. I am the queen of convo at home.

I would know how to make this hour long commute seem like a 15 minute drive. Little things like, “Wow, traffic is so bad,” takes me forever to translate in my head, I just don't have the words. I'm dying to ask questions about the roads, the buildings, the businesses, the part of the city we are in, the reason why traffic is so bad right now. This is so not happening. Words as simple as ‘slow’, ‘that’, and ‘are’ present themselves as barriers. I know I know them, but finding them and then putting them in order…errmmm…? Then I get confused with all the Tagalog, Kapangpangan, and English swirling in a cranial vortex, which makes translation triply long. By the time I think I get it it's too late to even try again. The moment has passed. Eep!!!

He asks me a question, “Dyan kayo sa Greenbelt kahapon?" Were you there at Greenbelt yesterday?

I confuse ‘kahapon’ (yesterday) with ‘tonight’ and answer inappropriately:

“Ah hindi, may klase si Ben mga 6:30, dyan sa Jupiter.” Ah, no, Ben has a class on Jupiter St. around 6:30.

Womp, womp. Try again. I think we’re both sitting there trying to figure out what just happened. His response tells me I said something off and it takes me 5-10 minutes to figure out that I've totally gotten the word wrong and that Eric simply humored my error. Lol. I don't even know how to say that I understand that I messed up. Moving on...

Eric keeps trying to make small talk and keeps saying the word ‘tapat.’ I’m not sure what it means, though. I’ve heard it before. I come home and look it up. I thought it was a preposition. Apparently not. Its primary meaning is “honest” but can be used approximately 46 other ways depending on its context. Ummm, yeah, good luck with that!

~

It’s not all losses here, though. As a student athlete, I learned that you play with people better than you, worse than you, and at your level in order to truly become a better athlete. I’m trying to play with the different levels here. Spent the day at the tiangge last Wednesday shopping for pasalubong with my brother. Of the three children in my family, my Tagalog is most intuitive. My parents spoke it to me the most as a child. I heard it more.

So I take the lead, haggling, trying to fake it, copying the demanding tones of my world famous haggling Tita Cecile. I force my eyes to look as confident as if I was haggling for jewelry at a New York City street fair. With effort, I remove all uncertainty out of my tones and demand a lower price for this, “or else my money and I are moving on.” In general, the trip is a success. I’m able to haggle down all our purchases and even go back and forth with one vendor for more than one round. I’m sure I could’ve gotten 50 pesos lower for each purchase, though. Maybe next time.

I come home and pass out like I was lifting weights –my linguistic muscles sore with the weight of the new exercises. They come so quickly and with little support.

~

It's amazing how trapped into silence one can become with fear and lack of skill. At home my silence was my choice, a luxury. But here, my lack of ability could become a cage of loneliness if I let it. And imagine I didn't have family here, I'd feel even more isolated. Back home my words are a foundation for my relationships and my identity. If you know me, I love by sharing myself through my words and actions. I tell stories. I communicate emotions and experiences. I listen to a friend’s words and mirror them back and add my piece as well as I can. My words help me engage and relate with other humans, their spirits, and their souls.

At home, my language capabilities empower me and are a huge source of social capital. I can read, write, and speak fluently for a number of purposes and can code switch depending upon the context. I’ve gotten far in life because I was taught at an early age how to use my words. Here, I have less of those words. I have less understanding. How can I tell you I care? I want to listen. I want to know about what’s going on around me but first I need that foundation.

Seems fitting that this time where I relinquish my role as an “expert” or as a professional is accompanied by these silences and this need to constantly be listening in order to build that foundation. The cycle will continue while I’m here. Listen, learn, apply rule, and produce. I’m hoping to reach a decent level of Tagalog fluency by the time I leave here. Even if it’s just BICS (Basic Interpersonal Communicative Skills for all you non-ed heads), I’ll be happy.

I'm grateful for the opportunities I had to teach so many ELLs at my old high school. They taught me how to be a good learner in the world of language acquisition!