Sometimes when I get home from work and school I want to take off my shoes and shirt, and fling myself off the world. Just dive right over the edge and let my arms and feet hang backwards behind me while I plunge into the night. I wonder about the sailor caught under the superstition that the world was flat, as Magellan took them over the flat limits of the earth. Did he relish the idea of falling? I can imagine him standing apart from his mates, clinging to a hawser- his toes knotting into balls in an effort to cling to the deck. His eyes wild with wonder. For him it must have been about what's at the bottom, the real end. For me I want to know the fall.
My brother is back from the war again. I will be traveling up to Washington again to see him this weekend. He was scheduled to arrive on Tuesday, Inauguration Day.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Almost a year since my last post. I think that's the longest gap so far, but the good thing is I'm posting again. It's 5:00pm, but I'm tired mostly in the eyes. I've been thinking about my trip to the Philippines a lot. There is quite a bit that could be said about my experience there. At this point I'd rather leave that to pictures and random discussions, and hope I don't forget too much if I ever really want to put those memories to ink/key.
The big question I put to myself while I was there wasn't really a question, but I guess something that was influencing me while I was there. Most basically it can be put as this-> what's special about the Philippines? Is it that it has a strong history? From what I learned the prehistoric times in the Philippines took place during the flourishing of Ancient Greek antiquity. Relatively all that has occured in the Philippines has gone on in the shadow of the more prominent Asian civilizations more or less the West. Is it that there is such a stark contrast between first world Makati and the third world slums around the corner? My limited life experience with ghettos in developing countries (a mission trip to Mexico while I was 7th grade, a trip through the West Bank)buffered the surprise I think some of my family expected to see in me as dirt poor children pressed their faces against my tinted window in order to see if there was a handout inside. I wouldn't say I am numb, but I've seen it before. Is it in the things that only the Philippines has- this fruit or that beach? Or in the things that are distinctly Filipino?
I'd have to spend a great deal of time to really ascertain what is special about the Philippines if I went about it by asking those questions. I'm not really asking what is special about the Philippines, I'm asking what makes me belong to this place. This question is infinitely more important to me. I continue to reflect on the Philippines through the perspective that it is the land where my mother was born, and where my family continues to live. Every part of it, from the pleasure of halo halo to the travesties elicited by the corrupt government and politicians are in some part mine.
I think the question I will begin to ask myself is how I take ownership of these things- of the Philippines. This isn't ownership in the sense that I am indebted to solve all its problems or even take up residence there. It's also not ownership in the sense that I take advantage of all that is good there. It's ownership in the sense of belonging. The question as to why I belong there are easily answered. It's familial- ancestral. But now I will ask how I am filipino.
I know I will never truly belong there. I am American, and I am from California- Santa Cruz. But the faint tug that has kept me from becoming American in the same sense as my classmates comes from across the Pacific. I guess that's the mestizo plight. You never really belong here or there. Sometimes I can't help but sympathize with the nationalist/racist who thinks true citizenship is impossible for someone like me. In some acute sense they are right. Though I'd probably never let them know about it- it's probably not for them to understand.
Having returned home I am proud of what is there- in me. I've always known where my family comes from, but it was a rare opportunity to see what those places really look, feel, and smell like. In those two weeks my identity grew incredibly more complex. It seems cliche to think about it in this way, but I don't think it has to be. I don't think it was just a matter of seeing the manila smog, the jeepneys, the sigsig, the barrios. It was confronting that part of my spirit.
The big question I put to myself while I was there wasn't really a question, but I guess something that was influencing me while I was there. Most basically it can be put as this-> what's special about the Philippines? Is it that it has a strong history? From what I learned the prehistoric times in the Philippines took place during the flourishing of Ancient Greek antiquity. Relatively all that has occured in the Philippines has gone on in the shadow of the more prominent Asian civilizations more or less the West. Is it that there is such a stark contrast between first world Makati and the third world slums around the corner? My limited life experience with ghettos in developing countries (a mission trip to Mexico while I was 7th grade, a trip through the West Bank)buffered the surprise I think some of my family expected to see in me as dirt poor children pressed their faces against my tinted window in order to see if there was a handout inside. I wouldn't say I am numb, but I've seen it before. Is it in the things that only the Philippines has- this fruit or that beach? Or in the things that are distinctly Filipino?
I'd have to spend a great deal of time to really ascertain what is special about the Philippines if I went about it by asking those questions. I'm not really asking what is special about the Philippines, I'm asking what makes me belong to this place. This question is infinitely more important to me. I continue to reflect on the Philippines through the perspective that it is the land where my mother was born, and where my family continues to live. Every part of it, from the pleasure of halo halo to the travesties elicited by the corrupt government and politicians are in some part mine.
I think the question I will begin to ask myself is how I take ownership of these things- of the Philippines. This isn't ownership in the sense that I am indebted to solve all its problems or even take up residence there. It's also not ownership in the sense that I take advantage of all that is good there. It's ownership in the sense of belonging. The question as to why I belong there are easily answered. It's familial- ancestral. But now I will ask how I am filipino.
I know I will never truly belong there. I am American, and I am from California- Santa Cruz. But the faint tug that has kept me from becoming American in the same sense as my classmates comes from across the Pacific. I guess that's the mestizo plight. You never really belong here or there. Sometimes I can't help but sympathize with the nationalist/racist who thinks true citizenship is impossible for someone like me. In some acute sense they are right. Though I'd probably never let them know about it- it's probably not for them to understand.
Having returned home I am proud of what is there- in me. I've always known where my family comes from, but it was a rare opportunity to see what those places really look, feel, and smell like. In those two weeks my identity grew incredibly more complex. It seems cliche to think about it in this way, but I don't think it has to be. I don't think it was just a matter of seeing the manila smog, the jeepneys, the sigsig, the barrios. It was confronting that part of my spirit.
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