(previously published at Millwoods Mosaic, Sept 15, 2009 issue)
Here I was, happily researching about the various acts of neglect and infractions the Philippine government has visited upon Filipino citizens working abroad, when I stumbled upon a lively, sometimes snide and somewhat cynical exchange of opinions, regarding the state of the Philippines today. The forum was started by my friend Jun Cabal, a former foreign worker in the US. I decided to take a closer look.
The letter that started this discussion states that: “…our nation is headed towards an irreversible path of economic decline and moral decadence… that in thirty years, the Philippine population will grow to 160 million, 90 million of whom will live below the poverty line, and we’ll probably be the most corrupt nation in Asia… and not even two Peoples’ Revolutions have made a dent in reversing this trend. (Apparently, according to the writer, we’re ranked 11th in the roster of most corrupt Asian countries right now.)
He says: We need a force far greater than our collective efforts… it’s time to move the battle to the spiritual realm…” He firmly believes that only prayer can save the Philippines.
Jerry L, an American married to a Filipina decries the idea of praying. He contends that “the primary reason for poverty in the country is my own Church. The Catholic Church is second only to the government in corruption, being the 'opiate of the masses' as Karl Marx said all those years ago.”
Jerry the cynical thinks prayer alone solves nothing. If one needs to create change, one must get up and do something for one’s self.
Joel, a Filipino living in the US suggests --- and I hope to God he’s joking --- that the Philippines apply to become America’s 51st state, replace the President with an American governor, and then hire Clint Eastwood or Sarah Palin for the job. One of the benefits, he adds, is that we won’t need visas to go to the US.
Philippine Chief Justice Reynato S. Puno, who launched the Moral Force Movement in Manila last August, has a different solution. He recognizes the need to change but believes what counts is the change within ourselves – “a change based on realization that we often faulted others for our problems when we ourselves have defaulted in our fight for our moral virtues and principles.”
Wow. My mind reels when I consider these ideas and the future of my home country. Everyone of these men has a point, although I disagree with Jerry when he equates praying with the Church itself. Praying is a very personal act that could focus the mind and clear one’s perceptions, and it doesn’t have to be done inside a church. Praying could probably help the Philippines.
Joel, I suspect, is most likely a former TNT (tago ng tago --- a Pinoy slang for illegal immigrant) who's gotten a US pardon, (I could be wrong) and thus appreciates the importance of having a green card, but has no intention of ever going back to the Philippines. But he’s gotta be kidding about Palin. Why not Stallone? No offense intended.
Now, I think Chief Justice Reynato Puno is on to a good thing when he suggested that first effecting a change within ourselves will change the Philippines. Yet even then, my opinion is, this is a change that would see result only in the next generation. Not today, not next year, but perhaps during the time of our grandchildren. In filmmaking, we always say, SHOW, DON’T TELL. If parents live the change they wish to make, and individually become a walking example to their children, then maybe. Let's plant the seed and watch it grow.
But where are some of these parents? Working abroad, keeping the economy back home afloat by sending monthly remittances. According to last count, foreign workers sent a record amount of 1.5 billion dollars in June alone. So they can’t hardly be home to teach the kids about change.
My point is, where do we start? The country is bleeding its brains into the international labour market everyday, because it’s not worthwhile staying home. Children are being left under the care of others, while many mothers look after other people’s kids. These young people, the future of the nation, are left inadequately supervised, a lot of them quitting school, joining gangs, abusing drugs, because their parents are out there making money.
I say start the change within ourselves, as CJ Puno advises; even start praying --- not necessarily going to church --- because I don’t think there’s much we can do at the moment. And another thing, those of us working abroad should maybe think about going home more often. Keep reconnecting with the kids. That’s what I’ve been trying to do. One day I’ll go home and never leave, and perhaps show my grandkidz how they can help save the Philippines individually. Slow but sure. Pray for me.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
AM I GOING BEIGE? (thoughts on mixed marriages)
(first published at the Mill Woods Mosaic, July 15, 2009 issue)
One evening, I was happily chattering away in English, while eating rice, pakbet and adobo together with a bunch of my closest friends. I didn’t notice anything different, until my partner Daniel pointed out that all the wives on the table were Filipinas, but the husbands were all white men --- one American and three Canadians. Skin colour, it seems, has ceased to matter, and --- to quote comedian Russel Peters --- we’ve all become beige. It has taken years for every one of us to arrive at this stage of acceptance, and I have to say, it hasn’t been all smooth sailing.
Here in Vancouver, mixed marriages and common-law relationships occur quite often. In recent decades, the growing ethnic diversity in Canada has made it easier for people to meet and marry someone from a different racial group. The numbers are going up: a 2006 Stats Can survey recorded 289, 420 mixed marriages in Canada, a 33% rise from its 2001 numbers.
Actually, skin colour is not that big a deal to second generation immigrants --- the children who grew up in Canada and have had Canadian education along with others of various ethnic origins. One young woman of Filipino parentage told me, “I’m just as Canadian as the next person.” Children of Chinese immigrants sometimes compare themselves to bananas: ‘yellow on the outside, white on the inside.’ So when a marriage occurs between these Canadian-born kids, I suppose one can still call it racially mixed, although not, culturally speaking.
Things are more challenging for first generation ones, like myself and my three other Pinay friends. We all arrived in Canada with our undiluted Filipino-ness. If you think making success of marriage with a compatriot is hard, try marrying someone who grew up in another country.
My friends and I survived by bargaining, discussion and adaptation. And sometimes, through out and out warfare, to get what we want. Areas of contention include handling of finances, pursuit of religion, spoken language, and disciplining of children. It could get ugly. But in the long run, things simmer down, compromises are made, and peace returns to the household. Through the years, one learns that no issue is important enough to consider murdering a bull-headed mate, or to seek divorce.
The only rare exceptions are my friends F and S, who celebrated their 15th wedding anniversary last July. They have built a union founded on cooperation, and suffered very little growing pains. S readily embraced the Filipino culture, and as a result, they behave like a Filipino couple. (F runs the household, S says “Yes, dear.) (Just kidding.) Their finances are fully shared, and their decisions are always by consensus. Except in culinary choices, where F makes concessions by making non-Pinoy dishes during most meals, but lets loose when her Filipino friends are invited for dinner.
Daniel and I thrive on compromise on most things, and it works because we pick our battles. Usually happens when two highly-opinionated people come together. We don’t have culinary problems though, because Daniel likes Asian food and rice, and loves to cook. He once told me. “You’re lucky I like to eat rice.” He acquired a taste for rice during his stint as a Peace Corps volunteer in Borneo. We have rice with dinner 6 days a week.
I said to Daniel, “ You’re lucky you like rice, otherwise you’ll have to learn.”
There’s one thing Daniel remains firm about, though. He flatly refuses to eat tuyo (dried salted fish). He thinks it smells bad, and it doesn’t taste that good either. A long time ago, before we lived together, he visited me regularly at my own place. One day he came over and smelled the tuyo I’ve been frying for lunch. He announced he did, meters away from the house: “ I’m surprised that the police hasn’t cordoned this area off. I thought there was a dead body in here.”
I said to Daniel, “You had better start learning to like the way this smells, because it’s my favourite fish.” It’s one of those stands I had no intention of backing down from.
So Daniel learned to tolerate the smell of tuyo, and to open all the windows and doors when I’m cooking them. And I learned to keep his spice collection in alphabetical order, the way he liked, and ride a bike at my advanced age, to keep him company while cycling around the Stanley Park seawall. And we agree on most other things.
As of now, it looks like we’re going to live happily ever after. If he keeps listening to me, that is.
One evening, I was happily chattering away in English, while eating rice, pakbet and adobo together with a bunch of my closest friends. I didn’t notice anything different, until my partner Daniel pointed out that all the wives on the table were Filipinas, but the husbands were all white men --- one American and three Canadians. Skin colour, it seems, has ceased to matter, and --- to quote comedian Russel Peters --- we’ve all become beige. It has taken years for every one of us to arrive at this stage of acceptance, and I have to say, it hasn’t been all smooth sailing.
Here in Vancouver, mixed marriages and common-law relationships occur quite often. In recent decades, the growing ethnic diversity in Canada has made it easier for people to meet and marry someone from a different racial group. The numbers are going up: a 2006 Stats Can survey recorded 289, 420 mixed marriages in Canada, a 33% rise from its 2001 numbers.
Actually, skin colour is not that big a deal to second generation immigrants --- the children who grew up in Canada and have had Canadian education along with others of various ethnic origins. One young woman of Filipino parentage told me, “I’m just as Canadian as the next person.” Children of Chinese immigrants sometimes compare themselves to bananas: ‘yellow on the outside, white on the inside.’ So when a marriage occurs between these Canadian-born kids, I suppose one can still call it racially mixed, although not, culturally speaking.
Things are more challenging for first generation ones, like myself and my three other Pinay friends. We all arrived in Canada with our undiluted Filipino-ness. If you think making success of marriage with a compatriot is hard, try marrying someone who grew up in another country.
My friends and I survived by bargaining, discussion and adaptation. And sometimes, through out and out warfare, to get what we want. Areas of contention include handling of finances, pursuit of religion, spoken language, and disciplining of children. It could get ugly. But in the long run, things simmer down, compromises are made, and peace returns to the household. Through the years, one learns that no issue is important enough to consider murdering a bull-headed mate, or to seek divorce.
The only rare exceptions are my friends F and S, who celebrated their 15th wedding anniversary last July. They have built a union founded on cooperation, and suffered very little growing pains. S readily embraced the Filipino culture, and as a result, they behave like a Filipino couple. (F runs the household, S says “Yes, dear.) (Just kidding.) Their finances are fully shared, and their decisions are always by consensus. Except in culinary choices, where F makes concessions by making non-Pinoy dishes during most meals, but lets loose when her Filipino friends are invited for dinner.
Daniel and I thrive on compromise on most things, and it works because we pick our battles. Usually happens when two highly-opinionated people come together. We don’t have culinary problems though, because Daniel likes Asian food and rice, and loves to cook. He once told me. “You’re lucky I like to eat rice.” He acquired a taste for rice during his stint as a Peace Corps volunteer in Borneo. We have rice with dinner 6 days a week.
I said to Daniel, “ You’re lucky you like rice, otherwise you’ll have to learn.”
There’s one thing Daniel remains firm about, though. He flatly refuses to eat tuyo (dried salted fish). He thinks it smells bad, and it doesn’t taste that good either. A long time ago, before we lived together, he visited me regularly at my own place. One day he came over and smelled the tuyo I’ve been frying for lunch. He announced he did, meters away from the house: “ I’m surprised that the police hasn’t cordoned this area off. I thought there was a dead body in here.”
I said to Daniel, “You had better start learning to like the way this smells, because it’s my favourite fish.” It’s one of those stands I had no intention of backing down from.
So Daniel learned to tolerate the smell of tuyo, and to open all the windows and doors when I’m cooking them. And I learned to keep his spice collection in alphabetical order, the way he liked, and ride a bike at my advanced age, to keep him company while cycling around the Stanley Park seawall. And we agree on most other things.
As of now, it looks like we’re going to live happily ever after. If he keeps listening to me, that is.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Searching for a Prospective Husband in North America --- Pinay-Style
Many North American women jokingly compare the problem of searching for a suitable husband to looking for parking spaces --- the good ones are all taken; the rest are either hard to get into, or disabled.
For newly arrived, unmarried Filipino women in Vancouver, Canada, the single biggest hurdle is finding a prospective life partner; particularly for domestic workers who are in their early twenties to thirties. Most men at this age are already in committed relationships, so the market is quite limited.
Worse, culture gets in the way of mating rituals, these being conducted differently in the West. For instance, the guys are not as confident in approaching women as Pinoys do, so the shy Pinay misses out on opportunities because her silence reads lack of interest. A western woman, on the other hand, has no qualms about taking proactive steps to snag her man. You smile, you approach, you talk to him. It’s called ‘chatting up’, otherwise known as flirting. He gets the message. You get your dude.
Even then, dating does not necessarily end in marriage. A man and a woman ‘see’ each other regularly to find out if they get along, and if so, they then agree to live together and let things develop naturally. I think most western men has a subconscious fear of commitment and could go through a lot of soul-searching before proposing marriage to his girlfriend, whom, mostly, he already lives with. How hard can that be? An unfortunate woman can wait forever for a proposal which isn’t forthcoming.
Filipino women who work as nannies/housekeepers in Canada started coming in the 80’s. Most of these were single, ambitious and educated women who missed the marriage train because they were chasing other dreams. Canada is their final stop, and once they get here, they’re ready to settle down. Good on those who already have boyfriends or fiancés waiting in the Philippines. If these men could wait, they’d be here in three years’ time. No sweat. For those who failed to find a future husband before leaving the country, looking for one becomes a project. This can be done through introduction by friends, or by asking for recommendations by relatives in the Philippines. The rest seeks the help of dating agencies.
In Vancouver, an enterprising older immigrant found the answer to young women’s desires. Maria Southwell, a Filipina married to a white Canadian, decided to give the women a helping hand while earning some money at the same time. She formed Maria Southwell’s Singles’ Club. Men looking for girlfriends could join the club for a fee of $50. Maria organized a monthly singles’ dance where members could meet endless number of ‘girls’ who were there for the same reason. DJ music was provided and everyone paid $10 to get in. The women joined the club for free, and submitted their resumes and photos. Outside of these dances, the guys told Maria what type of women they want and Maria in turn would match them with resumes from her files. The next step was up to them.
In the 90’s, when I was writing for the Philippine Chronicle in Vancouver, I was the self-appointed leader of a group composed of mostly single women. There were seven of us and I was the only one ever married and had children. I could hear their biological clocks ticking frantically, so I hatched a plan. Maria Southwell had been advertising in the Philippine Chronicle and I suggested we give it a try. We’d go to Maria Southwell’s to check the field out. We’d arrive early and pick a table facing the door, and then appear friendly when a likeable guy looked our way. My scheme worked. As the night deepened, everyone in our table was busy dancing and chatting with the boys. The girls went home excited about the new names added to their date books.
What I found out was most of the guys in that dating joint were older, and I thought they weren’t that great a choice either. My girls and I could be underestimating their own wifely worth. (I apologize for this. I was young and arrogant and a man-hating bitch at that time, although I tried hard not to influence my friends in any way.) Next day, I wrote a totally disparaging column about Maria’s Singles’ Club. I said the men at Maria’s were losers, shoppers, seniors, and those who couldn’t find dates under normal circumstances. Added to these were guys who thought they were god’s gift to the nannyhood. I went on unkindly that joining that club was like going to Value Village --- Vancouver’s version of the ‘ukay-ukay’ --- a second hand clothing store: if you dug hard enough and searched long enough, you’d eventually find something of value. I even felt good about what I wrote. Maria Southwell angrily pulled her ad from our paper the very day my column came out.
My subsequent research, however, showed that many women actually found good husband material through Maria’s help. I even interviewed some of them. I was happy to say sorry and eat humble pie.
Even so, finding a good husband in Vancouver remains a problem for Pinays today, perhaps harder than getting good parking spaces.
(Previously Published in The Manila Times in 2007)
For newly arrived, unmarried Filipino women in Vancouver, Canada, the single biggest hurdle is finding a prospective life partner; particularly for domestic workers who are in their early twenties to thirties. Most men at this age are already in committed relationships, so the market is quite limited.
Worse, culture gets in the way of mating rituals, these being conducted differently in the West. For instance, the guys are not as confident in approaching women as Pinoys do, so the shy Pinay misses out on opportunities because her silence reads lack of interest. A western woman, on the other hand, has no qualms about taking proactive steps to snag her man. You smile, you approach, you talk to him. It’s called ‘chatting up’, otherwise known as flirting. He gets the message. You get your dude.
Even then, dating does not necessarily end in marriage. A man and a woman ‘see’ each other regularly to find out if they get along, and if so, they then agree to live together and let things develop naturally. I think most western men has a subconscious fear of commitment and could go through a lot of soul-searching before proposing marriage to his girlfriend, whom, mostly, he already lives with. How hard can that be? An unfortunate woman can wait forever for a proposal which isn’t forthcoming.
Filipino women who work as nannies/housekeepers in Canada started coming in the 80’s. Most of these were single, ambitious and educated women who missed the marriage train because they were chasing other dreams. Canada is their final stop, and once they get here, they’re ready to settle down. Good on those who already have boyfriends or fiancés waiting in the Philippines. If these men could wait, they’d be here in three years’ time. No sweat. For those who failed to find a future husband before leaving the country, looking for one becomes a project. This can be done through introduction by friends, or by asking for recommendations by relatives in the Philippines. The rest seeks the help of dating agencies.
In Vancouver, an enterprising older immigrant found the answer to young women’s desires. Maria Southwell, a Filipina married to a white Canadian, decided to give the women a helping hand while earning some money at the same time. She formed Maria Southwell’s Singles’ Club. Men looking for girlfriends could join the club for a fee of $50. Maria organized a monthly singles’ dance where members could meet endless number of ‘girls’ who were there for the same reason. DJ music was provided and everyone paid $10 to get in. The women joined the club for free, and submitted their resumes and photos. Outside of these dances, the guys told Maria what type of women they want and Maria in turn would match them with resumes from her files. The next step was up to them.
In the 90’s, when I was writing for the Philippine Chronicle in Vancouver, I was the self-appointed leader of a group composed of mostly single women. There were seven of us and I was the only one ever married and had children. I could hear their biological clocks ticking frantically, so I hatched a plan. Maria Southwell had been advertising in the Philippine Chronicle and I suggested we give it a try. We’d go to Maria Southwell’s to check the field out. We’d arrive early and pick a table facing the door, and then appear friendly when a likeable guy looked our way. My scheme worked. As the night deepened, everyone in our table was busy dancing and chatting with the boys. The girls went home excited about the new names added to their date books.
What I found out was most of the guys in that dating joint were older, and I thought they weren’t that great a choice either. My girls and I could be underestimating their own wifely worth. (I apologize for this. I was young and arrogant and a man-hating bitch at that time, although I tried hard not to influence my friends in any way.) Next day, I wrote a totally disparaging column about Maria’s Singles’ Club. I said the men at Maria’s were losers, shoppers, seniors, and those who couldn’t find dates under normal circumstances. Added to these were guys who thought they were god’s gift to the nannyhood. I went on unkindly that joining that club was like going to Value Village --- Vancouver’s version of the ‘ukay-ukay’ --- a second hand clothing store: if you dug hard enough and searched long enough, you’d eventually find something of value. I even felt good about what I wrote. Maria Southwell angrily pulled her ad from our paper the very day my column came out.
My subsequent research, however, showed that many women actually found good husband material through Maria’s help. I even interviewed some of them. I was happy to say sorry and eat humble pie.
Even so, finding a good husband in Vancouver remains a problem for Pinays today, perhaps harder than getting good parking spaces.
(Previously Published in The Manila Times in 2007)
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
The Filipino-Canadian dinner: eat at your own risk?
(First published at the Mill Woods Mosaic, an Edmonton, Alberta publication, Sept 2008)
The first time my friend Daniel attended a big Filipino dinner, he was flabbergasted. He looked down the loaded dinner table which was set up buffet-style, and beheld a spread that boasted countless dishes from varying countries of origin. He had expected, I believe, a collection of Pinoy culinary specialties he was familiar with, like lumpia, pancit and adobo --- and was not disappointed; but was surprised to see so much more: baked ribs, stir-fried vegetables, sushi, lasagna, blood stew (dinuguan), roast beef, chicken curry and stuffed milk fish (relleno). Sitting in the midst of all these, like a queen reigning among its subjects was a heavy-duty rice cooker filled to the brim with freshly steamed rice. The only thing missing was the lechon, the traditional roast pig, which Filipinos reserve for more special occasions.
Arranged neatly at the farther end of the table were a bowl of cut fresh fruit, a leche flan sitting on a plate of brown syrup, trays of brownie squares and rice cakes and the famous Filipino fruit salad, a glorious concoction of pineapple chunks, grated young coconut, kaong nuts, raisins, apple slices, grapes and cheese bits covered in thick canned cream. This was the dessert corner.
On the side table were different kinds of pop, which included the all-time Pinoy favourite, coca cola, and a purple non-alcoholic punch in a massive punch bowl.
He turned to me and asked whether the event was potluck and that we misunderstood the invitation. I assured him that I received clear instructions food-wise. We were asked to bring only ourselves, and if we were so inclined, perhaps a bottle of wine of our choice.
Now Daniel is one of those traditional Caucasian guys who believe that when you plan a meal, you stick to a certain theme, and he lives by that rule. When he hosts a dinner, he plans early and apprises prospective guests of the culinary theme. If it were potluck, say, he’d email everybody long before the dinner date and tell them what to bring.
For instance, if he fancied serving Greek, he’d prepare the main course which could be roast lamb and a side dish of calamari with tartar sauce. Others were instructed to bring things like a Greek salad, spanakopita or a dessert. The rest can bring drinks if they wanted to. No more no less.
When someone arrived with a contribution that diverged from the theme, the dish got quietly put away in the deep recesses of his fridge and was soon forgotten. Inflexible, I told him, but the guy was born that way.
But I digress. A Filipino gathering in a foreign country, I explained to Daniel, is the sum total of the community’s sensibilities and its continuing evolution. The food Filipinos serve is a reflection of our country’s history. Through centuries of colonization, through our private diasporas, through good times and bad, we adapt, we assimilate, we roll with the punches, we bend like the bamboo that swings with the wind; the food we serve during our parties reflects these. We take the best from our past lives and share it with the rest of the world.
So when you analyze a Filipino buffet table, the types of food on it represent the composite of what the host culled from her life experiences. She’s saying: here’s the special chicken curry I learned to eat and then make when I was working in Singapore; here’s a platter of Japanese sushi which I thought you might enjoy, and here’s a bunch of Filipino dishes I’m proud to share, because they anchor me, and because they remind me of home. I’m sharing with you my lifetime of culinary adventure. I’m sure you’ll like it.
For Daniel The Inflexible, this was a new way of looking at entertaining. And it works. He has since learned to appreciate the gustatory challenge of a big Filipino dinner, and when he hosts a potluck where Pinoys are invited, he now suspends his inclinations to control the theme. It’s become ‘bring whatever you want, as long as it’s edible’. He can now eat pakbet and rice with a side dish of roast beef without questioning its logic, although he still gives dinuguan wide berth.
The first time my friend Daniel attended a big Filipino dinner, he was flabbergasted. He looked down the loaded dinner table which was set up buffet-style, and beheld a spread that boasted countless dishes from varying countries of origin. He had expected, I believe, a collection of Pinoy culinary specialties he was familiar with, like lumpia, pancit and adobo --- and was not disappointed; but was surprised to see so much more: baked ribs, stir-fried vegetables, sushi, lasagna, blood stew (dinuguan), roast beef, chicken curry and stuffed milk fish (relleno). Sitting in the midst of all these, like a queen reigning among its subjects was a heavy-duty rice cooker filled to the brim with freshly steamed rice. The only thing missing was the lechon, the traditional roast pig, which Filipinos reserve for more special occasions.
Arranged neatly at the farther end of the table were a bowl of cut fresh fruit, a leche flan sitting on a plate of brown syrup, trays of brownie squares and rice cakes and the famous Filipino fruit salad, a glorious concoction of pineapple chunks, grated young coconut, kaong nuts, raisins, apple slices, grapes and cheese bits covered in thick canned cream. This was the dessert corner.
On the side table were different kinds of pop, which included the all-time Pinoy favourite, coca cola, and a purple non-alcoholic punch in a massive punch bowl.
He turned to me and asked whether the event was potluck and that we misunderstood the invitation. I assured him that I received clear instructions food-wise. We were asked to bring only ourselves, and if we were so inclined, perhaps a bottle of wine of our choice.
Now Daniel is one of those traditional Caucasian guys who believe that when you plan a meal, you stick to a certain theme, and he lives by that rule. When he hosts a dinner, he plans early and apprises prospective guests of the culinary theme. If it were potluck, say, he’d email everybody long before the dinner date and tell them what to bring.
For instance, if he fancied serving Greek, he’d prepare the main course which could be roast lamb and a side dish of calamari with tartar sauce. Others were instructed to bring things like a Greek salad, spanakopita or a dessert. The rest can bring drinks if they wanted to. No more no less.
When someone arrived with a contribution that diverged from the theme, the dish got quietly put away in the deep recesses of his fridge and was soon forgotten. Inflexible, I told him, but the guy was born that way.
But I digress. A Filipino gathering in a foreign country, I explained to Daniel, is the sum total of the community’s sensibilities and its continuing evolution. The food Filipinos serve is a reflection of our country’s history. Through centuries of colonization, through our private diasporas, through good times and bad, we adapt, we assimilate, we roll with the punches, we bend like the bamboo that swings with the wind; the food we serve during our parties reflects these. We take the best from our past lives and share it with the rest of the world.
So when you analyze a Filipino buffet table, the types of food on it represent the composite of what the host culled from her life experiences. She’s saying: here’s the special chicken curry I learned to eat and then make when I was working in Singapore; here’s a platter of Japanese sushi which I thought you might enjoy, and here’s a bunch of Filipino dishes I’m proud to share, because they anchor me, and because they remind me of home. I’m sharing with you my lifetime of culinary adventure. I’m sure you’ll like it.
For Daniel The Inflexible, this was a new way of looking at entertaining. And it works. He has since learned to appreciate the gustatory challenge of a big Filipino dinner, and when he hosts a potluck where Pinoys are invited, he now suspends his inclinations to control the theme. It’s become ‘bring whatever you want, as long as it’s edible’. He can now eat pakbet and rice with a side dish of roast beef without questioning its logic, although he still gives dinuguan wide berth.
Friday, April 3, 2009
Et tu, Chip Tsao?
Hong Kong journalist Chip Tsao, in an article written last March 27th, commented on the Philippines' claims to the Spratly Islands. He wrote:
'But hold on-—even the Filipinos? Manila has just claimed sovereignty over the scattered rocks in the South China Sea called the Spratly Islands, complete with a blatant threat from its congress to send gunboats to the South China Sea to defend the islands from China if necessary. This is beyond reproach. The reason: There are more than 130,000 Filipina maids working as HK$3,580-a-month cheap labor in Hong Kong. As a nation of servants, you don't flex your muscles at your master, from whom you earn most of your bread and butter.'
Chip Tsao has since apologized for these words, offering the excuse that what he wrote was satire. I don't buy it. I'm a writer and I've written satires in my time. I've read and studied the writings of George Bernard Shaw, the ultimate satirist, but Shaw had never written such discriminatory statements under the guise of satire. In my opinion, Mr. Tsao may have apologized due to public pressure, but I have no doubt he remains personally convinced that 'a nation of servants' have no right to put claims on anything. I've also worked as a domestic long enough to meet many people like Mr. Tsao, who thinks that having more money than most entitles a person to be both judge and jury of his impoverished peers.
Shame on Chip Tsao, and shame on everyone tarred by the same brush. They're everywhere, even in Vancouver, Canada. Immigrants like me, who came here looking for a better future, but brought along with them their biases and discriminatory ways of thinking. These people regularly react to brown, Filipino-looking women like me with condescension and lack of respect. Trust me, I have been on the receiving end of such actions.
Perhaps I need to remind Mr. Tsao that when an employer hires a foreign domestic, he is only paying for her domestic services. Her country of origin does not get indentured along with her. Slavery has been abolished in the 1800s. When domestics like me hire out our services, we're practising a profession, not begging for hand-outs. Employers need our help just as much as we need employment in their households. We treat our employers with respect, we consider them members of our families during our time we them, and we refrain from airing the dirty linens in their closets, figuratively or otherwise. It's only fair that we should expect the same kind of regard from them.
And I strongly believe in 'flexing one's muscles' in the face of blatant discrimination, even when one gets paid HK$3,580 a month. Because, believe me, that amount may buy an employer like Mr. Tsao the right to require someone to scrub his dirty toilets and to mother his little children everyday, but it doesn't buy him the right to treat his domestic as a second class citizen or pass judgement on her nation's political actions.
(And by the way, Mr. Tsao, there are 11 million Filipinos working abroad, not all of them domestics. The earnings of the 130,000 underpaid Filipino maids in Hong Kong would barely register in the country's bread and butter meter.)
Fortunately for me and my sisters in profession, there are also countless good employers in Hong Kong who treat their hired help with kindness and who welcome these women into their homes like family members. I'm thankful for all of them. And I'm thankful for having worked as a domestic, because it changed my life.
My only advice to all Filipino domestic workers out there, do not let anyone tell you or treat you as if you're a lesser person than any of them. Do not allow anyone to look down on you because of your accent, the colour of your skin, or the type of work that you do. Because you are equal to any one of them.
And for the more than 130,000 Filipina maids working in Hong Kong, beware of employers like Mr. Tsao. I'm sure there are others like him. But take heart, there will be more of those in Hong Kong who will be good to you, and treat you well, and who would make your employment in that country a productive and memorable one.
'But hold on-—even the Filipinos? Manila has just claimed sovereignty over the scattered rocks in the South China Sea called the Spratly Islands, complete with a blatant threat from its congress to send gunboats to the South China Sea to defend the islands from China if necessary. This is beyond reproach. The reason: There are more than 130,000 Filipina maids working as HK$3,580-a-month cheap labor in Hong Kong. As a nation of servants, you don't flex your muscles at your master, from whom you earn most of your bread and butter.'
Chip Tsao has since apologized for these words, offering the excuse that what he wrote was satire. I don't buy it. I'm a writer and I've written satires in my time. I've read and studied the writings of George Bernard Shaw, the ultimate satirist, but Shaw had never written such discriminatory statements under the guise of satire. In my opinion, Mr. Tsao may have apologized due to public pressure, but I have no doubt he remains personally convinced that 'a nation of servants' have no right to put claims on anything. I've also worked as a domestic long enough to meet many people like Mr. Tsao, who thinks that having more money than most entitles a person to be both judge and jury of his impoverished peers.
Shame on Chip Tsao, and shame on everyone tarred by the same brush. They're everywhere, even in Vancouver, Canada. Immigrants like me, who came here looking for a better future, but brought along with them their biases and discriminatory ways of thinking. These people regularly react to brown, Filipino-looking women like me with condescension and lack of respect. Trust me, I have been on the receiving end of such actions.
Perhaps I need to remind Mr. Tsao that when an employer hires a foreign domestic, he is only paying for her domestic services. Her country of origin does not get indentured along with her. Slavery has been abolished in the 1800s. When domestics like me hire out our services, we're practising a profession, not begging for hand-outs. Employers need our help just as much as we need employment in their households. We treat our employers with respect, we consider them members of our families during our time we them, and we refrain from airing the dirty linens in their closets, figuratively or otherwise. It's only fair that we should expect the same kind of regard from them.
And I strongly believe in 'flexing one's muscles' in the face of blatant discrimination, even when one gets paid HK$3,580 a month. Because, believe me, that amount may buy an employer like Mr. Tsao the right to require someone to scrub his dirty toilets and to mother his little children everyday, but it doesn't buy him the right to treat his domestic as a second class citizen or pass judgement on her nation's political actions.
(And by the way, Mr. Tsao, there are 11 million Filipinos working abroad, not all of them domestics. The earnings of the 130,000 underpaid Filipino maids in Hong Kong would barely register in the country's bread and butter meter.)
Fortunately for me and my sisters in profession, there are also countless good employers in Hong Kong who treat their hired help with kindness and who welcome these women into their homes like family members. I'm thankful for all of them. And I'm thankful for having worked as a domestic, because it changed my life.
My only advice to all Filipino domestic workers out there, do not let anyone tell you or treat you as if you're a lesser person than any of them. Do not allow anyone to look down on you because of your accent, the colour of your skin, or the type of work that you do. Because you are equal to any one of them.
And for the more than 130,000 Filipina maids working in Hong Kong, beware of employers like Mr. Tsao. I'm sure there are others like him. But take heart, there will be more of those in Hong Kong who will be good to you, and treat you well, and who would make your employment in that country a productive and memorable one.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
OFW Diaries, Episode 1
Crisanta Sampang here. Let me tell you how I got my face plastered all over the Philippines’ TV screens a few days ago. It was quite an experience.
One day two weeks ago, I was in bed with a sore throat, running a fever, half-delirious and shivering under about six layers of blankets, breathing only through a little blowhole I’d created near my face. The Vancouver seasonal flu had hit me hard, in my first sickness in about 8 years. I’d been away from my job for almost a week. You have to believe the last thing I was thinking about was work, least of all creating a video.
That was when I got a call from Alyx, a young researcher from GMA7; a smart, enthusiastic, slave-driving kid who reminded me of my younger self. Told me she found my name at Google, blah blah blah, and wanted to feature me at their show, OFW Diaries’ pilot episode. I am a Filipino Overseas Worker. A domestic helper, to be exact. I got on Google because I wrote a book about my life working as a domestic in Singapore. It’s called Maid in Singapore. I’m still working part-time as a domestic in Vancouver, Canada by choice, but have since branched out into serious writing and some filmmaking.
I said I’d be interested under normal circumstances, but I was currently down with flu, I had no camera, and I probably didn’t look very photogenic at the moment.
I might however, do it when I got better, which should be sometime middle of next week, and only if GMA7 would provide some camera rental money and shooter expenses. Hiring a cameraman and his camera in Vancouver costs $350 a day. I calculated that shooting would take two days. Plus the fee for couriering the tapes internationally, which could cost you an arm and a leg. We started haggling, and Alyx was very honest.
Alyx said they didn’t have that kind of budget, but could perhaps afford the camera rental. After all, she said, it’s a video diary, you point the camera at your face, say your name and shoot. Hah. Well, OK, I said I might do it because I liked her. But I could only film after I got better, and I WANT that camera rental money.
At this point, Alyx’s segment producer, Isel Caringal, got involved. She wanted my kids to be in the picture too. I now had to sell the idea to my daughters, Maricel and Maricar, who needed a lot of convincing and prodding, because first thing, they argued, they’d have to get their houses photographable, along with themselves and the rest of their families. Too much work. Secondly, they said they were too pangit. I assured Maricar that both of them were plenty good looking enough for TV, and if they needed a second opinion, to go ask their husbands. Maricar told me I only said that because I was their mother. I said to Isel, you better talk to Maricel.
So I was getting over my flu while my girls were warming up to the idea of being on TV, and I sealed the deal by pointing out to them that it would be good for my grandkids to see what’s happening in Lola’s world. Isel and Alyx were now both hustling me to get a move on, frantically issuing instructions and reminders by long-distance calls, text messages, emails and Facebook. Darn technology. I had the feeling that they’d only give me peace when my tapes landed in their hot little hands. Which irritated me a little bit, because I suspected they didn’t believe I could deliver on time. I’ll have to say, to their credit, that these two women know how to get things done.
Isel and her GMA7 crew went to my daughters’ Antipolo homes and I heard filming went without a hitch. Isel also dropped off the camera rental money, as I’d instructed, to save them from paying remittance fees. Next thing I knew, Maricel was texting me. She had hijacked the camera money for Maricar and herself, because, ‘they made us cry and work very hard so we deserve a talent fee!’ Darn it.
Now for my Canadian segment; contrary to Alyx’s argument that I just had to point the camera at myself and shoot, putting myself on video required a little more planning. I got the camera, learned how to use it, tested its audio and found everything alright. I looked for a good background, worked on lighting, framing, and practised answering the interview questions in a way that made my footage easily editable. To further ensure I produced some broadcast quality material, I grabbed my friend Daniel and used him as stand-in during test shots. After all I call myself a filmmaker. I was also under pressure to get this done properly in one take, because Isel and Alyx were breathing down my neck.
Filming done, tapes couriered, I texted both of them that the video was on the way. I could hear their collective sighs of relief echoing from across the Pacific Ocean.
I went back to bed for a well-deserved rest, until I got another flurry of text messages from Alyx. Kara David, the OFW Diaries host, wanted to chat by webcam. Could you, asked Alyx, download Skype so we could do that? Apparently, my YM 8 wasn’t good enough. So OK, on that same night, at 11 PM, I was given ten minutes to download and learn Skype, then talk to Kara David. Oh the stress of it all.
The chat with Kara was rewarding, however. I found her to be an intelligent and engaging host, empathetic and sensitive. She asked good questions. I made her cry. But I loved talking to her and concluded that Kara was indeed the perfect host for the OFW stories. I went to sleep around 1:30 AM happy and excited about the show.
The pilot aired after midnight on March 13th, Philippine time. After the broadcast, I received text and Skype messages from people who have seen OFW Diaries and wanted to tell me how proud they were of me. I was very pleased to hear from them. I have since forwarded the GMA7 link to a variety of people in Canada and heard many good feedbacks. I’ve also watched the other segments on You Tube and cried.
All in all, it has been a good experience, getting my word out there, and hearing back from viewers. I wish Kara, Isel, Alyx and GMA7 more success on their show. Mabuhay OFW’s!
One day two weeks ago, I was in bed with a sore throat, running a fever, half-delirious and shivering under about six layers of blankets, breathing only through a little blowhole I’d created near my face. The Vancouver seasonal flu had hit me hard, in my first sickness in about 8 years. I’d been away from my job for almost a week. You have to believe the last thing I was thinking about was work, least of all creating a video.
That was when I got a call from Alyx, a young researcher from GMA7; a smart, enthusiastic, slave-driving kid who reminded me of my younger self. Told me she found my name at Google, blah blah blah, and wanted to feature me at their show, OFW Diaries’ pilot episode. I am a Filipino Overseas Worker. A domestic helper, to be exact. I got on Google because I wrote a book about my life working as a domestic in Singapore. It’s called Maid in Singapore. I’m still working part-time as a domestic in Vancouver, Canada by choice, but have since branched out into serious writing and some filmmaking.
I said I’d be interested under normal circumstances, but I was currently down with flu, I had no camera, and I probably didn’t look very photogenic at the moment.
I might however, do it when I got better, which should be sometime middle of next week, and only if GMA7 would provide some camera rental money and shooter expenses. Hiring a cameraman and his camera in Vancouver costs $350 a day. I calculated that shooting would take two days. Plus the fee for couriering the tapes internationally, which could cost you an arm and a leg. We started haggling, and Alyx was very honest.
Alyx said they didn’t have that kind of budget, but could perhaps afford the camera rental. After all, she said, it’s a video diary, you point the camera at your face, say your name and shoot. Hah. Well, OK, I said I might do it because I liked her. But I could only film after I got better, and I WANT that camera rental money.
At this point, Alyx’s segment producer, Isel Caringal, got involved. She wanted my kids to be in the picture too. I now had to sell the idea to my daughters, Maricel and Maricar, who needed a lot of convincing and prodding, because first thing, they argued, they’d have to get their houses photographable, along with themselves and the rest of their families. Too much work. Secondly, they said they were too pangit. I assured Maricar that both of them were plenty good looking enough for TV, and if they needed a second opinion, to go ask their husbands. Maricar told me I only said that because I was their mother. I said to Isel, you better talk to Maricel.
So I was getting over my flu while my girls were warming up to the idea of being on TV, and I sealed the deal by pointing out to them that it would be good for my grandkids to see what’s happening in Lola’s world. Isel and Alyx were now both hustling me to get a move on, frantically issuing instructions and reminders by long-distance calls, text messages, emails and Facebook. Darn technology. I had the feeling that they’d only give me peace when my tapes landed in their hot little hands. Which irritated me a little bit, because I suspected they didn’t believe I could deliver on time. I’ll have to say, to their credit, that these two women know how to get things done.
Isel and her GMA7 crew went to my daughters’ Antipolo homes and I heard filming went without a hitch. Isel also dropped off the camera rental money, as I’d instructed, to save them from paying remittance fees. Next thing I knew, Maricel was texting me. She had hijacked the camera money for Maricar and herself, because, ‘they made us cry and work very hard so we deserve a talent fee!’ Darn it.
Now for my Canadian segment; contrary to Alyx’s argument that I just had to point the camera at myself and shoot, putting myself on video required a little more planning. I got the camera, learned how to use it, tested its audio and found everything alright. I looked for a good background, worked on lighting, framing, and practised answering the interview questions in a way that made my footage easily editable. To further ensure I produced some broadcast quality material, I grabbed my friend Daniel and used him as stand-in during test shots. After all I call myself a filmmaker. I was also under pressure to get this done properly in one take, because Isel and Alyx were breathing down my neck.
Filming done, tapes couriered, I texted both of them that the video was on the way. I could hear their collective sighs of relief echoing from across the Pacific Ocean.
I went back to bed for a well-deserved rest, until I got another flurry of text messages from Alyx. Kara David, the OFW Diaries host, wanted to chat by webcam. Could you, asked Alyx, download Skype so we could do that? Apparently, my YM 8 wasn’t good enough. So OK, on that same night, at 11 PM, I was given ten minutes to download and learn Skype, then talk to Kara David. Oh the stress of it all.
The chat with Kara was rewarding, however. I found her to be an intelligent and engaging host, empathetic and sensitive. She asked good questions. I made her cry. But I loved talking to her and concluded that Kara was indeed the perfect host for the OFW stories. I went to sleep around 1:30 AM happy and excited about the show.
The pilot aired after midnight on March 13th, Philippine time. After the broadcast, I received text and Skype messages from people who have seen OFW Diaries and wanted to tell me how proud they were of me. I was very pleased to hear from them. I have since forwarded the GMA7 link to a variety of people in Canada and heard many good feedbacks. I’ve also watched the other segments on You Tube and cried.
All in all, it has been a good experience, getting my word out there, and hearing back from viewers. I wish Kara, Isel, Alyx and GMA7 more success on their show. Mabuhay OFW’s!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
