Uprooted by Arianne A.

Uprooted. Â

/ / ARIANNE AQUINO

The following pages are of a paper I did freshman year of college pertaining to my family history. The work and writings within this paper are what really catalyzed me to the complicated but beautiful world of learning about myself through my family. Learning my insides by asking my self to spit out theirs. I invite you to watch the progression. Double-spaced for your note-taking pleasure.

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Aquino, Arianne March 6, 2013 Movements & Migrations Gaul, Karen Oral History Research: Disconnection to Land, Connection to Home It's nice to know that I'm not alone, for anyone to know they're not alone. I didn’t conceptualize coming from one place but living from another would affect me so much. Years ago I felt alone at how conflicted I was in maintaining participation and growth from two different worlds that I didn’t understand so fluently. For quite some time I wondered what my immigrant identity meant to me, then to my family and now to my ethnicity. I've discovered that contemporary Filipino identity is transnational, that my feeling of being stuck between two worlds, two places, two identities is far from solitary. Like a typical immigrant teenager, I wasn’t sure if I belonged to my ethnic identity or my American identity. When I lived in the Philippines it was obviously easier to decide what I was: Filipino. I was surrounded by the people, by the food, by the culture, by everything Filipino. I spoke Tagalog (and English when my parents were home because my mom thought it was important to be bilingual) everywhere, played with kids on my street, consistently attended Sunday mass and went to catholic school. Life was simple, but life wasn’t a challenge. Realizing it now, I wouldn’t have learned as much as I have now without leaving a place and people where everything was consistent and the same. The diversity in America at first lured me into becoming American, but only teaching me that amongst the sea of beautiful ethnicities, I should learn to be proud of my own. Education pushed me not to be lazy and really understand why I didn’t feel like learning about my heritage; it was because I didn’t know much to begin with. Another reason as to why I decided to do this family Oral History was inspired by Sandy Tolan's The Lemon Tree. I didn’t consider my people either in the struggle of the Jews or the Palestinians, but more along

the lines I was inspired by how proud Bashir and Dalia were of their land and their heritage. I was completely fascinated with their pride and inspired to develop my own sense of nationalism. In the book, Bashir expressed a concept of 'uprootedness', and it kind of really hit me. I didn’t necessarily feel uprooted from my existence back in the Philippines but rather, I had such a good childhood at the time it hurts to have to be separated from that permanently. Sometimes I do wonder what my life would’ve been like if I stayed, but I know my parents were right when they said that we moved because of the “bad air quality, corruption and lack of opportunities.” Like most Filipino teens of today, I grew up in the Philippines and moved to America really young. I'd like to think I have a sort of difference from most though since for starters the address I grew up on wasn’t so traditional: Road 14, Project 8. People always chuckle a bit when I tell them that, maybe because admittedly, it is quite strange for an address. My family and I often joked that maybe we should play along with it, pretending to admit that the government had sectioned these off originally for 'experiments' conducted years ago. My street is kind of hidden as its just a little small right turn off another less-prominent road. The street sharply curved left then stretched long and ascended to meet another 2 streets. The street was the kind of street that didn’t have sidewalks and were fine without them. There were less than 50 houses on the the street, or at least the stretch we usually played on. The houses closer to the 'street entrance' were often informal, clustered, darker and had young children that usually were less-clothed and had parents who we would buy snacks from on hot days like frozen chocolate milk in a bag for very cheap. Nearer the 'end' of my street were more developed, larger, cleaner looking private houses with older children who rode to school in fancy cars and parents we rarely saw. Thinking about it now, I never really gave much thought of the differences in affluence my street had, quite possibly the symbolism the elevation had and what all of it meant. Also the fact that my house was right in the middle. ***

On certain summer days when the heat becomes too unbearable to stay inside with a fan, my cousin Jessica and I would figure out ways that wouldn’t waste too much water or electricity to cool off. One day walking around in our duplex slash apartment complex, we noticed these two blue tall tubs in my cousin's drive way. We hadn’t really noticed them before since we never really saw anyone use them. We weren’t sure what was inside so we kicked it and it had a peculiar echo. We were short girls so we used a small ladder to see what was inside. We opened the lid to find nothing but large amounts of cool water. We felt like we had stumbled on a gold mine. Since there were 2, we quickly dropped down to our drawers and hopped into these 2 blue water tubs and just played in them. I don’t remember their exact height, but they weren’t tall enough that I constantly need to be afloat nor short enough that I'd be uncomfortable. We would rattle the tubs, shaking back and forth to bump into each other occasionally but never enough to tip over. We would try and spin so fast, the water would create a whirlpool to whisk time away. Sometimes we would even put the lids back on the tubs while we were inside and sit in silence or shout in conversation since we always managed to have something to laugh about. Its a strange memory to think back on now. There was something so comforting about being submerged in cool water and nothing to stare at except the dark plastic enclosure housing the water and the sky up above. Yet you didn’t feel alone because your best friend was right next to you, experiencing the same thing. We played that way only a couple of times, since some days we wanted to use the water tubs, they wouldn’t be in her drive way anymore. I faintly remember the day we stopped playing with them, we had just gotten too big to fit inside and curl underwater; also a drought was coming. I was talking to my cousin about this memory a couple of days ago. She laughed and a spark lit in her eyes. Then she got sad. I guess we just kind of agreed, missing the days when things didn’t get so complicated. ***

When I thought of things to be proud of, I often cringe or felt indifferent. I'm not really sure why I didn’t really have much pride in being Filipino. Although I feel like a lot of it stemmed from when I moved to my neighborhood of Eagle Rock, a small suburb of Los Angeles. My high school had a lot of Filipinos, a lot. If Eagle Rock wasn’t recognized as its hipster town title, it was probably known for its large Filipino communities. That meant a lot of Filipinos in my high school (Latinos were still the largest majority at the school). Coming into ERHS in 7 grade, I thought I would really th

enjoy having many of my countrymen around me. But I was wrong, quite very wrong. On most days of the school, there would always be a Filipino boy carrying a ukelele. I have nothing against Ukelele, I like them and enjoy sound that they make. But because there were so many boys (and sometimes girls) at my school who constantly played ukeleles, it ruined the appeal. Ukelele became a kind of joke too, some non-Filipino classmates borrowing them, mockingly playing and saying “hey, guess what I am?”. Most of those who did play the ukelele weren’t even doing it because they had a Hawaiian heritage or they really loved the ukelele, they mostly played it to be unique and charismatic to their peers. This kind of showing-off and cheesiness became redundant, trite and frankly killed the appeal of the ukelele for many people. This isn’t the only instance that my Filipino community made it difficult for me to like them. A majority of the Filipino youth in my school were just frustratingly generic, and tacky they didn’t realize they were letting themselves be poor representations of Filipinos. Filipino underage out of wedlock pregnancies were growing too. It was frustrating to realize the actions, attitudes and values of my fellow Filipino youth to be quite boorish and basic. I knew there is more to my peers because in know there is greatness within every race. I guess I didn’t have much pride in being Filipino because within my own community, there wasn’t much to be proud of anyway. *** My grandfather on my father's side, Silverio “Tata” Aquino, is a solid rags-to-riches story. Born in the farmlands of Balaon in La Union to a poor farming couple. Silverio had to endure his father briefly migrating alone to America for 12 years to work in the fruit and vegetables farms in California and occasionally in a

salmon factory in Alaska. In congruence with transnational Philippine history, my great grandfather did suffer cultural and social hardships miles away from his family, “No amount of money can compensate for these difficulties. This is especially true for father. He was only 30 years old when he left a 31-year old wife and five children ages 1 to 6, and he went to the US when the Americans called Filipinos “monkeys” and discriminated severely against them.” (Aquino). Tata’s parents had worked very hard to be able to send all of their children (Silvering and four sisters) to college. Thus, Tata moved to Manila and studied hard to be one of the best lawyer's the city has ever seen. Far into the future of his lawyer career he later worked for the prestigious Ayala Corporation working his way up as Assistant Vice President at the age of 60. The Ayala Corporation is a Philippine-based holding company for the diversified interest of the Ayala Group. Some of their holdings range from real estate, automotive, to telecommunications. Growing up when my father was still working for the Ayala Corporation, I never question any of the gifts or resources our family was fortunate enough to us. No one talked about it or talked about how we got it, but instead to simply enjoy it while we have it. If I ever I did question about how and why we were so fortunate in comparison to some of the kids living on one end of the street and some in school, my parents and family members would either hush me, simply tell me “from Tata” but mostly not say anything and leave me in the dark. I guess it is true among the wealthy that you never talk about money, its rude. *** A reoccurring problem with migrating to a new land and reestablishing yourself is trying to create new memories, without forgetting old ones. It pains me to faintly remember memories I had growing up. I don’t know why I'm forgetting them, they weren’t traumatizing enough for me to want to forget them nor where they so boring I could hardly recall. I do remember driving to the tropical countryside of Laguna to reach our farm. Luscious with diverse vegetation, tall palm trees and beautiful weather, I recall my my family sometimes calling it a resort. I'm not particularly sure how large the land was, but I do remember family members warning me not to go too far or else I'd get terribly lost . I do remember playing in a pool with family and extending family. It was small pool

fed by a natural water source somewhere close by (truth: one of several natural springs). My grandfather had owned it and the extended acres of land that surrounded the housing complex. Later my father corrected me it was as large as 6-8 acres of undeveloped tropical vegetation perfection, exotic fruit trees and all. I faintly remember photos of my child self along with my parents, some cousins and some neighbors of the land my grandfather had invited because some have never played in a formal pool before. Most photos I remember seeing of the farm had lots of people, family and unfamiliar, coming together for parties, feasts or religious celebrations. The house on the farm was average sized and minimalist in furniture, probably because we didn’t visit as much as liked to. There was a fire pit in the back large enough to cook the traditional Filipino cuisine of lechon, roasted pig. The air was delicious with aromas from food as well as clean and pure from the presence of the trees. Along with my cousins, I had lots of playmates and space to roam and scream. *** When I inquired about all the land we had, I was not expecting what my father had told me. He had explained to me all the wealth our family, or specifically his father, had accumulated. Much to my surprise, it was in the millions. Because my grandfather had a growing family (seven children in total), he perceived a growing legacy (at least or so I thought later on). So in reality, that farm land with the pool wasn’t our only plot, but one of eight. Inquiring more about the farm land my father responded, “Well, its a resort. He bought the land to feel like a farmer.” A light switch went off I was perplexed to have heard a slightly resentment towards the purchasing of the land. The word feel encapsulated quite a negative connotation. Through the conversation, I had found out that Tata had purchased a total of 8 properties at least more than an average of 6 acres each. My father explained that Tata had bought so many properties out of arrogance. Growing up with nothing and coming from a family of small-minded farmers, he bought acres and acres of land because he wanted to show-off to his family. “You have to understand that he came from the province... He wanted to brag. He wanted to brag to all his stupid relatives. It was his relatives who told him to put up that hotel.” I also just assumed, growing up from a farm country, he wanted to reconnect with his roots. My father had confirmed with me just that; he wanted to come back to his farm roots, but didn’t know if he could.

When I asked my father what happened to all 8 properties and more Tata had owned, he simply told me he sold it all away. Strange to think that a farmer's son would be so disconnected to land, buying and selling as if it were cards in a game of Monopoly. The only properties my grandfather ended up keeping was his own mansion across from our house in Project 8 and a tall apartment building up the street. As for my grandmother on my mom's side, my father told me that the father of Julita “Mama” Lopez was a logger and a businessman, “Her father was a logger and a business man. He used to have furniture and metal works company under our old house. He also had chickens and pigs under the house. He made a lot of money and became mayor [of the town] for a long time.” His wife was simply a teacher. Other information my father told me about Mama's family was that they were wealthy political and economical figures in their town. Their father's various entitlements help them establish themselves enough so to send all of Mama and her sisters to college, “What I knew about him was that he sacrificed a lot for his children. Like he sold several cows to fund Lola Blanca's MD course.” As far as land, Mama did have a farm like Tata did. It was a farm in the province where the family hid during the war. It was beside an irrigation canal. My dad remembers taking dips in that irrigation canal despite his mother's objections. There was a large house on the farm and a tenant live there who, in agreement, would supply Mama's family with rice. Eventually Mama's brother dipped their hands into the arrangement and her family progressively received less rice. “Her brother reckoned that since we were rich by their standards, the rice will benefit them more. Anyway, we recently sold that farm and we got some money.” and that was it. My father wouldn’t say much more because Mama wouldn’t tell him anymore. I guess they just left it at that. Dad didn’t really mention much about Mama's history, mostly likely because Mama had maintained her wealth and strong family relations within her area until moving to Manila and meeting Silverio. When I was a little younger than I am now, I remember my dad would tell me that Mama actually a lot richer than Tata when they had first met. I guess the discussion of migration and land was short-lived on Mama's side; unlike her husband she made a livelihood not working with the land like farming, but taking the land through their

father's business skills. That was the truth and in that context, there really isn’t much else to discuss about Mama's history. Not what I was expecting... but well, that answers my question of my [paternal] family's relation to land, I thought in rumination to all of this. Though, its quite a complexity to wrap my head around my grandfather's relation (or rather deteriorated relation) to land. He wasn't necessarily uprooted and thus suffered a sort of trauma as he became older leading to an ability to relate to land. Rather, the economic necessity for him to provide for his family and for himself, led him to migrate to the an urban environment and use their opportunities. Having basically completely disconnected himself from his farm history, he personally transplanted himself for the urban mindset that is disconnected from nature. *** We moved to America when I was in 3 grade, so around 10 years old. I particularly remember the day rd

my parents told me we were moving to America. My dad had gone ahead to start on the legalization process, establish a household, a flow of income, and familiarity (with the help of a majority of his family who was already living in America). My mom, my two older brothers and I came later. I remember the couple of years I spent growing up without my dad. We never really felt separated because we knew that we would be reunited in the end. Thinking about it now, I remembering reading Tata's autobiography about the part of him briefly growing up without a father and I thought, “Oh wow I didn’t know that could run in the family too.” It may seem as though we didn’t necessarily had to move. During the time Tata owned all those properties and even after, My mother was a successful accountant for the national bank, BPI (Bank of the Philippine Islands). My father though, once owned a very strong buko (young coconut) factory. His wealthy background helped him start the business but his MBA (which my mother also has) helped him keep managing it. Our family wealth took a drastic turn when Tata decided to build a hotel. I remember when Tata had completed the hotel. It was a gorgeous building at least 15 stories high complete with a pool and on-call service. I don’t remember much but I remember envisioning a tall building and its foyer lit up with a powerful golden glow. The staff was friendly to us, as they knew we were family to

their boss, the owner. In its first couple of days, our family interacted with it often; meeting there for celebrations or just a place to come together. Though, I would see guest on occasion. But slowly, as I grew up, I realized the presence of the hotel was not a good thing; hotel basically liquidated all of the Aquino family assets. Very few of Tara’s children, my father being one of them, opposed the construction and management of the hotel. The hotel never kept up and the developments around the hotel started to overshadow it. It was because of the hotel my Tata sold all his properties for millions. The hotel was also another reason my father's buco factory shut down; father sold all of his trucks losing half a million pesos. Even his wife, Mama, never really supported the hotel. “You know that saying 'a fool and his money are soon parted? That’s Tata.” The failure of the hotel and closure of my father's buko factory were other reasons my parents decided to migrate to the United States. My father and mother take pride in their MBA degrees because it helps them see through the lens of money and possibilities. Aside from knowing that because of the fall of the Aquino empire (as my mother and I jokingly title it), it would be difficult to give the family the best of the best. My father and mother had already some established relatives in the United States, so they decided migration was the best option. Mostly what my parents say is that we moved for the opportunities and the ability to lead a healthier (non-air-polluted) lifestyle, “Yeah. Basically those two. All just for you. You'll be established here because you're young. You'll adapt.” When discussing the Philippines, my father always reminds us that it's corrupted. That anything would never work out, “I thought the Philippines will change. It will not change. Not for the next generation.” It saddens me to understand this quote as the reality of the situation in my homeland. That my parents knew this early on when I was very young that the corruption and dishonesty wouldn’t provide me with ample opportunities. He never really explained what kind of corruption, but I figured of the usual kind: politicians, police, industries, etc... Around this time last year, my father almost sealed a hundred-thousand dollar contract with his company and a collective of elementary schools in the Philippines to provide some few hundred satellites for their schools. The deal didn’t work our because neither party felt strong about the plan. I wondered if that was another of example of the Philippines not willing to advance, to change. I asked my mother what

she thought of my father's corruption monologues, “Even if its corrupt, it doesn’t affect us! Its only corrupt for the politicians and businessmen. If he does business there, he will be affected, If you just go home and visit, or work for something, you wont be affected by the corruption.” *** In comparison to my father's parents, I thought maybe my mother's slight mixed heritage would prove more uplifting of a story towards my family's relation to land and with land that we grew up with. My grandfather, Willington “Grandpa” Alvarez grew up in Batangas. His father, Lolo Pedring was a sea-captain, so he traveled often but settled in Batangas. This was during the time of WWII; even with their settlement they have to migrate constantly, “the war is the one that displaced them. [They were] trying to escape.” Because they were consistently displaced by war, my mother explained that migration to them (and disconnection to land) was second-nature. Those were turbulent years in their family's history that they prefer not to talk about them. It was also around that period Grandpa had lost his little brother while actively trying to escape. Grandpa's great grandparents had migrated from Spain, most likely because of how Spain came to conquer the Philippines and rule it for 400 years. The location where he was born, Zamboanga, “was a bastion of Latin civilization in the Philippines”. Although, he was just born there and mostly grew up in Batangas. Grandpa knew his Spanish heritage help carry him throughout his life – he was mestizo, tall, aquiline nose and dark brown hair – and he does enjoy aspects of his heritage, “like taking siesta, having separate slippers and footwear for the house and outside the house, eating late dinners, cooking food the Spanish way – with lots and lots of tomatoes, and others that slipped my memory.” Despite my Grandfather's pride in his Spanish heritage, his deep assimilation into Philippine culture and lifestyle had disconnected him from his ethnic homeland. He has showed no interest in meeting his extended relatives nor visiting Spain. For inherited or family owned land, Grandpa was left with some but its not very interesting; it has been developed to host 7 average houses all up for rent. As for my grandmother, Lourdes “Grandma” Tinio Velasco, “They were more of the Chinese race which was not unusual as most Filipinos had ancestors who came all the way from China to migrate to the

Philippines. So they felt nothing different [towards migration]. Just that they were light skinned, oriental yellow though and made them attractive to look at.” Grandma lived a more urban way of life than Grandpa so she didn’t have land nor did she grow to be interested in acquiring it. Although her mother, my mother's 'Grandma Lulu' was from a rich family in Nueva Ecija, her inheritance was left elsewhere and that include land. The 'urbanite' (as my mother puts it) attitude and lifestyle of both my grandparents has disconnected their interest in pursuing land ownership and returning to their family roots. Having kids and wanting to provide for them all the world can offer made them understand that America was the place to be. At one point, my grandparents were already in America, ready to petition their children to come live with them. The process took too long and before they knew it, it was too late; their children were past the age of 21 and my mother was already married. The dream of living in America with the complete family was starting run thin and with the birth of Allen (my older brother), their first grandchild, there was a solidified reason to go home. I sometimes wonder if my grandparent's knew that their affinity (Grandpa's sister was in America before he went there and Grandma was a frequent visitor) would affect their lives. Both were smart individuals. I'm proud to say that despite the turbulence they've faced in their lives (I forgot to mention that Grandma's mom died when she was very young so her elder sister asserted the mother role), they’ve come back to obtaining an education, as a means of bringing stability and a foundation to their lives. When the migratory turmoil was over and Grandpa was able to finish school, he attended Far East University where my Grandma happened to be working as a cashier. One day Grandpa was in-line waiting for pay for his tuition, “Ayon, na attract [What else is there? He became attracted]. The rest is history... The rest is you and me.” *** At a certain point, I had a really difficult time writing this. I felt overwhelmed with all the ideas and stories I wanted to express and needed to address for the research paper. I started to feel guilty that I couldn’t handle this project on my own management, that if I had done this research paper at home with my family, I probably would’ve been more capable of finishing properly. I started to get homesick.

So I called my parents and told them about the frustrating rut I'm in. Its turns out all I really needed was to talk to them and hear their voice. I also really needed it because the interview material I ended up doing during the times I called them were exactly the right kind of material I needed. When I asked my parents separately why they didn’t feel the importance to maintain land or a geographical connection in the Philippines – specifically the land we use to own, the land we made memories on – both gave similar responses in that they didn’t understand why I would ask such a question. I knew I kind of fooled myself with why I even asked that question, In the first place, the land meant absolutely nothing to my family's heritage, on either of my family's side. Tata bought the land to brag and he never emphasized for his family to visit and stay connected with his own geographical history. Mama never really wanted to claim that farmland. Grandpa and Grandma and Grandpa never really inherited land. But their conclusions we're mostly that migration is about moving forward; owning land in a place you have no more ties with and are unable to develop ties with doesn’t really make sense. Mom: When you’re talking about migration, its important to own land to a country you’re migrating to, not from. Dad: Eh... Ewan ko [I dont know] It doesnt make sense. Why would you migrate back? You migrate forward? Isn’t that the point of migration?I would buy a house/land in a place I've never been. Why would I buy a house in somewhere I’ve been? Well, yeah. I thought to myself, that definitely make sense. I might've compared what I wanted to get out of this research more along the lines of The Lemon Tree and Homebound since both are strong in expressing the complex relationship of being connected to land. In Homebound, Espiritu explains that part of the Filipino transnational identity is understanding the world as a bigger economical power. They understand that migration to where prosperity can be obtained both for the self and for the family generations to come, then that’s where you need to be; “The Filipino migrants whom I interviewed in San Diego are no different. They certainly “vote

with their feet,” not only against economic and political repression, but also against the suppression of their wants and desires.” (Espiritu 36). As simple and blatant as that is, its true. You move because you need to. (maybe insert brief family story examples of relatives who moved because they needed to?) I wasn’t quite being clear with myself once I realized their answers. The stories of Bashir and Dahlia in The Lemon Tree are quite different from a Filipino transnational identity. Bashir was uprooted from his home and his ancestors because through Zionism, Dahlia's jewish heritage claimed the scared land of Palestine was actually the holy land of Israel, a land that was rightful theirs for over ten thousand years. I guess I had romanticized that maybe my parents would claim some kind of powerful desire for return like Bashir or that we would claim rightful ownership of some land in the Philippines, like Dahlia. Through my program in the Evergreen State College, I learned that a large part of feeling so strong connected to land, so strong that you would die for it, was in part the land being your only source of life. No one in my family are really 'indigenous' in that aspect so that answered a question. Yes, my great grandfather was a farmer and so was his son Silverio but Silverio's farm identity didnt last long when he moved to the city to become a lawyer. Aside from that part of my family history, no one really had that kind of connection to land the way the indigenous do. I also understood this in terms of spirituality and religion. Part of being connected to land so passionately was to have a sense of animism. Through colonialism, the Spaniards and Americans have applied western religion onto the Filipinos. They didn’t fight it because, they didn’t really have a religion before so they kind of just went along with it as silly as that sounds. They started to understand that the earth and its bountiful resources were merely gifts from God to use and enjoy, not so much conserve and live alongside. Not to say I despise my family for not being treehuggers, but it is quite unfortunate since the Philippines is a beautiful place. I would hate to see it succumb to ruin by industrialization and cultural neglect. I tried to reword my question to ask them why didn’t it matter that they owned a land in a place of their heritage Their responses were similar in that they only had emotional ties to the country.

Mom: You usually go back to a place because of emotional ties. I would go back to Grandma and Grandpa and Ninong. Aside from that? Nothing. Dad: I have no more ties because most relatives are here in America, or if not dead. Most of the closer [extended] family are here. This was true. A majority of my family, on both my mother's and father's side, are either currently residing in the United States or are deceased. I've come to the conclusion that within my own family, there is no real reason to go back to the Philippines aside for family visitation (my mother's family still lives in the Philippines), vacation or as my mother put it, curiosity. Curiosity about the past, about my family and curiosity about my cultural heritage. The truth is, I was curious. I still am. I feel as though I didn’t really get to know my country enough to leave it properly. I didn’t necessarily leave at a very young age but the age of ten is the prime age to really digest information in a larger context. Yes, we traveled as much as we could around and I was a good student when it came to Philippine History and Tagalog language class but that didn’t necessarily mean I knew my country and what it meant to be Filipino. In some part of my interview my mom said, “think of land, as something that you’re only holding for, for a reason.” I guess I've finally translated the strange feelings I've had about the Philippines; I do want to go back. All of my childhood memories where in my homeland. I don’t desire to relive them, but I would visit them, as one would of an old house abandoned. I'm not sure yet if permanently (probably not) but for now, I would be nice to stay for a while, visit Road 14, explore parts of the country I've never seen before, eat what I remembered I loved to eat and maybe learn aspects of The Philippines I wouldn’t have thought of learning then (such as its environmentalism efforts). My parents lived their whole lives in the Philippines and here I was 19 in some far corner of the United States, yearning passionately for what was a brief memory in comparison to their homeland experience. I asked my parents if they wanted to go back.

Dad: kumbaga sakwa [When it comes down to it], we're here now. That is the past. Kwan, the Philippines is not a nice place to live in. There is corruption, pollution, etc... there’s a lot of screw up in a Third World Country. Mom: Your dad just has bad memories. Because they’re always fighting with Tata [and his family]. While me, I had good memories. I want to go back. I couldn’t help but chuckle at the differences in their responses. *** At a family party long ago, I once had someone tell me, “Only the poor [Filipinos] come to America because the rich are smart enough to stay.” I remember laughing upon hearing it. I must've understood it different then because when I think about it now, I don’t find it very funny. I decided I'd ask my parents their take on the quote. Dad: That’s not true. That’s not true at all. In fact, the poor cannot to go America. They only way they can go to America is if they are petitioned or are direct relatives of US Military personnel. The rich or educated middle-class come because they have a work visa, like us, or have money to invest. Mom: If you're well off in the Philippines, you wont come here if you know life is hard here. Its more of comfort zone. They know if you're here theres no comfort zone, you'll have to work hard, they have maids, yayas, drivers, etc... but here you'll really have to start from scratch. They don’t want to take the challenge. Their responses were quite interesting in that they kind of covered both push-and-pull factors of the quote, in terms of migration. On one hand, a pull factor would be that the rich staying where they are because they're comfortable; if they migrated they would be aware that they will not have the same standard of living as they currently do. They know the money (and ability to provide for their children and children's children) would be specifically beneficial without relocation. On the other, the push factor is that the poor are struggling and are unable to find opportunities. The current economy of the Philippines (and most likely

various other reasons) is not working for them so they desire to obtain better lives for themselves and for their children; so America they dream of. I don’t necessarily they are dirt poor (as my father believes because legal documentation is not cheap) but in that, unlike the rich who are pulled to stay, their uncomfortable position in the system pushes themselves to migrate. My mother then went on to give me an example of her point through my Ate Vik-Vik. “Usually the ones who take the challenge are the younger ones. The younger rich.” Ate Vik-Vik is my second cousin; Her grandmother is my grandfather's sister and her mother is my mom's first cousin. I hadn’t realized how wealthy she was until my mother had told me. Apparently, Ate Vik-Vik was wealthy due to her success as a dentist as well as through her father's support. Her family are actual Philippine millionaires (island ownership and all) and her father was greatly disappointed when he learned that Ate Vik-Vik was moving to America. “She wanted to leave, she was uncomfortable.” He screamed at her that he had given her everything so how could she possibly desire migrating to America permanently. “She knows there’s a challenge but she doesn’t know how to fill I; she wanted more so she left.” *** My dad was right when he said, “The decision to migrate requires a multi-generational perspective. You would have to imagine your children, their children, their children’s children, all the way towards several generations and see what life would be for them when you migrate and when you do not migrate.” Through analyzing my family research I've come to see that my grandparents (and their parents) left what they had to pursue a lifestyle that was better able to provide for their children. “All Filipinos are smart people. They go where the money is. If you look, where is the money? That’s where the Filipinos are. Nasan and manga pilipinos? [where are the filipinos?] Wala sa Tennessee, Idaho, Nebraska... walang pera jan, walang pera yung mahirap so bakit sila pupunta jan? [There arent any in Tennessee, Idaho, Nebraska... there is no money there. They poor there dont even have money so why would they go there? ” I knew that there were Filipinos in those states, but most likely established ones (or those who have family established there). Im grateful that his experiences has given me the change to learn about the economy of the Philippine's and its strong political

relations with America. Maybe one day the economy of the Philippines will be centralized and self-sustaining enough that it wouldnt have to depend on the masses of OCW to bring in revenue. Maybe then, the Filipino mindset wouldnt have to be so dependent on deciding a livelihood on where the money is because their own country provides just as good of opportunities as any other overseas super power. I'd like to dream that my home country will one day be independent, maybe one day be a super power on its own because it's people are powerful themselves. But it will be a long time from now, as many traces of post-colonialism still linger (and continue to linger) within the Philippines and its people. In some part of my interview my mom said, “think of land, as something that you're only holding to, for a reason.” I set out on this written journey hoping to discover something fascinating about the physical land I was biologically connected to; but what I discovered was that the connection we've built with a place last through each other as humans, and not in the location. Through cuisine, traditions, practices, heirlooms, and oral histories, displace/transplanted/migrated individuals are able to retain their sense of identity without necessitating the traditional location. The transnational identities of Filipino’s have taught me that Filipinos have been thinking globally for hundreds of years. There are humble communities all over the world and they continue to thrive. The world is continuously evolving and intensifying relations with countries and its people. As one who desires to travel to distant lands and hopefully live there for long periods of time, it is important I do not forget who I am and where I came from. As much as I would prefer to consider myself a global citizen and that I belong to no country, I am proud of the perseverance and positivity my family and Filipino people have maintained all these years without completely giving up who they are. I've become passionately inspired by my people's resilience in establishing themselves in any part of the world – if they can do it, so can I. I have definitely found a new sense of nationalism within myself, something I did hope to gain through this process. Although, it's manifested into a kind of split nationalism; one for the country of my birth – that gave me a beautiful childhood and place to always call home – and one for the the current country of my residency, which has given me opportunities and experiences that far exceed what I could have achieved in the

motherland. I am grateful for what both nations have given me, thus I've made sure to identify myself as Filipino-American, but the Filipino always comes first. The respect and admiration I have gained for my family members and m people have brought much happiness and security within myself. There was much ambivalence and uncertainty in place before due to the fact that I just didn’t know enough. I understand now and greatly appreciate the people who have struggled to make my reality the way it is now. My family and my people may not be perfect (rarely do we encounter nations who are conquered twice) but they are my history and they are the reason I am here today. This experience has deepened my sense of gratitude for the individuals in my life, as well as the national history I share with them. Also, being away from a very Filipino dense environment shows you all the things you've taken for granted; such as great food. There is a certain warmth inside that soothes that soul when one is content with their family; they become content with themselves.

BILBIOGRAPHY

Francia, Luis. Brown River, White Ocean: An Anthology of Twentieth-century Philippine Literature in English. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers UP, 1993. Print. Tolan, Sandy. The Lemon Tree: An Arab, a Jew, and the Heart of the Middle East. New York: Bloomsbury Pub., 2006. Print. Espiritu, Yen Le. Home Bound: Filipino American Lives across Cultures, Communities and Countries. Berkeley: University of California, 2003. Aquino, Silverio F. My Story: An Autobiography by Silverio F. Aquino. Manila: Self-Published, 2009. Print. Dolan, Ronald E. Philippines: A Country Study. Washington, D.C.: Federal Research Division, Library of Congress, 1993. Print.