laban

I'm not what you'd call a typical Filipino.

In fact, I tend to distance myself from anything that will make me seem "too Filipino."

Although that may seem quite the contrary to some people who know me (I do realize that I was semi-kinda involved in the Fil-Am community at UCLA and that I've mostly dated Filipinas), it's an issue I've been forced to deal with, given my background and the history of my family here in the States.

You see, my grandfather was the first of my family to immigrate from the Philippines in the 1930s, wherein later he brought my grandmother from the P.I. and had my dad in the 50s. My grandfather, 50 at the time and well assimilated into U.S. culture decided not to teach him our native language. My mother immigrated to the States in 1971, at the age of 14, and never returned to the country until a vacation we took in 2008, 37 years later. She can still speak the language, but given my dad's lack of knowledge of it, it was never passed down to me. By the time I was born and raised, my parents were far removed from the movement that was uprising in the country of their heritage.

So when I read news earlier that Corazon Aquino, the head of the "People Power Movement" that ousted a dictator and restored democracy to the Philippines in the 1980s, I'll have to admit, I had no idea what exactly every Filipino I know on twitter was talking about. It was the first I've ever heard her name.



Now, you see, many people I know who are of Filipino descent had parents who immigrated to the United States during this tumultuous time in the country, later having their kids and raising them here in the States. With the civil unrest still fresh on their minds, I'm sure they made sure to raise their kids with a deep appreciation for "Tita Cory" and all that she had done for the country.

Not me, however. Like I mentioned earlier, being far-removed from the political uprisings and the regime changes, my parents were not directly affected by all of this, and therefore never taught me or informed me of the significance of these events, of the struggle. So how could I truly appreciate it?

The same could be said about knowing the language. Many 2nd generation Filipinos my age have had some sort of exposure to our language in the home, and if they don't speak it already, at least understand enough to know what someone is saying. Me? Quite the contrary. You're looking at a 3rd generation baby right here, if it wasn't spoken to my dad in the home, why would it be spoken to me?

I'm not mad at my parents for any of this. Things like this are truly out of our control, and I hold no qualms against anyone on the issue. But I'm not going to pretend like it hasn't caused me at least some trouble while growing up.

Too many times, I've felt like I was never "Filipino enough" when around people who shared my heritage. I was always out of the loop when my Filipino friends would emulate a perfect Filipino accent or talk about karaoke at family parties (something I only really started experiencing after my parents purchased a magic mic). I was often criticized as being a "coconut," (brown on the outside, white on the inside) because of the fact that I didn't know the language (oh so many jokes I will never understand), and it's caused me some trouble in the dating world too (funny stories on that, if you really wanna know). Not being completely in tune with my heritage had led to a general uncomfortableness I felt when I was surrounded by too many Filipinos, an uncomfortableness that was so strong for my cousin as well that she once told me she felt more comfortable around the Black student group than she did with the Filipino one at her college.

I've since gotten over the uncomfortableness, because really, it's not a big issue. It sucked that I was reminded of my lack of cultural heritage knowledge consistently, but having grown up now I see that I shouldn't let it bother me. I'm not one of those people who will join every Fil-Am organization out there just because I'm Filipino in an attempt to compensate for my 'lack of culture' (because really, how can we celebrate diversity by joining a group where everyone comes from the same background?) I choose not to. I normally like to turn a blind eye towards race in general, especially in a world with the first Black U.S. president (though the media should really stop pointing out that fact if we truly want to improve 'race relations.' I have my own opinions on the Henry Louis Gates Jr./Cambridge Police debacle too...but I'll only delve into that if you wanna ask).

And so you now see why I am annoyed, almost offended, when people try to argue that any mistreatment of them is "because I'm brown" or "because I'm Filipino." Stop it. Get over yourself. Get out of your bubble and open your eyes to the fact that there actually are other cultures in the world. You're free to have as much national pride as you'd like, but in saying those things, you are only being a racist yourself. And do you really want to flaunt this truly self-defeating attitude?

And so I say, rest in peace, Corazon Aquino. I understand and realize your contributions to the Philippines and the world, but unfortunately, I will never truly appreciate it as much as many others who share my heritage.

"Oh they're Raider fans? They must be cholos. I mean Mexican. I don't know. I couldn't think of a better word."
-JS

I don't normally like to pigeon-hole my posts to be significant to only one particular group of people, but I'm sure there are some of you out there from different backgrounds who can relate.

indiana jones and the hotel of doom pt. 2

Hey, remember last summer, when I blogged about the "hotel of doom," the Ryugyong Hotel in North Korea? To sum it up, the 105 story building (the World Trade Center was 110 stories, to give perspective) was originally planned to be built in 1989, and would've housed 3,000 hotel rooms, 7 revolving restaurants, and a number of night clubs and casinos. Unfortunately, the country simply ran out of money to continue construction. Even more unfortunate was the fact that it was cheaper to leave the building standing as opposed to tearing it down, so instead they left its empty concrete shell standing for the next 21 or so years, looking something like this:

The building was originally planned to be built out of spite and jealousy towards South Korea, where Seoul had been chosen to host the 1988 Olympics. Clearly, their "me-too!" attitude fell short, and as a result, you have this garguntuan concrete testament of what never was standing over the North Korean capital.

However, in April 2008, some nice construction company named Orascom decided to take on this project, and planned to finally finish construction by 2012. You see, this particular company is responsible for the construction of the Burj Dubai, what would be world's tallest building at bout 800 meters high (that's about 2,600 feet tall, or about half a mile). So, in late 2008, they even started putting windows up:


ehhhh. it kinda looks prettier.

But don't take my word for it.

"I'm just trying to break the Asian-American stereotype. We're not all doctors and lawyers. I'm a car mechanic, I don't own a dry cleaners and I'm not a ninja."
-KK

"You've heard the expression 'Let's get busy'? Well, this is a dog who gets biz-ay; consistently and thoroughly."

Yes, I realize I've been rather taciturn when it's come to blogging this summer, but be fair, folks. I've been biz-ay (consistently and thoroughly). Coming on here to actually write something (and these posts take time!) has been difficult, especially now since I disseminate most of my random quips, anecdotes and news links through the evil that is known as twitter (and thus, why I also changed my layout. whatdya all think?) Time hasn't been on my side the past few weeks, mostly because I've been inundated with this stuff:

No, no, not collector beer glasses. GIS. Geographic Information Systems.

I've been studying this stuff day-in and day-out for the past month, and according to this nifty countdown igoogle widget I installed earlier, as of this moment, I still have 34 days, 11 hours, 4 minutes, and 31 seconds before the end of the program. It's all good though. For the first time since I started college (and this saying alot), I finally feel like I'm learning something practical enough to put into practice in the workplace (and I got to attend the Environmental Systems Research Institute (ESRI) International GIS Users Conference! Now doesn't that sound big and important??) And rather than try and explain what it is I'm learning, I'll just show you:



Yes, essentially what it comes down to is that I'm learning this fancy schmancy program that teaches me to digitally create maps (and I do realize that the last map was a 'Master Plan of the North Pole,' with Santa's workshop and all)

"Mapping? But hasn't the whole world been mapped already?"

Excuse me for a second while I shake my head and ignore the fact that you probably just asked the worst question you could ever ask someone in my field. I'll only say this once: it's not only places that are mapped. Vegetation, urban areas, demographics, density, hell, even cell phone coverage for you kids and your 3G capable smartphones are constantly changing. And what better way to keep track of all these changes except through a map? Somebody's gotta keep track of changing demographics through census data, somebody's gotta update a map if a new skyscraper is built downtown, someone analyzes subway ridership per stop through (you guessed it) a map, and somebody's gotta draw out those guide maps in all those malls (a simplified use of the program, but hey, it still needs to be done).

And so hopefully, within the next 34 days, 10 hours, 45 minutes, and 53 seconds, I'll be able to master all these skills. Considering I'm still unemployed, I've sorta put all my bets in on this program.

Wish me luck!

"the erotic museum...must be a cultural gem around here"
-AR

homeslice

I always say I never consider a place called home until I hang my dogs playing poker portrait. And, looking through old pictures from the past 10 years, I see that it actually has rung true. From the moment I purchased the iconic framed picture, it has followed me wherever I find a place to sleep and settle in. For example, here it is in Hayward:

My place on Landfair:

My summer dorm at Rieber Terrace:

My apartment at Veteran:

And finally, at my apartment here in riverside


And so it had me thinking, what is this concept of ‘home?’ I’m no stranger to uprooting myself. My parents moved out of the home I had grown up in right before I started high school and moved out of the region I grew up in my third year in college, leaving me with a floor to sleep on and nowhere to place my shit. Some people say home is where your stuff is, but my stuff has been traveling all over the country and is in 3 difference places at the moment, so I’m not sure what to make of that.

And given that I’d been in college since 2004 (and still taking classes, even after receiving that coveted Bachelor’s degree), where everything is temporary (I blogged about it before), you can see that I’ve had my share of different living situations in the past 5 years. So it had me thinking, what is home for us? I hate to quote a movie like Garden State, starring professional overly sensitive pansy Zach Braff (I still love you in Scrubs!), but there comes a point in everyone’s life where the house you grew up in is no longer your home.

It’s true, leaving home for the first time is sort of a rite of passage, a challenge, a journey for you to grow and thrive and strive to create a sense of home and accomplishment for yourself. And sure, some of us are successful in doing so and may never come back to the place we once called home. Others may eventually go back to the place they left behind to re-establish ties or mend familial and financial obligations or simply to hide away from the real world, sometimes out of choice, other times not.

In the past month, I’ve passed by and visited various places I’ve once called home: Union City, Hayward, Sproul Hall, Rieber Hall, 690 Veteran, Chicago…and it was upon passing these places that I realized that these places were home for me sometime in the past, at a different stage of my life…but no more. And it’s not just cause I sleep on the floor now whenever I visit my family or that I haven’t really settled down somewhere in months, but I’m constantly reminded that unfortunately, I’ve moved on with my life, and so has the rest of the world (totally an overrated concept, by the way).

But that’s the essence of life, right? Change. Sometimes it’s a good thing, it’s something we can believe it. But a lot of times as well it sucks. If something works, why change it, if you’re happy the way you are, why mess with it? I’ve witnessed enough ends of a lot of eras for a lot of people in the past few months to leave me homesick for a place that doesn’t exist anymore.

And so I say this: change is inevitable. Home is a concept, not a place, and it’s up to us to determine whether or not we can accept that.

Your thoughts?

Wow, two completely serious posts in a row. How self-absorbed. Don’t worry folks, I’ll be back to my strange and semi-interesting self when I find the time.

"I came to Haight so I could buy something hip...and I ended up getting something from the GAP"
-AS