iamasiam

Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes

“Turn and face the strain”, goes the 70’s Bowie hit about self-reinvention. ^[1] You get a pre-coffee jolt this morning when your visiting grand daughter asks you about that that red-eyed, mullet-frocked, tie-dyed image that your kind old “friend” drunk-posted  in Facebook one night.  (It’s not that bad of a shot, really—minus of course that background object in the likeness of a bong.)

Now that you are Fox-News-following, Sunday-service-attending, Wall-Street-investing, Hair-Club-concealing grown-up, you sigh in relief—perhaps, in disbelief—at how much you’ve come round.   You take that first gulp of coffee and stare down that snoopy nerd across the dining table: “It was a Halloween costume party, Sweetheart!”

It has been a long, arduous and oft-times circuitous forty years to get to where you are now. Taken to an emergency text message, your grand inquisitor swiftly drops the subject.  Taken to the thought of a more truthful answer, you also wonder where the next decades will bring you?  You shun immediate thoughts of hip replacement, Pampers and Poligrip. A careless, fun-loving, starry-eyed youth then comes to mind.

Writes John Thierny in his recent article in the NY Times, research suggests many of us tend to play down future changes in our personality and tastes. ^[2] Back to the seventies, you think.  “Now, how do you erase images in Facebook?” you interrupt the tech guru from her annoying iPhone thumb tapping.

^[1] facebook.com/davidbowie
^[2] John Thierny, “Why You Won’t Be the Person You Expect to Be”, The New York Times, Jan. 3, 2013

Target: Tagalog-Speaking Witnesses for Jehovah

Emerging from a church basement thrift shop with my prized haul, I notice a van just pulling up behind my car.  More bargain hunters, I thought.  As I am about to pull out, an African-American lady’s face bobs down smiling at me through my right front window.  Lost?  Asking for directions?  Do I know this woman?  I lower my window.  Vivian introduces herself in perfect metropolitan Tagalog ^[1].

I respond in the vernacular, challenging her into a light conversation.  She holds her own.  Sans good practice, I am ready to clutch on to my own to clarify a few things I am unsure of:  How does she know the language?  How does she know I would respond?  Where are we going with this?

Before I could speak further, she reaches deep into her handbag for a clasp of printed material.  Oh, now I get it.  We’re in front of her church.  She’s inviting me to her congregation—for a donation, perhaps.  I glance at the clock and brace for an excuse to go along my way.  She realizes my intention and hands me two magazine publications from Jehovah’s Witnesses ^[2].  And, yes, all the text is in Tagalog.  I revert to English to say goodbye, thank you and good luck.

I’m both amused and puzzled by this exchange.  How sophisticated is the marketing effort of this church to recognize the right audience for their very specific target market?  As I pull out from my parking spot, I glance at my rear view mirror.  Stepping back into her van, Vivian has started chatting with her companion, a Filipino woman.

Now, how do I know she’s Filipino?

^[1] omniglot.com
^[2] jw.org

Racial Amnesia (And Reminders)

My other half confesses forgetting sometimes what my race is.  I must admit I myself lose sight of the fact that my eye slant, bone structure and skin color shout “Asian” in its entire splendor.  Good or bad?  I guess it depends.

Needless to say, I’m proud of my racial, cultural and historical background.  And, yet, sometimes I feel warm and fuzzy just being lost in a crowd of sorts, as when everyone around you screams his or her own unique individuality and yet meld altogether in this grand mosaic of humanity.  (Okay, so I’m walking around Grand Central Terminal contemplating grand thoughts.  And, no, I don’t smoke weed!)

On a day-to-day basis, I do get such bursts of a moment, and I love it.  Luckily, I live and work in quite a racially diverse neighborhood.  Elsewhere however—well, let me put it this way—such bursts sometimes take on a lighter flavor.

***

Seated by the window in a tourist bus that slows down in a very rural town in Ireland, this attentive tourist becomes both the observer and the observed.  A little boy caught this distinct face glaring out from that window, quickly recreates a classic Bruce Lee stance for my observing pleasure.  “Hiyaah!”

***

At a Bangkok street corner, a petite young Thai lady offers her assistance.  This distressed tourist couple obviously finds much difficulty in deciphering the local tourist site directions.  Ignoring me, the Thai lady first starts talking to the “White One” in her difficult but passable English.  Once I speak in turn without the Thai accent, her face turns to me, brightens up in apparent awe and amusement, and exclaims, “Oh, I thought you Thai people.”

Celebrating Independence

Last June the 3rd, several hundreds gathered at South Madison Avenue in NYC to participate in the annual festivities commemorating 114 years of Philippine independence from Spanish colonial rule. ^[1]

Having attended the event a few years ago, I remember but a sprinkling of mostly bland floats, haphazardly or disingenuously put together by banks, money-transfer outfits, law firms and handful of other bland industry sponsors. Regardless, this year’s celebration was reported to be the largest. ^[2] And, based on the little press coverage it garnered, it was thought to be more colorful and festive that what I recollect.  Too bad, I missed it!

However, Grand Central Terminal, itself a daily hub of many tongues, was teeming with commuters of familiar Philippine dialects.  A couple of times, I turned my head, silly me, to see if it was somebody I knew.  Hey, you never know!  For one thing, I was on my way to meet a handful of former co-workers, friends from the distant past and the distant land.  It was a mini reunion of sorts.

Brunch happened a distant 50-something blocks north of the Philippine festivities.  The fare was Italian but the talk was nostalgically Filipino, with familiar gossip replayed over again since past reunions. The get-together was both endearing and reassuring. 

Endearing, because I missed my friends and the good old times when we were all together.  Good, fun-loving, genuine people!

Reassuring, because the gathering took me to pause and reflect on my personal journey towards my own independence as an individual.  Not just from the past, but from the bland molds of expectations that my family, culture and religion have imposed on me over the years.  Thank god, it doesn’t take 114 years to come out of such shackles.

^[1] http://www.pidci.org/june-03-main-events

^[2] http://www.myfoxny.com/story/18688617/philippine-independence-day-celebration-in-nyc

He's Got a Thing

He’s Hanni El Khatib, a young musician whose song was featured recently in a Nike commercial.  His thing of course is his music, but not only that. He has a background that helps bond his talent and musical persona. An NPR article about him offers this description of him: ^[1]

A first-generation American of Palestinian and Filipino descent, El Khatib was raised in San Francisco during the emergence of skateboard culture. Despite his international background, he says he grew up listening to classic Americana music, '60s soul, surf, doo-wop and British Invasion rock.

Jon Caramanica of the New York Times writes of his talent: ^[2]

But while this music sounds as if it were pasted together with spit and glue, really it’s far more contained and considered.

That’s American spit and glue, Mr. Caramanica, and that’s what ought to bind anyone else with such a multi-cultural background and unbridled talent.

^[1] npr.com
^[2] Jon Caramanica, “Songs of Abandon, Love and Everday”, The New York Times, Oct. 14, 2011

Inside, Looking Out

On the way back from Zuccoti Park^[1] this weekend, care to check out two plays currently in preview?  I know art is a luxury for us 99’ers nowadays.  But if you do manage to see either of these, I’m curious about what the odds are that each would enlighten views from the other side?  One percent?

“Asuncion”^[2] is about a couple of friends whose liberal views are challenged when a Filipino woman moves in with them.  Jesse Eisenberg, famous for his role in “The Social Network”, is the playwright and one of the actors.

“Chinglish”^[3] by David Henry Hwang, Tony award-winning playwright (M. Butterfly), traces similar cross-cultural challenges, this time from the perspective of a businessman traveling to China.

 

 

^[1] scribd.com
^[2] rattlestick.org
^[3] cherrylanetheater.org

The Most Typical Vs. Desired Face in the World

Twenty-eight years old, Male, and Chinese.  That’s the profile of the most typical person in the world according to research from the National Geographic Magazine.  Of course, it’s also nice of them to render a composite image of that person’s face based on thousands of photographs. ^[1]

As Arte Johnson would exclaim, “Very interesting!”  Even more interesting perhaps would be a composite of what the most aspired face in this planet might be.  Of course, the cop-out would be, “It depends.”  But, let’s stretch our imagination here for a second.  And, feel free leaping to the similarly sensational conclusions as the publication has done.  If you can change your face, what will that face look like? 

Many have taken this interest to greater—and more serious—lengths, altering their own face via cosmetic surgery.  According to the New York Times, having the extreme makeover is highly in demand especially among the immigrant communities here.  The motive varies but assimilation seems to be the pervading theme, the need to look “more American”. ^[2]

Very interesting, indeed!

^[1] Liz Goodman, “The Most Typical Face in the Planet”, The Lookout, Yahoo! News, Mar. 3, 2011
^[2] Sam Dolnick, “Ethnic Differences Emerge in Plastic Surgery”, The New York Times, Feb. 18, 2011

 

American Adobo. Which One?

“Really, that’s it”, Sam Sifton exclaims how simple it is to make chicken adobo.  One caveat:  it’s just one version of the national dish of the Philippines.  “This is adobo,” he writes, “Every man an island.” ^[1]

I myself have never tried the variation offered in Mr. Sifton’s article, which is courtesy of Purple Yam ^[2], so off to the kitchen I went to give it a shot.  At my first attempt, I wasn’t really sure that the ingredient measurements were correct.  Tasting the brew while it simmered, I thought it was too vinegary.  Still, I decided to stick strictly to the recipe, to such surprising results.  Ang sarap!

Every man an island?  True.  A friend’s mom added Chivas Regal—no other whisky brand will do.  I for one once served a version that called for shrimp fry, to the dismay of my non-Filipino guests at the table. “Aw, the poor little baby shrimps.”  When my mom cooked adobo, it seemed like she was winging it each time.  None of those cook book standard measurements, oh no!  Still, each dish came out of her kitchen as a precise success.

Now, why did this magazine article prompt me to watch a film entitled “American Adobo”? ^[3] The story was about five Filipino-American friends searching for new meaning in life.  Silly at times, the movie evoked unintended laugh-out-loud moments, especially courtesy of one overacting actor.  The intended adobo metaphor seemed lost to me at first.  In the end, I admit, the movie still resonated with me, the same way Mr. Sifton’s featured recipe resonated with my palate and stomach.  Ah, the meaning of life!

^[1] Sam Sifton, “The Cheat: The Adobo Experiment”, The New York Times, Jan. 5, 2011
^[2] Purple Yam
^[3] RottenTomatoes.com