GIGI GOES GAGA

JUST BREATHE

It used to be so easy getting up. Literally and figuratively, I mean. Although I'm not yet feeling the pain of arthritis scraping away at my joints, there's already a bit of the ol' dreaded creaking that happens when I have to reposition my body these days. Maybe that's why so many women my age are headed for yoga studios; I really should, too.

But worse than physical inertia is the one that can't be easily felt or seen: the kind that happens within, the one of emotional and mental resistance. It creeps up on you much more insidiously. One day you've convinced yourself that you're fearless because of all the risks you've taken in your life, then the next you find yourself asking more questions before you do, or even giving into your fears.

I think this happens naturally as we get older. After falling down and getting up, and doing that over and over again, it's like arthritis develops and suddenly it hurts doing both. Sometimes we find ourselves holding onto a stable surface much more tightly until our knuckles turn white; other times we're down and find it easier to just sit there for a while longer and catch our breath.

Earlier this year I quit my job to go home, to Manila, and spend time with my parents whom I've been so far away from for more than 25 years. It was like one day I woke up and they were old and much more fragile than I remembered them to be. Both walk with a cane now and often need to hold on to something or someone to keep their balance. Their voices sound weaker, more shaky.

For the past couple of years I've noticed that I've been writing out more and more messages of sympathy to friends and relatives, and I dread the day I start receiving them in return. As my mother emailed me recently, "I want to go out and spend more time with friends but most of them are dead now." None of my friends can imagine being away from their children for even a few weeks or months and -- I don't know why I'd never thought of this before -- maybe it hurt my parents even just a bit that I'd already been away from them for a lifetime.

The reason I was able to just up and leave after all these years is because I'd practically lost everything else in my life. There wasn't much to hold on to so I had to find a way to stay up. In a way I was mourning, deeply. I needed to go home and start again.

For the four months I was home I got to rest and think -- a lot. I decided I needed to come back here and get back on track so I could be self-sufficient and independent, to fight my demons, and to find myself. It was just like why I came here the first time, 26 years ago. I felt like I was going home with my tail between my legs, and it just didn't feel right. I was made of stronger stuff than that.

So now I'm back here, but I've chosen to start again in a brand-new place. It feels right, you know. There's nothing here to remind me of the past; no memories associated with any of the sights, smells, and sounds around me. But at the same time it hurts to be away from my friends and family, and it's scary whenever I realize that I don't know my way around here. I feel completely lost.

Scary is a word I've been saying a lot lately. Try finding a job during a recession, with the unemployment rate averaging about 10 percent. Now try to find one at my age, too. I have to remind myself that I'm still as smart, capable, and resourceful as I ever was -- probably even more so. The past few years, and especially the beating that I've taken, have changed me in ways that I can't possibly describe because I'm still in the thick of things. But I know what's important now, and I'm thankful for what I do have. But, yes, it hurts and I get scared.

So I decided I was going to do whatever scares me, that I wasn't going to let fear be the reason that I walk away. I realize this sounds almost counterintuitive; one would think that I'd be seeking tender shelter instead. But the only way that I can stop being so frightened is to face fear directly and keep pushing it out of the way every time it stares me down. Eventually, I figure, I'll find myself in the clear; I'll look and see that I can stop fighting so hard now, that I can finally exhale.

The other day an acquaintance of mine, a magazine editor, asked if I could help her. She had interviewed a businessman for an article but had run out of time to write it and her deadline was in less than two days. She could send me the audio file, a brief press release his office had issued, and a link to another article recently written about him -- but other than that, I was on my own. Oh, and please make that 1200 words, thanks.

"Are you kidding?" I stared at my computer screen. "There's no way I could do this." Sure, I can type up a blog post in less time than I can make breakfast, but I'd never met the fellow and I'd have to transcribe her interview and do a bit of online research myself. Did I have enough time to commit to the task without panicking and failing?

Sure you do, a voice whispered from some forgotten recess of my brain, you've done this before. And I had, many times in fact, when I was with the Philippine News way back when. I juggled college and full-time newspaper work simultaneously, and I had to find a way to get all my articles in somehow, no excuses. And this was during a time when there was no internet, when I had to find phone numbers in an actual phone book, go to the library if I needed background research, and bang out my story on a typewriter. Yes, I could do this.

And so I did. I submitted my article in less than 24 hours, way before deadline. It felt good, I could still pull something like this off, I still had it within me, and I was no longer scared. Then I exhaled, and took another deep breath.

Now where's that nearest yoga class? Maybe a bit more twisting in unnatural positions will be good for me after all.

NOVEMBER 4, 2008

Looking back at these past two decades, I've learned that you never really move to a new home. You move, rather, to a new place or a new spot and you make a home as it builds up around you.

I've written about this many times before: I wasn't looking for a new home when I came here. I was happy where I was, albeit slightly restless. This was always supposed to be a temporary stop on my way to finding myself because I'd felt lost for too long. My plan was always to get back home, a bit older, wiser, stronger.

Instead, something happened on my way home; I found it somewhere else. I found it here. Somewhere along the way while I was trying to figure out how to navigate around this place, even dark corners began to look a bit more familiar. Strange things finally started to make sense. I went to school, I fell in love (again and again), earned my first paycheck, created a new family of friends, got married and divorced and married again, started a life and started over, fell down and got up, and found myself. I made a life here, one that I chose for myself and that wasn't chosen for me. And I found a life that made sense in this new home.

But all this time, I just happened to be here in America. It's difficult to explain how it feels to live somewhere for a very long time without feeling a sense of ownership; in a way I was simply a renter. But this year I decided to sign the papers and no longer feel that all I had was a month-to-month or year-to-year lease, and I became an American citizen.

And just as I believed more than 20 years ago, being here is not a repudiation of where I was or where I came from; it's just that this is where I can see myself building the kind of life -- the kind of world -- that I dream of. It doesn't mean that I don't miss Manila -- because I do, and maybe too often still. Perhaps it just means that this place is more familiar to me now and where I find it easier to get to where I want to go.

I've never felt this way more than I do tonight. I feel the stirrings of change and the promise of hope -- and the start of a new home, the one that I'll keep making as it continues to build itself around me.

TWO

Almost a quarter-century ago I came to the United States as a Filipino who hadn't really defined herself in terms of race and country. If you had asked me before I came over here to describe myself, I probably would have talked about the cities I was born and lived in, the school that educated me for practically my entire life, my family and friends, my interests and activities.

But when I came here, none of that meant anything to anybody else. Most people I met had no idea where these places were or who these people happened to be. It was almost like being a blank slate: I was a brown face with a bit of a quirky accent, who obviously came from somewhere else. Thus I was usually asked where I was from -- and 99% of the time "where" meant a foreign country. What I learned pretty quickly was that if I wasn't going to define myself, then someone else was going to do it for me.

I've written about this before so I'll make this post fairly brief. Finding myself was the biggest adventure of all, even more challenging and rewarding then starting over in a strange, new land. More so because there's no end to this road, it just keeps going.

I am proud to be American; despite how (negatively) this country is viewed in most of the rest of the world, I've seen it up close and personal, not just in news bits and opinion pages. I know its sins -- but I also know how much it tries to redeem itself and constantly become better. It is not the sum total of Bush's (disastrous) foreign policy, even if many Americans supported him to begin with -- and still do despite everything. In a sense I fit into the spirit of the country, at least the one that I've felt strongly while living here all these many years: we don't get it right all the time, in fact we get it wrong too many times, but we still keep trying. I could be describing myself this way after all.

I am proud to be Filipino. I don't see any contradiction here; because I live in the United States it doesn't have to be an either/or proposition. My soul is deeply Filipino -- something I discovered only by coming to America. I don't say this defensively, that because as a Filipino-American I'm part of the minority and need to prove my worth. I don't say this either as a reaction to some perceived negative connotation that someone else might have about Filipinos or Asians. What others might think or say about us is nothing I can control.

I don't apologize to anyone for being who I am and happily proud of it. To those who might view my recent oath-taking as some form of betrayal of the Philippines and its people, I say they're small-minded. I say the same of those, too, who think that I shouldn't be proud to be anything else but American. I am both -- as well as I am many different things also. I am not only my race or my country; I'm also made up of my beliefs, principles, likes and dislikes -- as well as all the other things that helped define me before I ever came here, as well as after.

In short, I define myself -- no one else can do that for me. I am proudly Filipino-American -- and I'd better be. Because if I'm not proud of who I am, no one else is certainly going to be of me. The only way that I can hold my place here or anywhere else is by knowing it's mine, that I own it. I am Filipino regardless of where I happen to be in this world -- and I choose to live here. This might be a tough concept to grasp for some, but being one doesn't make me less of the other. I happen to think I have the best of both worlds. I also happen to think -- and please forgive me if I appropriate the lyrics of a 1980's dance tune by Stacy Q -- it's like having two hearts that beat as one.

NEW BOXES

The day after I got married I didn't feel any different from the day before, or the day before that. I began noticing differences a bit afterwards, most dramatically in how I was now perceived by everyone else. I used to have a lot of guy friends, for instance, but now they had stopped calling to tell me about their dates, relationships, or even just to say hello. And forget the post-midnight runs for coffee and conversation -- in fact, forget about going out alone with them at all. It just wasn't happening, not because I said so, but because they didn't think my new-husband would appreciate it the slightest.

The other differences were much more subtle, but not less life-altering. It had to do with how I filled out forms (for instance, which boxes I now checked) and how being married affected, say, my taxes. A few years later I realized my priorities had changed as well. None of this happened overnight; I suppose the changes came on so gradually that I still felt like the same person I was when I was single -- even when I was no longer really the same person at all.

Changing my citizenship, I suspect, might almost be the same thing. I've been living in the US for about two decades now, so it's not like I'm expecting dramatic differences in my daily life or in my routines. I still feel like I'm the same person I was before the other day, when I swore allegiance to the American flag. I'm still Filipino -- not merely because I speak the language or love the food or read news about the Philippines daily -- but because it's simply who I am.

But there are differences, and as subtle as they feel they are quite powerful. For one thing, I can vote now (which I can't wait to do). I can sit in a jury and decide someone's fate. I can be called on to fight for this country (let's hope not, simply because I'm a pacifist). I can apply for jobs that I couldn't get when I was only a permanent resident. I can move around and not have to worry about having my green card with me.

I woke up today remembering the days when I was still frightened, wondering how I was going to survive here when I wasn't supposed to be here, wondering if I was going to wait to get deported or just leave on my own and hope that my papers didn't take much longer to be processed. I haven't had those fears in a while, but now all my fears in that regard are completely gone. I can cross the Mexican or Canadian borders, for instance, and know I don't have to worry about being let back in.

I relish knowing that I can fly back to the Philippines and instantly feel welcome and at home -- and then fly back here and feel the same. But as far as my day-to-day existence is concerned, I'm the same person I was before Wednesday, when the Immigration folks took my green card from me because I no longer needed it. And even with these changes, both subtle and dramatic, I think I'll always feel like I'm still me, until perhaps the day comes when I'm really not.

I'll also be checking new boxes in forms now. Maybe because just like the day I got married, there was a bit of shuffling, but the truth was I was instantly sorted into another box altogether.

BECOMING AMERICAN

When the Immigration officer told me after our interview yesterday that I had passed and she was recommending me for naturalization, I felt tears welling up in my eyes and it surprised the hell out of me. After all, I could have done this much sooner but waited instead. That, too, is something I can't quite explain still.

I've been in the United States for almost 24 years; for a third of that time I was really neither here nor there. I was out of status, to put it politely. So while I lived here as an American -- paid my taxes, followed all the rules, worked my ass off but also had the time of my life -- deep inside I knew I really shouldn't have been here still. But I couldn't (wouldn't) leave either because it would have meant not being able to come back, and I knew if I stuck it out I'd have more options in the end.

Although originally my father was the one who really wanted me to study here -- just as he, my mother, and my older sisters had done at my age -- ultimately coming here was my choice to make. The consequences, however, were not mine to bear alone. I arrived here just as my father's business slowed down and money was tight. I'd always expected he would pay for my tuition and expenses, especially since unlike my sisters I was not a US citizen and wouldn't be allowed to work while attending school as they had done.Well, at least not in theory.

So my mother came over and petitioned for me. At first we thought, as we were advised, that the process would take about five years. It took 10 instead. Mom left a comfortable life back home, one where she was always the boss and gave directions, and dumbed down her resume so she could work as a secretary, where she took them instead. Her bosses didn't know about her Master's and Doctorate degrees and although they were impressed that she was one of the few people who still knew how to write in shorthand, they had no idea that she had actually met the guy who wrote the definitive texts on the subject. Or that she had written a couple of textbooks, too.

Later on, mom actually took additional teaching jobs when dad could no longer send money over. And we lived in a tiny shoebox apartment on the wrong side of town, surrounded by the freeway entrance, a rundown hotel, and an apartment inhabited by gangbangers. On cold nights we'd find a bum huddled inside the one rickety elevator inside the building. When I look back I realize that we didn't even sleep on a proper bed with a spring mattress for many years.

We moved around a bit as our circumstances became better. But not fast enough. In our next apartment we woke up to hear a man banging on our window as he was being stabbed repeatedly by his dealer. There was blood all over the next morning, after the cops had come and gone. In the next one it wasn't unusual to find that our car had gotten broken into -- again and again. Eventually mom and I went our separate ways and she finally went back home, after about seven years, when she saw that I had found a way to be on my own and (barely) able to make a living here.

Just as mom had done, I worked multiple jobs and lived in places that scared me at night. Sometimes I ran out of money and had to rely on the kindness of friends. I couldn't pursue the career I really wanted because of legal impediments and so took a detour that has since led me here. I even seriously considered getting married strictly for the papers when I became impatient, even desperate. I know there are decisions I've made in my life because of the limited choices available to me at the time. The irony, I suppose, is that I made them because I wanted to have more choices in the long run. Which I now have.

My mom and I, we made sacrifices so that I could be here (although mom, I believe, gave up so much more). The people around us, who loved us and whom we loved in return, also did the same. And despite all of that, despite what all of us each gave up, I had to remain invisible here for years as I waited for my papers to be processed. I waited so I could finally have a right to be here. I suppose I waited all this time for yesterday to come.

My friend Ed just asked me: do I feel any different? Oddly enough, even if I've been a permanent resident for 10 years now, I do. I still remember the time I was involved in Filipino-American community activism. I turned to my friend, a dedicated advocate and activist whom I highly respected, and asked her, "Why am I even doing all of this when I'm not supposed to be here in the first place -- while I don't even belong here, technically speaking at least?"

The answer is: because I was here. And now, because I belong.

TO THE 2007 GRADUATING (PILIPINO-AMERICAN) CLASS OF CAL POLY POMONA

My friend Dennis Arguelles, who heads the community economic development arm of Search To Involve Pilipino Americans (SIPA) in Los Angeles, was asked to address the 2007 Filipino-American graduating class of Cal Poly Pomona at their commencement ceremony this past Sunday, June 3rd.

I asked him for a copy of his speech, mostly because part of me is in shock and disbelief and I need to see evidence. Not only can I still remember when we ourselves were -- finally -- college graduates (how we all celebrated I'll never tell), but I can't quite comprehend that my peers are now the old farts charged with inspiring this new crop of future leaders to do what they can to change the world and make it a better place. Part of me thinks the idea is both ironic and hilarious, maybe even preposterous, but I suppose this was bound to happen sometime. And sometime came sooner than expected.

This is a bit long, but it's a good read and worth sharing with all young Filipinos everywhere, and not just in America.

###

Dear Graduates, Faculty, Family, and Friends,

Let me start by saying that I am really ambivalent about speaking right after the Tinikling performance. At all of the PCNs (note: Pilipino Cultural Night), the Tinikling was always the climax, and I always felt sorry for the suite or performance that came right after because no one ever remembered it.

Nonetheless, being asked to be your keynote speaker today is truly an honor, and I hope in the next few minutes I can do what I feel all commencement speakers should do: reflect, advise, inspire -- and hopefully make you laugh a bit along the way. I also believe that there are three keys to successful public speaking: be prepared (hence my written speech); be confident (that’s why I’m picturing all of you in your underwear right now); and, as soon as possible, be seated (hence I will be brief and try not to bore you). Sorry if that second thing seemed a bit creepy, but I’m sure you’ve heard the technique. By the way, do your parents know about some of your piercings?

First, an apology. I was thinking about all of the Pilipino role models who could be addressing you today: Apl.de.ap from the Black Eyed Peas; Lou Diamond Phillips; the woman who finished second in the “Who Will Be the Next Pussycat Doll” competition. Instead, you got me. But let me tell you about the deal you got. I was so anxious about speaking to you today that in my absentmindedness, I accidentally penciled in this ceremony for yesterday, the 2nd. So I was here yesterday ready to go, until a staff person told me that your ceremony was actually today. However, in the last 24 hours, I was able to edit and modify my speech, and I’m proud to say that I think it’s one of the best pieces of work I’ve ever done. Because of my mistake, you are now getting a much better product. And I challenge Apl, Lou, and the woman who got second place in the Pussycat Doll competition to write a better speech.

DON'T GIVE UP ON US

A friend of mine now lives in Paris with her British husband and their two children. No one gave her any grief or guilt about her decision to move away; in fact I suspect she's heard more people tell her how fortunate she is to be residing right smack dab in the center of the City of Lights. Her choice to leave was not a statement against the United States nor was it meant to demonstrate the superiority of France. She moved simply for personal reasons. And that was good enough.

Unfortunately for us Filipinos who now live outside the Philippines, it's never that simple a reason. No matter why we left, there's always that cloud of perception hanging over us that we abandoned our country in its time of need. It's rather confusing, you know, to be hailed by the government as heroes because of the dollar remittances we send back home -- and then practically denounced as traitors by many of our fellow Filipinos (sometimes even by the same government officials) for using our talents and skills for the benefit of another nation and not our own instead.

I do understand the complexity of the issues surrounding this apparent mass exodus; for instance, about how many (note: I did NOT say all or even most -- just many) of the "best and the brightest" are leaving the Philippines and thus exacerbating the so-called brain drain (or as one official referred to it recently, a brain hemorrhage) afflicting the country today. I know about the shortage of doctors and nurses back home, especially in the provinces where they are needed most, because they are finding work for much more pay here in the U.S. and elsewhere in the world. I've read the same thing about our teachers, architects and engineers, and even our artists and entertainers.

A recent report shed light on the scope of this phenomenon:

MANILA — More than a million Filipino workers – from domestic helpers to doctors through to engineers and pilots – joined the growing army of Filipinos employed overseas last year, according to official data.

The Philippine Overseas Employment Administration (POEA) says more than eight million Filipinos, about a tenth of the country’s population of 86 million, were working overseas last year.

I'm not going to defend our reasons for going off to distant shores in search of -- well, whatever it is we each were looking for when we left. There are many who have already written about this topic far more eloquently and intelligently than I ever could. Besides, our reasons are varied, complex and -- well -- personal. Although many leave to secure financial security for themselves and their families, there are those trying to find or challenge themselves by facing the unknown, while others seek to reinvent themselves where no one else remembers them as they were.

Instead, what I'd like to address are the barbs (whether explicitly stated or insinuated) being thrown at us of how we simply gave up because we chose to leave. When people give up, you can assume they've decided to choose the easy route rather than the hard, or maybe they've even stopped trying completely. Let me tell you, we who comprise the Filipino diaspora haven't remotely given up. There is nothing easy about starting over, especially in a place where practically everything and everyone is different from anything and anyone you've ever known.

"BEBOT" VIDEO WORLD PREMIERE

I don't normally reprint press releases, but I thought this was a worthwhile exception.

Little Manila Foundation
BEBOT Press Release
The Little Manila Foundation
www.littlemanila.net

For Immediate Release: Pop Stars the Black Eyed Peas premiere video for "Bebot," set in Stockton's Little Manila neighborhood circa 1938, online on August 4.

STOCKTON, CA - On Thursday, international pop stars the Black Eyed Peas will premiere their new video for "Bebot," set in Stockton's Little Manila Historic Site, circa 1938. The video premieres in Los Angeles and in the Philippines on Thursday August 3, and online worldwide at http://www.kidheroes.net/bebot/ on Friday, August 4.

The Little Manila Foundation, which works to preserve the Little Manila Historic Site, hopes the video will be an entertaining history lesson for a young generation of Filipino Americans and young fans of the Black Eyed Peas, and that it will bring attention to need to restore the buildings. Last year, the Foundation purchased the historic Mariposa Hotel, a three story residential hotel next to the Rizal Social Club, which had been home to hundreds of Filipino immigrants through the decades.

They are kicking off a campaign to raise 1.5 Million to restore and revitalize the building, which will be the site of the Filipino American Cultural Center and Phase One of the Filipino American National Museum, a project of the Filipino American National Historical Society. The Foundation produced a mini companion documentary for "Bebot" at www.littlemanila.net that describes the history of the Little Manila area and offers a behind-the-scenes look at the production.

In the video, Apl.de.Ap (Allan Pineda), plays a young Filipino immigrant who visits a dance hall, the Rizal Social Club, in Stockton's Little Manila, in 1938. There, he rocks a  crowd backed up by a jazz band. In its time, the Rizal Social Club, at 138 E. Lafayette Street, was a dance hall owned by a Filipino American entrepreneur, was one of the hottest spots in downtown Stockton's vibrant Little Manila neighborhood, which was the largest Filipino neighborhood in the nation from the 1920s to the 1970s.

"It's not just about doing a video," Apl told MTV News. "Filipino culture is like a community movement, and it feels good to represent my culture and to be embraced by my people."

"Actually, it's based on true history," director Patricio Ginelsa told MTV News. "I took Apl's farmer roots and placed him in the role of a Filipino farmer," Ginelsa told MTV news. "Back then, Filipino
farmers had their day jobs, but all we looked forward to, though, was getting in our best suits and going to the best clubs - looking nice, and meeting all the bebots (hot chicks)!"

Ginelsa said he first learned about the significance of the Little Manila Historic Site and early Filipino American history on an extended trip to Stockton in the summer of 2000 to promote the Filipino American independent film The Debut.

"The Little Manila Foundation struggles to kind of keep all these historic landmarks alive and (they were) making sure they weren't torn down," said Ginelsa. "As a filmmaker, this was a story that needed to be told in some way. It was really their campaign to raise awareness about Little Manila that really inspired me, and I was able to make a music video with a worldwide band."

"I think it's important to learn something about Filipino American history that you can't read in your U.S. history books," Ginelsa said. "I learned about it while living in Stockton with the community
leaders and the youth. It really inspired me."

"Bebot" which is loosely translated as "hot chick," recreates the world of 1930s Stockton. Few Filipino women immigrate to the United States before World War II, and Filipinos lived in a mostly-male world. To have contact with women, Filipinos flocked to downtown Stockton and Little Manila's dance halls.

In 1938, Stockton was rigidly segregated. In the video, Apl and the Peas pass a hotel emblazoned with "Positively No Filipinos Allowed." Such signs were common in Stockton and in many California cities before the Civil Rights movement.

Last year, Little Manila Foundation helped to save the original Rizal Social Club, now shuttered, from a wrecking ball. A developer had planned to raze the entire neighborhood, but community pressure from the Foundation, and a new administration at City Hall, prevented the destruction. The Foundation argued that the building, and the block, had historic significance for all Filipinos nationwide and in the Philippines. The fact that the multi-platinum Black Eyed Peas chose Stockton as the setting for the video for "Bebot" bears this out, says Dillon Delvo, executive director of the Little Manila Foundation.

"We are so honored that one of the biggest music groups right now chose to set their newest video in Stockton's Little Manila Historic Site," said Delvo, who was a consultant to the video. Delvo and
members of the Little Manila Foundation traveled to L.A., where they assisted in the production. "We taught the band and extras how to cut asparagus, and talked with them about what life was like in the 1930s for Filipinos in Stockton."

Delvo said that filming the entire video in Stockton was too cost prohibitive with a large cast and crew, so they filmed interiors in another significant site - Historic Filipinotown in Los Angeles. The
crew filmed exteriors in the Little Manila Historic Site. The video features cameos from Filipino American celebrities such as American Idol finalist Jasmine Trias and local Stocktonians.

The video project, produced and directed by Filipino American independent filmmaker Patricio Ginelsa and singlehandedly funded by the Peas' Filipino American member, Apl.de.Ap, was a labor of love for all involved. The Peas' record company had little interest in promoting the all-Tagalog single, but the group and the production company felt that it was important to bring an aspect of Filipino American history to the group's fans and to the larger community in general. It is unknown
whether the video will receive airplay on MTV and VH-1. Online distribution, community viewings, and film festivals will bring the video to wide audiences.

The song's lyrics, all in Tagalog, describe Pineda's childhood in the Philippines, and his experiences as an immigrant in the United States. In the song, he expresses thanks to his Filipino American fans for their support. In the video, Apl plays a young Filipino immigrant who works in the fields cutting asparagus in the San Joaquin Delta all day, then dresses up to dance and perform at a jazz and dance club at night.

"Apl's real-life experiences as a Filipino immigrant in the United States who leaves a life of poverty in the rural Philippines, misses home, and struggles against racism to make a life in America, mirrors the experiences of early Filipino immigrants who came to Stockton in the 1920s and 1930s, so the song is actually very fitting to depict how these early Pinoy pioneers saw themselves," said Dawn B. Mabalon, a co-founder of the Little Manila Foundation, and a professor of history at San Francisco State University. Along with Delvo, she provided background research and historic photographs for the production.

Mabalon says the video is a good historical interpretation of life in Stockton's Little Manila in 1938. The video shows the Peas working in asparagus, and then getting dressed up at night to go out to the dance halls in downtown. "Filipinos came to the Central Valley and performed backbreaking work in the agricultural fields, particularly in asparagus, but at night, they had a reputation for being the sharpest dressers in Macintosh and zoot suits, the slickest dancers, the best jazz musicians," she said. "The video depicts all of that hardship and all of the fun that must have been life for Filipinos Depression-era Stockton. Because of the sex ratio imbalance of very few Filipino women and a lot of young, single Filipino men, the multiracial dance halls were like magnets to Filipinos."

Stockton was the party central for Filipinos in the United States, she said, an aspect of history depicted in the "Bebot" video. "Stockton in the 1930s was a wide-open town - gambling, dance halls, pool halls, saloons. To turn a blind eye, police were paid off handsomely - and so these young bachelors flocked from all over the nation to Stockton for fun," she said. Stockton in the 1930s, according to oldtimers, was even more fun than downtown Los Angeles or San Francisco, Mabalon said.

Historic photographs of Ernie Hernandez's 1930s jazz band from the 1930s, San Joaquin County asparagus crews, and photographs of young Filipinos dressed in snazzy suits taken on El Dorado Street in the 1930s were used as inspiration for the production design, down to some painstaking detail. The crew, for example, tracked down a similar guitar to the one used in the Hernandez jazz band photograph.

The Little Manila Foundation works to preserve and revitalize the last remaining buildings of the Little Manila neighborhood, which was ravaged by urban redevelopment in recent decades. Since 1999, the Little Manila Foundation has fought developers and demolition-happy politicians to save the remaining buildings, among them, the original Rizal Social Club. In 2002, the city designated four blocks of downtown Stockton as the Little Manila Historic Site. In 2003, the National Trust for
Historic Preservation named the Little Manila Historic Site to their annual list of the 11 Most Endangered Historic Places in the nation.

Since then, the Foundation has successfully saved the neighborhood from imminent destruction, and works to educate the public about the need for Filipino American cultural and historic preservation in Stockton. They hope to restore and open the Mariposa Hotel in 2007.

"Our struggle continues as we begin the process of remodeling and refurbishing the Mariposa Hotel to help remind us of our past struggles but also to celebrate the contributions and our participation in building this country," said Rico Reyes, co-chair of the Little Manila Foundation. "The community's financial commitment is crucial to preserving and revitalizing the neighborhood known as Little Manila." Tax-deductible gifts can be sent to the Little Manila Foundation, PO Box 1356, Stockton,CA 95201.

Starting August 4, the Black Eyed Peas video "Bebot" can be viewed at http://www.kidheroes.net/bebot/index.html. The Little Manila Foundation has produced a short companion documentary to the video, which can be viewed at http://www.littlemanila.net.

WHAT IT'S LIKE TO BE PINAY IN CALIFORNIA

I almost titled this "What It's Like to Be Pinay in America" but remembered that my fellow Pinays who grew up or live outside California have a totally different perspective of life in this country than I do. If you want to add anything else, please use the Comments box -- I'd love to see this list get really long.

1. Non-Filipinos like to tell you how much they love pancit and lumpia (which they eat because they have Filipino friends or neighbors. Who apparently are all "really nice people.").
2. Then they ask you if you can make either or both for the next office potluck.
3. When you go to an all-you-can-eat Asian buffet restaurant, you notice many of the other patrons are Filipino, too. And they're all headed for the tempura shrimp (but not the veggies) and mayo-stuffed prawn.
4. You think it's normal for guests to take leftover food home from parties. Or to bring their own tupperware just in case the hosts run out of aluminum foil and plastic bags.
5. If you're thin and fair-skinned people think you're Chinese.
6. If you're not-so-thin and dark-skinned people think you're Samoan.
7. If you've dyed your hair brown people think you're Mexican (whether you're fair or dark-skinned, thin or not-so-thin).
8. If you've dyed your hair brown or bleached your hair blonde AND you wear green or blue or gray-colored contact lenses then you're just scary-looking (sorry, the truth hurts).
9. Some idiot of a teacher back in grammar school told your class that the Philippines is located in the South Pacific and you believed her. So now you think you're Hawaiian. Especially if you're a car import model with a Friendster or My Space site.
10. If you're in your mid-30s to mid-40s you once danced the cha-cha to a Madonna song (maybe even Borderline).
11. And you once dated a Filipino guy who wore MC Hammer pants. Who bought the rest of his clothes at Chess King.
12. But you can't tease him about it now because you once teased and sprayed your hair so high up in front that it was nicknamed "the Wall."
13. You get TFC at home and you watch ASAP even if you have to turn the volume all the way down because everyone screams or screeches when they sing -- especially the ones who are known as the "Champions."
14. Then you wonder why Filipino entertainers in America look more Filipino than those working in the Philippines.
15. And you also wonder if Piolo is really gay and hope that he isn't really (oops sorry, that's just me!).

TAKE-HOME HOG HELL

I love Filipino parties and get-togethers -- usually because of the company but oftentimes because of the food.

Not only do I get to enjoy dishes that feed my tummy but also my soul, but there is usually so, so much of it. It is my observation that while Americans prepare just enough food for the number of guests they are expecting, Filipinos are ready to feed double that number -- and then add 10 more for good measure. I suspect that part of the reason is because Pinoys often don't bother to RSVP (so you never really know how many guests will be showing up), but primarily because when we think of a party, we're really thinking of a fiesta.

My friend Y attended a birthday party yesterday and brought two platters of lumpiang sariwa, about 200 pieces all in all. It was one of those parties that start at 11:00 am and go on for at least five hours more -- so if you show up halfway through the affair, you're not considered late. Once she got to the venue, she set the platters down on the buffet table, walked away to say her customary hellos and exchange pleasantries with the hosts, and then went to fill her plate with food.

Her lumpias were all gone.

Now I know her lumpias are delicious and anticipated by all who have tried them, but there was no rational explanation why they disappeared so fast. She hadn't taken long to finish up polite mingling and there were also fewer than half the number of guests as there were vegetable rolls. She was truly perplexed. "So what the hell happened to your lumpias?" I asked her this morning.

"I think people took them home," she replied. She probably wouldn't have told me the truth if she knew how I was going to react seconds later.

Now I don't have a lot of pet peeves; I'm not a curmudgeonly sort of person and I try not to let things get to me. But rudeness really gets to me. And the one thing that bugs me about Filipino parties is how guests take food home when the party is not nearly over. Yep, you know that "takeout" sign you see in the corner of some restaurants (usually at the bar)? Well, apparently we have that at every party, too.

For instance, my in-laws and their in-laws will find almost any excuse for a party. They always get great turnout because everyone knows to expect an overabundance of really yummy food at their shindigs. But there's always -- ALWAYS -- the same few families who think they have more important things to do than stick around, and they always bring home at least a week's worth of meals when they flee. You can't miss them; you'll be patiently going through the buffet line trying to get a bit of the inihaw na baboy, kare-kare, and then just when you're about to help yourself to the pancit malabon and lumpiang shanghai, you discover you can't -- because the take-home hogs are doing the same thing.

Oh sure, the food's being ladled onto paper plates, but not the ones they plan to eat from (that was over and done with about half an hour ago). You watch in horror as they fill each succeeding plate with piles of food -- and then you notice when they line them up on the table that the scene resembles a panoramic view of the Chocolate Hills of Bohol -- a marvelous sight indeed. While you stand right there staring down at their bounty (as they choose to ignore you) they carefully cover each plate with another one, careful not to let the contents spill out (a very tricky thing trying to contain all that mass in a very small space, you understand), wrap each cardboard container heavily in foil, and then gently fill a few supermarket bags with their culinary spaceships. And they're off. With the food you planned to eat.

There's this one couple who always shows up at these parties; their presence is guaranteed to leave not a few guests hungry. It's like clockwork: approximately two hours after they show up, eat, and mingle, they proceed to the buffet table and pack enough food for two weeks (they always say it's for their 30-plus-year-old son -- who never even bothers to show up anyway). What irks me is the husband, who was a commodore in the Philippine navy, stole millions by intercepting shipments of American "blue-seal" cigarettes into the country and taking a huge cut of the profits. After enriching himself for years this way, can't he at least have the decency to leave the pancit alone?

And at one interracial wedding (Filipino/Mexican), one Filipino couple ever-so-kindly brought the lechon to the reception. They didn't pay for it, of course -- the parents of the bride provided the funds for them to purchase and deliver the roast suckling pig. But something about the transaction made the couple think the lechon was a gift to them in appreciation of their kindness instead. Shortly after the lechon was brought to the buffet table, where it was displayed and admired by the guests, the couple took it back to their car before all that delicious, crunchy skin could be completely consumed. True story, folks.

This is where I stand on free takeout. If you want to take food home from a party, then you've got to suffer a bit. Stay until the party's winding down -- and if it's a casual, friends-and-family kind of affair, help out by clearing the dishes from the table or something. Anything. Then wait until the hosts bring out the extra paper plates (or nowadays, those disposable but reusable plastic containers), Costco-sized rolls of foil, and knotted grocery plastic bags. But not until then.

I've been in search of a personal crusade, and I think I've found it. Say NO to take-home hogs! You'll help eliminate hunger -- at least in our Pinoy party universe. I'm even thinking of creating rubber wristbands and cute buttons to support this cause. Please, will you join me? Any ideas of how to nip this bad behavior will be much appreciated.

HOW IT ALL STARTED

There are a few periods of time that shaped my life so fully and irrevocably, though the funny thing is I had no idea of their significance then. Sometimes we make these little decisions that don't seem the slightest bit important at the time, only to realize in hindsight they led to other decisions, which led to others -- and before you know it, you're changed forever.

In the late 1980s, after I graduated from fashion school, I wanted to get a "proper" degree just in case I needed a fallback plan. And since my dream was to become a fashion editor, it made sense to tuck a journalism degree under my belt. And so off I went to CSUN; not only did it have a respected journalism program, but it was hell of a lot less expensive than USC. My parents, being USC alums, preferred I study at their alma mater, but the truth was I just wanted to get college over and done with so I could move on with my life.

I was completely lost at CSUN during my first few weeks; it just felt so huge. My entire educational experience had taken place in relatively small, private Catholic schools that were competitive but nurturing, and so for the first time in my life I had no idea what to do or where to go for help. The first people I met on campus belonged to the Filipino-American Student Association (FASA) -- so when they asked me if I wanted to attend their meetings, I didn't even hesitate.

To make a long story short, I became a FASA member and then soon after an officer of a coalition of Filipino-American student organizations in Southern California. It wasn't long before I became a student leader and activist, both on and off campus, and then my world centered around and focused on L.A.'s Filipino and Asian American communities for many years.

And although I've been out of loop for just as long now, I can say with absolute certainty that what I learned during that time gave me the tools that made me successful at whatever I put my mind to later on. I learned about team building, training and motivating, problem-solving, fundraising, planning and organizing; in short I learned how to make the most of whatever few resources were available and find a way to make things happen.

I went down memory lane after reading Mell's post on What It Means To Be A Trojan." He has a link to a site for establishing a USC Filipino-American scholarship; as I explored it I found pictures of their Pinoy alums and still recognized so many faces -- even though I haven't seen any of them in years.

Anyway, who knew attending a little meeting because I had nothing better to do would lead me to years of so many better things to do? I wouldn't trade anything in the world for a minute of that time in my life; I just wouldn't be the same person I am today.

Note: Top picture is CSUN FASA circa 1987 or 1988; some of the organization's earliest members are in this photograph although I'm not (I was taking the picture). Bottom pic is my wink at Mell; three past FASA presidents (me in the middle, guy holding the sneaker, and guy waving) surrounded by our friends from USC Troy Philippines.

FILIPINOTOWN

When my friend E first arrived in Los Angeles, he was told there was an area designated as Filipinotown not too far from where he lived. As he was apprehensive about building a new life in America and profoundly homesick to boot, he was eager to discover this place -- a haven that might give him roots and remind him of home.

But the only thing he remembers about the drive was a large McDonald's sign, he said. Not to mention, all the establishments were marked by signs in Spanish, and not in Filipino. He did see the Historic Filipinotown marker -- but to him it appeared out of place. He said there were few clues to indicate Filipinos had made their home here and, worse, the area was run-down and dirty. He didn't see anything to be proud of, although he had no idea that just getting the marker put up was a battle hard fought and won.

An article briefly describing today's Filipinotown was published in the September 13, 2005 issue of the Los Angeles Times. It is by no means a comprehensive account of both the history and ongoing efforts to establish a visible and identifiable ethnic enclave, nor of the issues and challenges that need to be surmounted. But it brings up certain cold realities that face Filipinos not just in Los Angeles, but also in the Philippines; clearly, the only way we can pull ourselves up is if we learn how to work with each other and set aside our differences and individual agendas.

To read the article, click here.