Blogmas #22 // Giving Tuesday

About six years ago, I experienced my first giving Tuesday with YouTube Influencer and home chef Laura Vitale. I was selected from hundreds of applicants to join Laura on a virtual cooking event where we cooked and conversed together via google hangout. Obviously this was way before COVID, so a virtual event of this kind was very unique.

I bring this experience up because since then, I have donated to a cause, non- profit or organization/ person in need every season. Over the past few years I’ve donated to meals for children, ending sex traffic, local businesses, book launches, and more. This year I focused on PAWA- Philippine American Writers and Artists. I chose this non-profit this holiday season because they have offered me so much space and support as a budding writer.

To begin with, since the pandemic, I have attended at least a related PAWA virtual event once a month, if not more. I attend classes, panel discussions and have even participated in several readings as a special guest. PAWA is a community in which I belong in and a few years ago I didn’t think I could be in such regarded company. Since my involvement with PAWA I have met some amazing people and writers and have greatly benefited from their guidance and support. Many of them have encouraged me to take the next step with my stories, but I don’t think, even with their vote of confidence, that I am ready to share my writing with the world.

PAWA provides the necessary space for me to feel held, with no judgment, no pretense, no vex. The community is one that welcomes all writers and artists and encourages each person at their own pace and trajectory.

I know this is a season of giving, but this year is fiscally challenging for many. I know there are a lot of causes and organizations that need support, but if you can help PAWA in any way, I encourage you to do so. During this pandemic, if you have relied on books, art, movies, music or any form of creative expression made by a Filipino American, to provide escape, entertainment or enlightenment during this very dark time, then I encourage you to donate to PAWA. They support writers and artists to continue to do this work so that we can all benefit from these enriching experiences.

For more on PAWA.. click below…

http://pawainc.com/

Christmas house in the Philippines// Blogmas #14

Yesterday, I posted about a vlog I discovered about a couple of foreigners who were celebrating Christmas in the Philippines. That post got me thinking about Christmases I spent in the Philippines. Thankfully, after my family moved from the Philippines to the United States, we visited as often as we could. My most recent visit was in 2016- for my wedding, but before that was 2014- for Christmas.

It was a wild memory! My parents had just built their house and the furniture that was supposed to be delivered hadn’t arrived yet. According to the shipping company, my parents’ delivery was still at the port. Because there was a backup, there would be no way for them to unload the container until next year. In the meantime, my husband and I were sleeping on an air mattress and the entire family ate in the “dirty kitchen” a term in the Philippines that described the outdoor or separate kitchen where most of the cooking occured because of the smoke and smell. As we approached Christmas Eve my mom was devastated because we were supposed to have a family party, but we had no furniture for the guests.

Then a Christmas miracle happened. As we were eating at a restaurant in Tagaytay, we received a call that the shipping container was on the way. It would arrive in a few hours– about 9:00 PM, on Christmas Eve.

We worked collectively to unload, unpack and move in the furniture for a 5 bedroom house. We unpacked and installed TVs, patio furniture, beds and dressers. I don’t know how we all pulled it off; it was definitely a group effort, and it will be a memory we’ll all share together.

Check out the video here.. the video moving part starts on 5:11

Parents in the Philippines and COVID

In about a month, my parents will make the long 13 hour flight from Manila, Philippines to San Francisco, CA. They have been in the Philippines since December. They were supposed to return in May, but due to COVID they had to extend their stay. Because of the health precautions, Philippine airlines suspended all their flights to and from San Francisco. The health risks of flying in a plane is still high, and because both my parents and seniors and are health compromised, I know that the flight home has several risks. 

Even if the airline enforces masks and physical distance, these precautions don’t guarantee that it will be safe. Passengers will still be breathing recycled air, and people will need to take off their masks to eat. 

It was a difficult decision for my parents, one that they didn’t make lightly. My parents asked me if it was a good idea, and as much as I wanted to say “no” , I knew it was ultimately their decision. My parents want to come home. They miss their children and their only grandchild, Aiza. They want to be close to us after living far apart, halfway across the world, for eight months, the longest we’ve been apart. 

I used to have very judgmental opinions about people who traveled in the time of COVID. I wondered what was so important that people needed to fly. Yes there are folks who travel for recreational reasons, which is fine for some and unacceptable for others. In the case of my parents, who have been inside for 8 months with no sign of COVID, they simply want to come back home to see me and my siblings. How could I say no?

Dog Eaters

I first heard about Filipinos eating dogs when I was in the 7th grade. I was in the library where a cultural forum was held with student representatives from each cultural group from the school. Our Filipino representative was an 8th grader who was widely known in our group of friends; he was “Mr. Popular, Mr. Cool.” He often wore a Cross Colours denim jacket, won multiple breakdancing battles and had a sister who could sing like Whitney Houston. If anyone was going to speak on my behalf, I guess he was the best.
The moderator asked each panelist, what is one thing you would like the audience to know about your culture. I was expecting “Cool Joe” to offer many insights: the traditional dances, attire, music. Because his family was musically inclined, I thought his remarks would head in that direction. “Cool Joe’s” response: “Filipinos do not eat dogs.”
There was a palpable gasp in the room. Some snickered. Others had a look of disgust. Me? I was in shock- literally. I had never heard this accusation before. I thought about all the dishes my mom and family made and the only two that were out of the ordinary from the American palate were balut and dinuguan. But dog meat? It seemed bizarre, uncivilized, savage. I thought about all the stray dogs during my visits to the Philippines- the ones who roamed the streets, ate leftover rice and mango skins, who despite all the trash they rummaged, had ribs protruded from their lanky, malnutrition bodies. Why would anyone kill them? I immediately accused “Cool Joe” of lying, and I suppressed anything he said as a fact. I was humiliated by his misrepresentation.
For me, dogs were never served for dinner, or for any special occasion, nor known to be hidden meat in adobo, pinakbet or kare kare. Dog meat was not a known cuisine. I’m pescatarian now but growing up, my family ate the usual: chicken, beef and pork. Sometimes we’d have special proteins like oxtail, squid and pork belly. but the idea of consuming dogs seemed foreign. Because it wasn’t in my reality, this taboo simply didn’t exist.
It wasn’t until last night that I was reminded of the truth. I had encountered my first real example of dog eaters from an unexpected place: Jose Vargas.
Vargas is a Pulitzer Prize winner, PEN award receipt and writer of Dear America, a novel that chronicles his life as an undocumented immigrant. In one of the chapters, Vargas wrote about his acclimation in the United States and how, in a middle school version of show and tell, he told his classmates about his pet dog Rambo who was killed, ceremoniously, for his mom’s birthday.
Believe it or not, this was the first time I had witnessed someone testifying what I once thought was once a figment of my imagination, was now confirmed as the truth.
I was visibly upset. I put the book down and told my husband right away. My voice cracked. I felt my eyes welt. My reaction came from a disturbing, true place.
The following day i went down the rabbit hole and googled dog meat consumption. I found out that it in the Philippines, eating dog was once a traditional consumption but is now a very popular commercial consumption. It is the “third most consumed meat, behind pork and goat but ahead of beef,” and half a million dogs are slaughtered every year for consumption.

The stray dogs are dognapped, rounded up off the street, paws tied with steel cans around their noses. Half of the dogs don’t make it alive to their final destination.
I wondered about all the times I had reached out my hand and felt the comfort of thick, soft dog fur or the salty licks on my cheek or the wet nose nuzzled on my neck. Our family dog Friday, before she passed away from cancer, walked with me for 5 miles in the rain and never left my side. Or how our current family dog Lucky sits on top on my feet when we’re snuggled in bed and I can hear her deep breaths through my goose down blanket. It’s hard for me to fathom that someone, a family, let alone an entire half of a country is looking for their dog while the other half is eating them.
I know that many animals are killed every year for consumption. I don’t shame anyone in their dietary practices. I understand that at the end of the day people need to eat- cow, pig, dog- to stay alive. Sometimes there’s no choice. And there is no shame in eating certain proteins for cultural, traditional reasons. In fact, some countries believe eating cows is barbaric! The food chain is a complex and vast one.
When I think about my 7th grade experience in the stuffed crowded library, I often wondered why “Cool Joe” chose his remarks as his last impressions to the audience. Obviously, it was something that meant a great deal to him. It certainly wouldn’t be the first thing that would come to my mind if I was asked about my culture. But it was 7th grade. Stereotypes, subjugation, bullies were often at the crux of peer acceptance. Perhaps eating dog was more of a reality than I had accepted. Either way, I’m not sure why “Cool Joe” left with that last impression. As an 8th grader, he was brave enough to address it. Despite the reaction, he taught the audience, including myself, a difficult truth to swallow.

“Friday” she was our first dog

“Lucky” our second family dog

Lucky and my dad enjoying the sun

Mama Said Knock You Out

Just like anything important in your life, if you let it fall to the wayside, it’s even harder to come back. Admittedly, I have done that with my writing. As I sit here at my desk, typing these very words, I don’t feel the confidence I once felt during the “glory days”–when I was unemployed and dedicated most of my time towards writing.

But all that drastically changed when I returned to my job a few months ago. Rather than enrolling in classes about short stores, I enroll  in classes about being a better teacher. I write lesson plans rather than short stories, and I attend  parent teacher conferences, not literary events. I wish I could say no to these commitments,  but it’s not that easy. One, they are professionally mandatory and two, I love my job. So, naturally it’s difficult for me to scale back.

Yet, I know that if I continue to perform this unbalancing act, I’ll continue to ignore a part of my life that is important to me, and  eventually, in a matter of time,  I’ll be filled with resentment. As a teacher, I’ve learned that it takes drastic effort to see drastic change, which reminds me of one of my favorite rappers, LL Cool J, and  his song, “Mama Said Knock you Out.” In his first line he states,  “Don’t  Call it a Comeback, I’ve been here for years.”  The story behind the opening line has left me with a lasting impression. Supposedly, during a time when LL’s popularity and success were waning and he was having difficulty with the direction in  his writing, it was his grandmother who encouraged him to “knock out” his insecurities and critics. She simply told him to believe in himself and use his time off from music as a motivator. LL wisely took the advice from his grandmother which lead to the birth of  an award winning song, eventually earning him a Grammy. Had it not been for his wise grandmother and time away from his craft, I doubt if the creation of the song we know so well well today would’ve ever been created. Like LL, sometimes we have to step away and hear some tough love to bring us back to our calling.

Today marks the 6th of November, and usually this time of the year is a special time for writers. It’s NaNoWriMo–national writing book month, when individuals pledge to write a 50,000 word novel in 3o days. It’s also NaBloPomo– National bloggers post month– when bloggers post a blog every day of November. If followed with fidelity, these challenges are supposed to encourage writers to elevate their craft of writing and encourage a daily routine. But I see them as LL’s grandmother giving me the encouragement I need in a time where I’ve lost my direction and need help to refocus.

It’s going to be a busy month–besides work, I’m applying for grad school, planning a trip to the Philippines, studying for the GRE, and writing  a book or 30 posts in the month of November are commitments I won’t be able to invest in.  Yet, like I stated earlier, sometimes we need drastic change in order to see drastic results.  In the case of LL Cool J, the drastic advice and hiatus led him to one of greatest songs ever recognized in hip hop music.

Today, despite the odds against me, I pledge to participate in NaNoWriMo, which means I’ll have to write a book in the month of November. It won’t be an easy feat; challenges already lay ahead; for example, I’m six days into the month and I haven’t written anything, which means I’ve lost a lot of valuable time. Yet, I  just have to take the advice of LL’s grandmother– if I continue to feed into the negativity and excuses and allow time to slip away, I won’t be knocking out anyone, including my skeptical self.

So wish me luck, it’s November 6 and the only thing I have written is the title of the book: ‘otherland. If I count the title, then my word count is one. 49,999 words left and 24 days to go. Time to knock it out.