Haystacks

Haystacks, Claude Monet

These last two weeks have been hectic. Actually, these last two months have been hectic, locking myself in my basement to sew a mini collection for a show, then being cancelled on (it's ok, it happens); to guests almost every weekend since I've gotten back in September; working on checking things off of my NY To-Do List; packing, searching for someone to sublease; and MOST importantly, trying to see everyone before I leave.

I went on one last run in CP, and decided to take the short route. As much as I don't like running, I've grown fond of my little runs, because there's always something fun going on. Central Park has become a haven for me, of sorts, because I think to live in NY and keep your sanity, you have to find the places and those things that make you forget that you're in the city.

As I was saying, I did my short run. I got to Bathesda Fountain, and despite the havoc I've wreaked on my body these past two weeks eating all the foods that are bad for you and NOT working out, I still kept a good pace and wasn't dying by the time I reached that point (especially surprising because it was a little chilly today). I decided to stop anyways. I wanted to make sure to take a moment and look around. Central Park. It's like what you see in movies.

I walked a little further, because I've been really sentimental these days. I was in NY last fall, but I still managed to miss it with school which eliminated any chance of having a real life. Today, the leaves were changing, and with the Nor'easter, there was still a bit of snow left over from that bizarre snowfall. It's like NY knew I was leaving, and wanted to make sure I didn't miss either fall or winter.

I took an art history class in undergrad, and it was one of my favorite classes. I especially enjoy Monet and his light studies. In one series, he painted haystacks and observed how they changed according to the time of day. It made me really think about how I experience things. The only way you can truly experience a city is if you look at it the way he looked at those haystacks.

Check.

The Jenna Taino Saga Continues

About two years ago, I was wandering California, hoping that I would magically know which direction I should steer my life. Empire State of Mind would play on the radio, and I'd take it as a sign, but then that dumb (but catchy) Miley Cyrus song would play immediately after and I'd be right where I started. (I can only blame myself for looking to Top 40 stations for signs.)

Did you know that right after I got my acceptance letter to Parsons, I checked my ufl webmail account, and there were two open positions to teach English in Spain? (If you didn't know, for a while, Spain had been my post-grad Plan A, but things changed, and decided to let them.) As much as I like to think that things happen for a reason, can you imagine how confused I was after I saw that? Really, what did that mean? Was I meant not check my e-mail, or was Spain really supposed to happen, but I missed that opportunity out of neglect? Because if I'd seen that before I got my acceptance letter, oh how things would be different.

Coulda shoula woulda. But since I arrived in NY, not once have I doubted that I made the right decision.

And as similar feelings of anxiety and doubt and uncertainly rise to the surface once again, I know that NY has been good to me, that I've gotten a lot out of this experience, and I've met some amazing people along the way. It's okay to be afraid, because all that means is that you have something to lose.

As I pack up my room, I'm reminded of a quote I found in a book at my favorite secondhand bookstore days before 2010 hit, "Trust eliminates fear."

Know History, Know Self. No History, No Self

Pagsanjan River (taken January 2011)

Going back to Philippines is certainly a humbling experience. To see where my parents grew up and knowing where they are now and how they take care of our family…

It’s amazing.

We picked up my aunt from the airport and ran some errands around Manila. She hadn’t been back since she left in the 60s or 70s. All she said was, “It’s so sad,” and I looked towards her and she was crying.

“This is where we grew up, anak,” my mom said.

It’s silly, but we forget, yanno. Amongst the clutter, and the busyness, and life in general, we forget how far our parents have come.

“You know, your mom and I, we were lucky,” I’ve heard my dad say time and again. Lucky to have arrived in America with at least some higher education, to have arrived here when they did, and to have gotten the jobs that they have.

All that. All that work to make sure my sister and I have more than they did.
Isn’t that what all parents want? For their children to have a better life?

We have it so easy. So good. So if we’re not working for survival, what is it then that our generation is searching for? Why are we still not satisfied?

Maybe it’s self-fulfillment. Identity.

Our parents and grandparents and great grandparents have spent their years just trying to make it, just trying to survive. We don’t face that same struggle, so it’s as if we’re not sure what to do with this liberation enabled by our parents.

I guess we’re trying to figure out where to go from here. As Filipino-Americans we face this both individually and holistically. Looking back at history, through foreign occupation and immigration, we have tried so hard to assimilate into other cultures that we are failing to preserve out own.

Being Filipino-American is moving more towards the latter half of the word. And there’s nothing wrong with being American. I love America. America all day. But you still gotta remember your roots.

As we, the first and second generations (non-immigrants) are getting older, we’ve already begun to lose our culture. How many of us know tagalog? How many of us were adamant about not learning it as kids, arguing that we should speak English because we were in America? How many of us regret that now?

So the next question is: How can we fix it? Part of the solution is pride. I’m not saying you have to be obnoxious about. You don’t have to deck yourself out in your “Pilipinas” gear or sport your Manny Pacquio t-shirt all day errday, or hang your Filipino flag in your car. I’m saying take a second to learn about your history, to sit down and ask your parents about growing up and how their life changed when they got to America.

I’m not trying to start a revolution. But think about it. Once our parents are gone, what happens to the language, the knowledge, and the history if we don’t take the time to learn it?

Baby steps.

So ask. Get some good stories. Do a little research.

Let’s just start there. Let’s make it personal.


*Just a little note: I actually wrote this back in January of this year while on my trip to Phili. I've shared a few stories (and if you've forgotten how it went, feel free to refresh your memory), but I haven't expressed enough all the ways that visit changed me; it has certainly inspired me in all parts of my life. Can't wait to see these ideas come into fruition and to share them with you as they happen. But let's not get ahead of ourselves.

Paper Lanterns

So you're all caught up. I've been patiently waiting to see what this next step is going to be. In the mean time, I certainly haven't been lounging on my couch and sitting on my hands. I get really anxious in these in between stages. I'm no good at not being busy; I'm used to going, going, going, all the time. And since I've been in limbo, between a dependent and a full fledged, self-sufficient adult, I've invested my time in, well, myself, my career, my future.

While it's not yet time for me to go into all out production, I've decided to at least dip my toe in the water. I've decided to develop a concept and create a collection. I've gathered inspiration images, swatches, bought the fabric, and right now, I'm burying myself in my dungeon and creating patterns, draping and sewing. And I hope you like the result as much as I've enjoyed going through the process.

So here's a glimpse of what's to come:

Center of the World

View from the Empire State Building (taken November 2009)

These past few weeks I've found myself torn. Should I stay, or should I go? Am I ready, or am I wildly unprepared for the next step? The answer to the former is that I still don't know. As for the latter, I'm ready. For what? Well, that is still TBD.

I've come up with a few options, but it seems that once I think I got it figured out, life throws me a curve ball. All I can do is prepare for the most likely possibilities; which ever happens is the option I'm supposed to take.

The possible options I have may or may not leave me in NY. While it may quite possibly be the greatest city on the planet, I am a Southern girl at heart. That's left me thinking about whether or not I'm ready to leave. Sure, I have my complaints about this city, but it's really such a love/hate relationship. Despite the smells, the filth, the crowds, the cost of living, you can't deny the energy here. It's addicting. And right when you're ready to call it quits with the city, right when you think you've had enough, it draws you back in, with brisk Fall air, or the first hints of Spring after a long and grueling Winter; with those crazy nights out, or those classy days at a Broadway. I've once likened it to that unhealthy, dysfunctional relationship with that boy that can just break you down to the point where you're about ready walk to away and go cold turkey. Then the second you gather the gumption to do it, he says or does the right thing that makes you cave and say, "Fine. Ya got me."

January will mark my 2 year anniversary with New York City (on and off, with breaks in the summer). My plan up to this point was to stick it out 2-3 more years, learn the business. I'd get to do all those NY things; explore the city; have a social life. You know, all those things that I didn't get to do while I was at Parsons. Well, since then, I've had the stark realization than even with a job, it's not like I'd be able to afford all of those thing that I'd want to do. I have this theory about people that live in Manhattan (that aren't billionaires). You can have the lifestyle or you have comfort. Most can't afford both. And I, honestly, will always choose comfort.

Lately, I've been thinking that maybe it's like college. Sure, I loved my experience at UF. I still love Gainesville. I miss my friends. It was an unbelievable time. But there came a point when I knew that there was nothing left for me there. It was the right time for me to leave; it was necessary in order for me to go on to the next part of my life.

I've always known that this move wouldn't be a permanent one. As difficult, scary, and sad as it might be.. I'd miss my friends, my roommates, my (awesome) apartment.. maybe it's time to go on to the next, next part of my life.

I guess we'll see.