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.