Even in death, Filipinos - especially my family - always find a way to laugh. I received the following email from my Tita Marie today:
Hi Everyone,
Connie just arrived and had a good laugh! I am sorry I did not edit the email I sent about Gie's leaving us. I assure everyone I do know how to spell but I do tend not to reread what I wrote. Again, my apologies.
The original email to which she was referring:
To everyone,
Gerald passed away a few minutes ago. I tahnk eberyone for their prayers and am now asking that you pray for peace in heaven for his soul. I write this for his wife, parents and brothrers who I am sure will email you when they van. Again thank you so much.
Poor spelling aside, it is slightly reminiscent of Ron Josol's stand-up:
"We pronounce our f and p - and - v and b backward ... or bice bersa ..."
Of course, I've always said that my geographic location always dictates "what" people think I am. I'm sure most Filipinos can relate, but Ron could have at least credited me with the joke.
A Year Ago Today: No post*
Two Years Ago Today: No post*
*These must have been slow blog weeks for me over the past two years.
Showing posts with label filipino influences. Show all posts
Showing posts with label filipino influences. Show all posts
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Life Goes On
Gerald's battle with leukemia ended Saturday night in the Philippines. Twelve hours behind in New York, it was 11am. When I received the news within minutes of his death, I was just waking up to beautiful blue skies in the city.
Less than an hour later, I received a text message from a friend in Charlotte, North Carolina: "Don't forget to wish Kelli a happy 28th bday today."
A Year Ago Today: No post
Two Years Ago Today: Working 9 to 5 ... well, 6
Less than an hour later, I received a text message from a friend in Charlotte, North Carolina: "Don't forget to wish Kelli a happy 28th bday today."
A Year Ago Today: No post
Two Years Ago Today: Working 9 to 5 ... well, 6
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
Memory Boxes
My cousin Gerald, the eldest son of my Tito Butch, is dying. He's 32. He has a wife and 3-year old son. We expect his fight with leukemia to end any moment now. My family is grieving a world away in the Philippines, and I know my false hope for relief when he dies is illusory. I thought there would be that same relief when my Tita Cita died from breast cancer in 2004. I didn't want her to suffer anymore. To regret what she had never done. To dwell over everything she would never get to see. Which she did. That's what made her slow death even harder - knowing that she did not want to let go. And when she was finally gone, I waited to feel the relief that I thought would be there. It never came.
My mother shared a memory with me last Thanksgiving of my Tita Cita, who - in her 40s and in the more successful stages of her battle with breast cancer - wanted some sort of little baking oven. My mom was visiting her family in the Philippines at that time and my Tita Cita was awaiting some important test results regarding the remission of her cancer. If the results are good, she had said to my mother, she wanted to go buy that little oven. If the results were bad, there would be no reason to waste money on it. They went together to get the results and immediately after the doctor revealed the good news, she turned to my mother and said, "Let's go get that oven."
A few years later, in the final moments of her life, my Tito Rocky remembers standing at the foot of her hospital bed as doctors and nurses bustled around her failing body, surrounded by tubes and needles and machines. Over a nurse's shoulder, he made eye contact with her and saw the sadness and defeat she was feeling. He knew in that instant that it was the end and that she was letting go. My Tita Marie told me the story that my Tito Rocky had once shared with her. After that, he had said that he hoped to never have to watch someone he loves die again.
For a family of 11, composed of my mother's four brothers and four sisters, who struggled in the poorer areas of the Metro Manila throughout most of their child- and young adulthood, you'd think life would at least offer them a break in their later years. Instead, my mother has osteoporosis, and her eldest sister has been bedridden, suffering from debilitating rheumatoid arthritis, since her early 20s. My mother's eldest brother Tito Sonny died suddenly in 2000 of pancreatitis some 15-20 years after losing a teenage son in a tragic bus accident. Then, last year his oldest son died from the same pancreatic complications, leaving behind a young wife and two small children. And recently Tito Sonny's only daughter was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. She is currently fighting a winning battle, but if she were to die, my tito's wife and youngest son - a cousin my age - will be the last two of a family of six.
Some of my titos and titas think that our family is cursed. My mother's father was mentally-ill. From what I was told, he had some form of schizophrenia; my grandmother, in her later years, eventually developed Alzheimer's and lost quite a bit of her short- and long-term memory. After my Tito Sonny died from pancreatitis, the family had to stop telling her what had happened to him because she would grieve all over again as if she were hearing of his death for the first time. In some ways, she was. It was the same for my Tita Cita. My grandmother, who remained until she died with her unmarried daughters in the concrete house where she had raised her children, would call out for Cita often and then cry. It is hard for me to imagine a woman, who was well-known for her humor and wit, to be disoriented and despondent. I thought there would be relief when she finally died.
There wasn't.
I don't know if I believe in curses, but I do believe in luck. So maybe curses exist in the same way that darkness is just the absence of light. My father's side of the family, hailing from Boston, is known for having extraordinary luck. Though they've had their share of health conditions, they've all had some fortunate - and sometimes amazing - breaks. Maybe that was the light for my mom when my dad first saw a beautiful Filipina nurse on an elevator at Johns Hopkins Hospital and fell in love instantaneously. He - as well as everyone else who was born or marries into our family - bands together and assists when and where they can with the family's growing medical bills. Yet my Tita Olivia, ever the humble and generous soul despite her crippling disease, is still often giving away what little money she has to the poorer around her in Manila.
Whenever I reminisce with my parents about my transition to New York, my dad often comments, "It's that [last name omitted] luck." Maybe I shouldn't write about that luck and cause a jinx. I just wish it would bring me a winning lottery ticket - though I supposed I'd have to actually buy tickets to have any chances.
When I was in my late-teens, I wrote a letter to Oprah after seeing an episode where she had helped a family. I hoped that she would renovate my grandmother's concrete house in the Philippines (which has little to no running water) and provide them with comfortable furniture, especially my Tita Olivia, who has spent most of her life in a bed. I wanted my Tita Connie, Tita Cita and Tita Marie to be able to retire from housekeeping in New York City and live comfortably in their own home near their friends and family. I specifically wanted my Tita Cita to stop working seasonally in the United States and enjoy whatever time she might have left in the Philippines. I promised Oprah in the letter that if she could help me renovate the house so that they could live well in the meantime, I would help them all retire once I was rich. I never mailed the letter because I didn't know how I was going to get rich.
When I was 25, I found the letter and realized that two of the people I wanted to renovate the house for were gone. My Tita Cita had died and my grandmother no longer remembered who I was and did not know what was going on most of the time. I don't know if I cried more while reading the letter about the house that never was or the people that no longer were.
Now I feel like I'm waiting again to hear every one's memories of Gerald and put them in my little mental box where I save things I want to remember. As his situation begins to seem more hopeless, my mind tries to trick me into anticipating the relief. I know it won't be there.
A Year Ago Today: No post
Two Years Ago Today: First Weekend Recap
My mother shared a memory with me last Thanksgiving of my Tita Cita, who - in her 40s and in the more successful stages of her battle with breast cancer - wanted some sort of little baking oven. My mom was visiting her family in the Philippines at that time and my Tita Cita was awaiting some important test results regarding the remission of her cancer. If the results are good, she had said to my mother, she wanted to go buy that little oven. If the results were bad, there would be no reason to waste money on it. They went together to get the results and immediately after the doctor revealed the good news, she turned to my mother and said, "Let's go get that oven."
A few years later, in the final moments of her life, my Tito Rocky remembers standing at the foot of her hospital bed as doctors and nurses bustled around her failing body, surrounded by tubes and needles and machines. Over a nurse's shoulder, he made eye contact with her and saw the sadness and defeat she was feeling. He knew in that instant that it was the end and that she was letting go. My Tita Marie told me the story that my Tito Rocky had once shared with her. After that, he had said that he hoped to never have to watch someone he loves die again.
For a family of 11, composed of my mother's four brothers and four sisters, who struggled in the poorer areas of the Metro Manila throughout most of their child- and young adulthood, you'd think life would at least offer them a break in their later years. Instead, my mother has osteoporosis, and her eldest sister has been bedridden, suffering from debilitating rheumatoid arthritis, since her early 20s. My mother's eldest brother Tito Sonny died suddenly in 2000 of pancreatitis some 15-20 years after losing a teenage son in a tragic bus accident. Then, last year his oldest son died from the same pancreatic complications, leaving behind a young wife and two small children. And recently Tito Sonny's only daughter was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. She is currently fighting a winning battle, but if she were to die, my tito's wife and youngest son - a cousin my age - will be the last two of a family of six.
Some of my titos and titas think that our family is cursed. My mother's father was mentally-ill. From what I was told, he had some form of schizophrenia; my grandmother, in her later years, eventually developed Alzheimer's and lost quite a bit of her short- and long-term memory. After my Tito Sonny died from pancreatitis, the family had to stop telling her what had happened to him because she would grieve all over again as if she were hearing of his death for the first time. In some ways, she was. It was the same for my Tita Cita. My grandmother, who remained until she died with her unmarried daughters in the concrete house where she had raised her children, would call out for Cita often and then cry. It is hard for me to imagine a woman, who was well-known for her humor and wit, to be disoriented and despondent. I thought there would be relief when she finally died.
There wasn't.
I don't know if I believe in curses, but I do believe in luck. So maybe curses exist in the same way that darkness is just the absence of light. My father's side of the family, hailing from Boston, is known for having extraordinary luck. Though they've had their share of health conditions, they've all had some fortunate - and sometimes amazing - breaks. Maybe that was the light for my mom when my dad first saw a beautiful Filipina nurse on an elevator at Johns Hopkins Hospital and fell in love instantaneously. He - as well as everyone else who was born or marries into our family - bands together and assists when and where they can with the family's growing medical bills. Yet my Tita Olivia, ever the humble and generous soul despite her crippling disease, is still often giving away what little money she has to the poorer around her in Manila.
Whenever I reminisce with my parents about my transition to New York, my dad often comments, "It's that [last name omitted] luck." Maybe I shouldn't write about that luck and cause a jinx. I just wish it would bring me a winning lottery ticket - though I supposed I'd have to actually buy tickets to have any chances.
When I was in my late-teens, I wrote a letter to Oprah after seeing an episode where she had helped a family. I hoped that she would renovate my grandmother's concrete house in the Philippines (which has little to no running water) and provide them with comfortable furniture, especially my Tita Olivia, who has spent most of her life in a bed. I wanted my Tita Connie, Tita Cita and Tita Marie to be able to retire from housekeeping in New York City and live comfortably in their own home near their friends and family. I specifically wanted my Tita Cita to stop working seasonally in the United States and enjoy whatever time she might have left in the Philippines. I promised Oprah in the letter that if she could help me renovate the house so that they could live well in the meantime, I would help them all retire once I was rich. I never mailed the letter because I didn't know how I was going to get rich.
When I was 25, I found the letter and realized that two of the people I wanted to renovate the house for were gone. My Tita Cita had died and my grandmother no longer remembered who I was and did not know what was going on most of the time. I don't know if I cried more while reading the letter about the house that never was or the people that no longer were.
Now I feel like I'm waiting again to hear every one's memories of Gerald and put them in my little mental box where I save things I want to remember. As his situation begins to seem more hopeless, my mind tries to trick me into anticipating the relief. I know it won't be there.
A Year Ago Today: No post
Two Years Ago Today: First Weekend Recap
Saturday, March 15, 2008
United Colors of Benetton
Tonight is Girls' Night.
Meet the cast of characters from my nightlife in New York City.
We're like the United Nations or a gang of Disney Fairies.
Clockwise from top (with fairy correlation):
Natasha M., (Tasha) the film and TV voice over/actress (the adorable blonde)
Ra, the shoe designer (the token Black hottie*)
Iris, the handbag designer (the gorgeous White girl with an ass)
Mayra, the international manufacturing, research and multimedia supervisor (the Equedorian with the entire exotic package, including the sexy accent)
Me, executive assistant, blog author (the half Filipina/half White girl with long hair)
*Featured as the Token Black Fairy in our Disney remake and representing for:
Gina, the fashion merchandiser who just moved to LA
Debasha, the fashion corporate merchandise planner
Other main characters:
Tokii, the best friend, whose acting career takes her away from the city more and more and takes my heart with her wherever she goes (the next Tia & Tamara Mowry by appearance; next Angela Bassett by trade)
Annisha, the publishing marketer (the Caribbean beauty)
Candice, the sexy flight attendant (the Black Southern belle)
Cassie, the Connecticut-based, soon-to-be-fulltime-New Yorker, hot nanny that I would never hire to be eye candy for my husband in my home, and one of the top five prettiest people I've ever seen in real life (Puerto Rican with a Southern accent - does it get any hotter than that?)
The most interesting part of the above list is that all of us, with the exception of Annisha (from Trinidad & Tobago), are from or have lived in North Carolina.
There aren't too many Disney references that can be applied to our unmarried-gals-in-the-city lives, but this blog is full of cliché Sex and the City quotes. Many of my cliché moments are inspired by the most important women in my life within the five boroughs ... although that area is quickly expanding to encompass the world.
Meet the cast of characters from my nightlife in New York City.
We're like the United Nations or a gang of Disney Fairies.
Clockwise from top (with fairy correlation):
Natasha M., (Tasha) the film and TV voice over/actress (the adorable blonde)
Ra, the shoe designer (the token Black hottie*)
Iris, the handbag designer (the gorgeous White girl with an ass)
Mayra, the international manufacturing, research and multimedia supervisor (the Equedorian with the entire exotic package, including the sexy accent)
Me, executive assistant, blog author (the half Filipina/half White girl with long hair)
*Featured as the Token Black Fairy in our Disney remake and representing for:
Gina, the fashion merchandiser who just moved to LA
Debasha, the fashion corporate merchandise planner
Other main characters:
Tokii, the best friend, whose acting career takes her away from the city more and more and takes my heart with her wherever she goes (the next Tia & Tamara Mowry by appearance; next Angela Bassett by trade)
Annisha, the publishing marketer (the Caribbean beauty)
Candice, the sexy flight attendant (the Black Southern belle)
Cassie, the Connecticut-based, soon-to-be-fulltime-New Yorker, hot nanny that I would never hire to be eye candy for my husband in my home, and one of the top five prettiest people I've ever seen in real life (Puerto Rican with a Southern accent - does it get any hotter than that?)
The most interesting part of the above list is that all of us, with the exception of Annisha (from Trinidad & Tobago), are from or have lived in North Carolina.
There aren't too many Disney references that can be applied to our unmarried-gals-in-the-city lives, but this blog is full of cliché Sex and the City quotes. Many of my cliché moments are inspired by the most important women in my life within the five boroughs ... although that area is quickly expanding to encompass the world.
Monday, March 10, 2008
I'll Always Be 12
So my mom sent me an email a few weeks ago, which is likely a direct result of this post and this post. The general tone, in four sentences, was motherly criticism regarding my use of fowl language and how "it may be normal for most people" but "it still isn't nice," and "it may sound cute if you accidentally say it when 'surprised,' but to do it as part of a normal sentence makes the difference between couth and uncouth."
I sighed. Closed my personal email. Took a sip from my steaming mug of green tea. Began my corporate day in a Manhattan skyscraper. Come on, Mom, I thought. I'm 28!
I was going to completely ignore her email and not issue a direct response via reply or indirectly via my blog. Then I read Chelsea Talks Smack's March 2nd post:
I'm sorry Granny (yes she reads my blog and now knows entirely too much inappropriate information about me), cousins, DAD, uncles, etc. Please forgive me for what I'm about to do -but, it's fucking human nature. So, go check your e-mail and return tomorrow. I wouldn't want to completely tarnish your pure vision of me as a little girl on Easter Sunday pointing out the color of tulips and looking all, cute and shit. Plus, if the idea that I'm not a virgin anymore is too much for you to handle, you may want to click the little red X at the top right corner of this page. Ciao.
Read more if you don't know Chelsea or if you know Chelsea and can handle that she is no longer a virgin.
Prepare for run-on sentence:
And I realized that - if Chelsea still has to apologize in advance to a family as cool as hers (check out the "Would You Punch Granny???" post) for real, raw and open topics that I only wish I had the guts to post, and East Village Idiot features reviews like:
"The best site on the World Wide Internet. Although he could cut down on the profanity a bit." - Chris' Mom"
... and Irish and Jew, hilarious 20-something New York bloggers, are smart enough to not tell their mothers that they have a blog - then I am not the only one with parents who frown upon my choice of language and personal decisions, but are still pretty cool, in general-ish. So I will accept my parents' criticisms with a grain of salt and appreciate the fact that I have parents who care enough to express criticisms that I can accept with a grain of salt.
But I still won't like it. I'm 28!
I sighed. Closed my personal email. Took a sip from my steaming mug of green tea. Began my corporate day in a Manhattan skyscraper. Come on, Mom, I thought. I'm 28!
I was going to completely ignore her email and not issue a direct response via reply or indirectly via my blog. Then I read Chelsea Talks Smack's March 2nd post:
I'm sorry Granny (yes she reads my blog and now knows entirely too much inappropriate information about me), cousins, DAD, uncles, etc. Please forgive me for what I'm about to do -but, it's fucking human nature. So, go check your e-mail and return tomorrow. I wouldn't want to completely tarnish your pure vision of me as a little girl on Easter Sunday pointing out the color of tulips and looking all, cute and shit. Plus, if the idea that I'm not a virgin anymore is too much for you to handle, you may want to click the little red X at the top right corner of this page. Ciao.
Read more if you don't know Chelsea or if you know Chelsea and can handle that she is no longer a virgin.
Prepare for run-on sentence:
And I realized that - if Chelsea still has to apologize in advance to a family as cool as hers (check out the "Would You Punch Granny???" post) for real, raw and open topics that I only wish I had the guts to post, and East Village Idiot features reviews like:
"The best site on the World Wide Internet. Although he could cut down on the profanity a bit." - Chris' Mom"
... and Irish and Jew, hilarious 20-something New York bloggers, are smart enough to not tell their mothers that they have a blog - then I am not the only one with parents who frown upon my choice of language and personal decisions, but are still pretty cool, in general-ish. So I will accept my parents' criticisms with a grain of salt and appreciate the fact that I have parents who care enough to express criticisms that I can accept with a grain of salt.
But I still won't like it. I'm 28!
Thursday, November 29, 2007
This Workplace Break Sponsored by Un-PC PCs
Since I work in digital advertising, I generally understand content-relevant advertising so I find it slightly offensive and totally amusing that my myspace homepage triggers these text link advertisements:
Thursday, May 24, 2007
In the Company of Relatives
What is the likelihood that I would move from North Carolina to New York City and gain employment in the same company as an extended member of my family (on the side that isn't even from the United States), and who I didn't even know existed? I don't know the exact odds, but this is why I should not marry a Filipino:
Me: [sitting in my cubicle in our midtown office building]
My phone: [starts to ring]
Me: "This is Katie."
Voice on other line: "Katie, this is Caroline. I work at [our downtown office building]."
Me: "Hi. What can I do for you?"
Voice: "Tita Elsie told me to call you."
Me: [confused] "What?"
Voice: "Tita Elsie."
Me: "Who?"
Voice: "Tita Elsie. Do you know Tita Elsie?"
Me: [I do know Tita Elsie, but I was disoriented by the context] "Wait. Who is this?"
Voice: "This is Caroline. I'm Tita Elsie's niece."
Tita Elsie is my mother's cousin. Apparently Caroline has worked for this company for five years. We've even walked by each other several times in either building or at different company functions since the start of my employment nine months ago and never knew that we were related.
A similar situation happened to my mom in Asheville. She realized that she had second cousins living 30 minutes down I-40 in Waynesville after living in Western North Carolina for almost ten years. If I do marry a Filipino, who ends up being my second or third cousin, maybe the White side of my genes will dilute the chromosomes enough to ward off any mental or physical disabilities.
Me: [sitting in my cubicle in our midtown office building]
My phone: [starts to ring]
Me: "This is Katie."
Voice on other line: "Katie, this is Caroline. I work at [our downtown office building]."
Me: "Hi. What can I do for you?"
Voice: "Tita Elsie told me to call you."
Me: [confused] "What?"
Voice: "Tita Elsie."
Me: "Who?"
Voice: "Tita Elsie. Do you know Tita Elsie?"
Me: [I do know Tita Elsie, but I was disoriented by the context] "Wait. Who is this?"
Voice: "This is Caroline. I'm Tita Elsie's niece."
Tita Elsie is my mother's cousin. Apparently Caroline has worked for this company for five years. We've even walked by each other several times in either building or at different company functions since the start of my employment nine months ago and never knew that we were related.
A similar situation happened to my mom in Asheville. She realized that she had second cousins living 30 minutes down I-40 in Waynesville after living in Western North Carolina for almost ten years. If I do marry a Filipino, who ends up being my second or third cousin, maybe the White side of my genes will dilute the chromosomes enough to ward off any mental or physical disabilities.
Friday, May 18, 2007
Intercontinental Family Correspondence
On 5/17/07, my mom <email_address_removed@aol.com> (in North Carolina) wrote:
Did I give either one of you my Filipino cookbook? I have been looking for it and can't find it.
On 5/17/07, my brother <email_address_removed@gmail.com> (in Shanghai) wrote:
I know I didn't take it with me. Katie is the most likely person, but she doesn't cook (well).
On 5/18/07, I <email_address_removed@yahoo.com> (in Manhattan) wrote:
WHY would I take a COOKBOOK anywhere?
On 5/18/07, my dad <email_address_removed@aol.com> (in North Carolina) wrote:
Cookbook found.
Dad
My family has gone global with cyber assumptions, accusations and sibling rivalry. But whatever, I'm headed to Miami!!!
This is Katie, signing off from New York City. Tune back in for my next installment: Hot New Yorker in Florida's #1 Hook-Up Town, which will unfortunately be censored because my parents read this blog. Just kidding, Dad! Sort of. Well, not really. I mean, totally kidding.
Did I give either one of you my Filipino cookbook? I have been looking for it and can't find it.
On 5/17/07, my brother <email_address_removed@gmail.com> (in Shanghai) wrote:
I know I didn't take it with me. Katie is the most likely person, but she doesn't cook (well).
On 5/18/07, I <email_address_removed@yahoo.com> (in Manhattan) wrote:
WHY would I take a COOKBOOK anywhere?
On 5/18/07, my dad <email_address_removed@aol.com> (in North Carolina) wrote:
Cookbook found.
Dad
My family has gone global with cyber assumptions, accusations and sibling rivalry. But whatever, I'm headed to Miami!!!
This is Katie, signing off from New York City. Tune back in for my next installment: Hot New Yorker in Florida's #1 Hook-Up Town, which will unfortunately be censored because my parents read this blog. Just kidding, Dad! Sort of. Well, not really. I mean, totally kidding.
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Indiscriminate Sunday: Societal Service, Cat-Sitting Cash & Tradition Choices (in Random Order)
This morning I woke up bright and early and left the East Village [Update: I am again cat-sitting for my boss (the vp one) over the next two weeks while she and her husband are on vacation in New Orleans]. From her apartment on First Avenue, I journeyed to the Upper West Side, where I would be assisting with new registration for the March of Dimes Walk.
Now that I have become more settled as a New Yorker, I am getting involved with the New York Alumnae Chapter of my sorority (I joined a collegiate chapter of a Historically Black Greek Organization as a university undergrad in 2001). At Columbus & 62nd, I met my sorors at 6:50 a.m. to man our volunteer post and await instructions. The sorors, who volunteered their Sunday morning to the March of Dimes, ranged in ages from the mid-20's to the late-60's, and it was nice to spend time together while assisting a worthy cause. Over the past year since leaving North Carolina and the Asheville Alumnae Chapter, I had forgotten how much I enjoyed being with likeminded education- and career-oriented women, who share common interests in fellowship and community empowerment.
It may seem odd that I joined a historically-Black sorority since I am not Black. But in fact, it's not as unheard-of as one might think. In an article in 2000, Ebony magazine explored the rare phenomena of Whites in Black Sororities and Fraternities:
"If you're envisioning a bunch of Eminem- and Teena Marie-look-alikes, get ready for the real. These White members fit no easy stereotypes. Instead, they come from all backgrounds--urban neighborhoods, Middle America and even the segregated South. Some grew up surrounded by Blacks, while others had little contact with African-Americans before college.
"'Some of my brothers would say I'm probably the Whitest guy they know,' says Duchamp, the assistant director for fraternity and sorority life at Longwood College who joined Phi Beta Sigma at Clemson University in 1997."
Read more
Some of my sorors would describe me as the Whitest Filipina they know. Growing up in a society that often forces everyone into boxes, and where I was too White to be Filipina and too Filipina to be White, I feel like that description is pretty accurate. And it suits me just fine as I have grown adamant about not denying either side of my heritage.
I might have joined an Asian sorority had there been an opportunity at my university, and I considered several White sororities; however, in hindsight, my last six years in Greek life have been more fulfilling than I ever dared to expect from a sorority. My reasons for joining a Black Greek organization are somewhat similar to those of other non-African American members, including "perpetual membership and community service ... and a more-desirable moral fabric," but it was also something I just felt.
After the March of Dimes registration and check-in closed at 11 a.m., I ventured down to the Lower East Side to pick up nine pounds of jelly beans on behalf of my other boss (the avp one) for an upcoming company party. And because it was a chilly day and I had been awake since 5:30 a.m., I forwent my Spring Sunday City Walk and returned to my boss's apartment to lounge on her couch in front of her huge flat-screen TV.
I can't believe she pays me whenever I stay at her place with her 18-year-old cat Stella. Although ... it is pretty tough work. A comfortable couch with the deluxe cable TV package in a [Manhattan]-huge, 2-bedroom apartment in the trendy East Village. It's a tough job, but someone has to get paid to hang here.
Now that I have become more settled as a New Yorker, I am getting involved with the New York Alumnae Chapter of my sorority (I joined a collegiate chapter of a Historically Black Greek Organization as a university undergrad in 2001). At Columbus & 62nd, I met my sorors at 6:50 a.m. to man our volunteer post and await instructions. The sorors, who volunteered their Sunday morning to the March of Dimes, ranged in ages from the mid-20's to the late-60's, and it was nice to spend time together while assisting a worthy cause. Over the past year since leaving North Carolina and the Asheville Alumnae Chapter, I had forgotten how much I enjoyed being with likeminded education- and career-oriented women, who share common interests in fellowship and community empowerment.
It may seem odd that I joined a historically-Black sorority since I am not Black. But in fact, it's not as unheard-of as one might think. In an article in 2000, Ebony magazine explored the rare phenomena of Whites in Black Sororities and Fraternities:
"If you're envisioning a bunch of Eminem- and Teena Marie-look-alikes, get ready for the real. These White members fit no easy stereotypes. Instead, they come from all backgrounds--urban neighborhoods, Middle America and even the segregated South. Some grew up surrounded by Blacks, while others had little contact with African-Americans before college.
"'Some of my brothers would say I'm probably the Whitest guy they know,' says Duchamp, the assistant director for fraternity and sorority life at Longwood College who joined Phi Beta Sigma at Clemson University in 1997."
Read more
Some of my sorors would describe me as the Whitest Filipina they know. Growing up in a society that often forces everyone into boxes, and where I was too White to be Filipina and too Filipina to be White, I feel like that description is pretty accurate. And it suits me just fine as I have grown adamant about not denying either side of my heritage.
I might have joined an Asian sorority had there been an opportunity at my university, and I considered several White sororities; however, in hindsight, my last six years in Greek life have been more fulfilling than I ever dared to expect from a sorority. My reasons for joining a Black Greek organization are somewhat similar to those of other non-African American members, including "perpetual membership and community service ... and a more-desirable moral fabric," but it was also something I just felt.
After the March of Dimes registration and check-in closed at 11 a.m., I ventured down to the Lower East Side to pick up nine pounds of jelly beans on behalf of my other boss (the avp one) for an upcoming company party. And because it was a chilly day and I had been awake since 5:30 a.m., I forwent my Spring Sunday City Walk and returned to my boss's apartment to lounge on her couch in front of her huge flat-screen TV.
I can't believe she pays me whenever I stay at her place with her 18-year-old cat Stella. Although ... it is pretty tough work. A comfortable couch with the deluxe cable TV package in a [Manhattan]-huge, 2-bedroom apartment in the trendy East Village. It's a tough job, but someone has to get paid to hang here.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Pamumuhay
In Amy's New York Notebook, an April 20th blog offers it condolences to the family of Julia Campbell, a former colleague of Amy Langfield at ABCNews.com. Julia was murdered in the Philippines earlier this month, where she was working in the Peace Corps - and keeping a blog about her experiences.
From SignOnSanDiego.com (19 Apr 2007):
NEW YORK – Julia Campbell was no stranger to adventurous exploits.
As a journalist in New York City, she was a tenacious reporter, at one point getting arrested covering the funeral procession of rapper Notorious B.I.G. She once cut short a date after coming across a crime scene so she could report on the story.
Her adventurous spirit later took her to the Philippines, where she served as a Peace Corps volunteer. It was there that her body was discovered Wednesday in a shallow grave, unearthed by a stray dog more than a week after she disappeared while hiking.
Read more
The last post in Julia's blog is ironically titled "Buhay Pa Tayo." In it, she wrote: "One of the most familiar phrases people say here when you ask them how they are is "Eto" (here) or "Buhay pa" (still alive). Never has it had more meaning than in recent weeks here as we recover from one of the worst typhoons to hit the Philippines in decades."
Hundreds have left comments in her blog - much in the way that mourners have left messages on the myspace pages of those who died at Virginia Tech. The Internet has created a new outlet in which technology further aids memories - beyond simple photographs and video - in keeping loved ones buhay in hearts and minds.
From SignOnSanDiego.com (19 Apr 2007):
NEW YORK – Julia Campbell was no stranger to adventurous exploits.
As a journalist in New York City, she was a tenacious reporter, at one point getting arrested covering the funeral procession of rapper Notorious B.I.G. She once cut short a date after coming across a crime scene so she could report on the story.
Her adventurous spirit later took her to the Philippines, where she served as a Peace Corps volunteer. It was there that her body was discovered Wednesday in a shallow grave, unearthed by a stray dog more than a week after she disappeared while hiking.
Read more
The last post in Julia's blog is ironically titled "Buhay Pa Tayo." In it, she wrote: "One of the most familiar phrases people say here when you ask them how they are is "Eto" (here) or "Buhay pa" (still alive). Never has it had more meaning than in recent weeks here as we recover from one of the worst typhoons to hit the Philippines in decades."
Hundreds have left comments in her blog - much in the way that mourners have left messages on the myspace pages of those who died at Virginia Tech. The Internet has created a new outlet in which technology further aids memories - beyond simple photographs and video - in keeping loved ones buhay in hearts and minds.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Phone Photo Ops - City Walk #5
Today's route: Lower East Side 1
Seward Park
Chinatown expansion
One of the neighborhood's religious landmarks:
Eldridge Street Synagogue
Chrysler Building from the Lower East Side
One of thousands of Zagat-Rated restaurants:
Little Giant has fabulous window seats
97 Orchard Street, between Broome & Delancey
Adjacent the Tenement Museum shop
Among various books in the Tenement Museum shop illustrating
the many love affairs with New York that came before mine,
I found a book about me: Part Asian, 100% Hapa
Clinton Street, between Stanton & E. Houston:
A block so beautiful, I needed two angles
A round sign hangs above the table where Meg Ryan
faked an orgasm in "When Harry Met Sally"
Seward Park
Chinatown expansion
One of the neighborhood's religious landmarks:
Eldridge Street Synagogue
Chrysler Building from the Lower East Side
One of thousands of Zagat-Rated restaurants:
Little Giant has fabulous window seats
97 Orchard Street, between Broome & Delancey
Adjacent the Tenement Museum shop
Among various books in the Tenement Museum shop illustrating
the many love affairs with New York that came before mine,
I found a book about me: Part Asian, 100% Hapa
Clinton Street, between Stanton & E. Houston:
A block so beautiful, I needed two angles
A round sign hangs above the table where Meg Ryan
faked an orgasm in "When Harry Met Sally"
Monday, March 12, 2007
Phone Photo Op - Apt To Be Cont'd
I worked from home today in order to accept delivery of my new lamp (which I was only able to purchase with the help of a gift card that my bosses gave me for Christmas).
Pictured below is my apartment in progress. In the small alcove of my studio is my platform bed with drawers and new floor display lamp. The two hangings illuminated by the lamp were handmade in the Philippines and given to me by my mother. The two prints above my bed are mass-produced orginals that can be found in any Bed, Bath & Beyond or Kirklands.
When you live in a 300-square foot apartment, it is important to purchase pieces that serve multiple functions (i.e. bed/dresser and nightstand/lamp). To the left is the hallway/closet to my bathroom/kitchen.
Just kidding about the "/kitchen" part.
Pictured below is my apartment in progress. In the small alcove of my studio is my platform bed with drawers and new floor display lamp. The two hangings illuminated by the lamp were handmade in the Philippines and given to me by my mother. The two prints above my bed are mass-produced orginals that can be found in any Bed, Bath & Beyond or Kirklands.
When you live in a 300-square foot apartment, it is important to purchase pieces that serve multiple functions (i.e. bed/dresser and nightstand/lamp). To the left is the hallway/closet to my bathroom/kitchen.
Just kidding about the "/kitchen" part.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Midweek Recap
What I did today: Woke up before my alarm went off at 6 a.m.; fell in a man's lap when the train lurched on the tracks; read the newest issue of one of our company's magazines, which doesn't hit newsstands until March; stepped out of the office for lunch for the first time in two weeks; attended mass for Ash Wednesday and walked around the city with black ashes on my forehead; decided that I am going to give up Starbursts for Lent; returned home to receive my groceries from FreshDirect within the 8-10 p.m. delivery window I had selected; finished this blog in time to catch the new episode of LOST; drinking a glass of wine now.
What I did yesterday:
Had a good day at work; attended a cardio kickboxing class at Equinox with one of my bosses; sat in the steam room even though I forgot my flip flops (I hope I didn't catch plantar warts); watched "Sex and the City" on TBS; received photos of my cousin's wedding in the Philippines and wished I could have been there; drank a glass of wine; got in bed by 11 p.m. and began a new book: Tales from the Bed: On Living, Dying and Having It All, a memoir by Jenifer Estess as told to Valerie Estess.
What I did yesterday:
Had a good day at work; attended a cardio kickboxing class at Equinox with one of my bosses; sat in the steam room even though I forgot my flip flops (I hope I didn't catch plantar warts); watched "Sex and the City" on TBS; received photos of my cousin's wedding in the Philippines and wished I could have been there; drank a glass of wine; got in bed by 11 p.m. and began a new book: Tales from the Bed: On Living, Dying and Having It All, a memoir by Jenifer Estess as told to Valerie Estess.
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
Crossroads of the World
A couple of weekends ago, Tita Marie and I were sitting on a bench in the 61st Street Station in Woodside (Queens) on our way to see a movie at the AMC Theater in Times Square. Amidst our random topics of conversation while we waited for the train, she briefly mentioned Tita Cita (one of my mom's four sisters). Tita Cita died in the Philippines a few years ago from breast cancer and had lived in New York City a few times before the cancer made it impossible for her to continue working.
"You know," she said, "Your Tita Cita loved Times Square. Sometimes after work, she would get off the train in Times Square just so she could walk around and look at the buildings, the billboards and the lights."
I tried to picture my aunt, before she was sick, taking a detour after a long week of work, exiting the subway and ascending the stairs into the crossroads of the world. Surely she had been tired and ready to get home after a six-day stretch as a live-in housekeeper, but undoubtedly she was often lured from the tunnels by the excitement of the place where 42nd Street crosses Broadway. And surely she was smiling as she strolled about under the blanket of lights that keep Times Square from ever knowing darkness. She had smiling eyes - the kind of eyes that always looked like they were attempting to conceal an inside joke or a funny secret.
It was so hard for her to die from cancer - not that it's ever easy for anyone to let go. But I knew exactly what Tita Marie meant as she quietly said, "Your Tita Cita really wanted to live."
This afternoon, I rushed through work in a failing attempt to leave on time in order to meet Tokii for a spinning class at the gym. It was an ambitious endeavor because I haven't left work before 7 p.m. in almost two weeks. When I finally passed through the revolving doors that spit me onto 42nd Street, it was too late to make it to the class.
Randomly recalling my conversation with Tita Marie and since the afternoon downpour had reduced itself to a light drizzle, I decided to walk down the street to Times Square. I opened my umbrella and settled into the customary New-Yorker-with-a-purpose stride until I turned the corner and the signature billboards loomed overhead. Then I slowed down, stared up into the lights that will continue to mesmerize and dazzle the world long after I am gone and took a stroll for my Tita Cita.
"You know," she said, "Your Tita Cita loved Times Square. Sometimes after work, she would get off the train in Times Square just so she could walk around and look at the buildings, the billboards and the lights."
I tried to picture my aunt, before she was sick, taking a detour after a long week of work, exiting the subway and ascending the stairs into the crossroads of the world. Surely she had been tired and ready to get home after a six-day stretch as a live-in housekeeper, but undoubtedly she was often lured from the tunnels by the excitement of the place where 42nd Street crosses Broadway. And surely she was smiling as she strolled about under the blanket of lights that keep Times Square from ever knowing darkness. She had smiling eyes - the kind of eyes that always looked like they were attempting to conceal an inside joke or a funny secret.
It was so hard for her to die from cancer - not that it's ever easy for anyone to let go. But I knew exactly what Tita Marie meant as she quietly said, "Your Tita Cita really wanted to live."
This afternoon, I rushed through work in a failing attempt to leave on time in order to meet Tokii for a spinning class at the gym. It was an ambitious endeavor because I haven't left work before 7 p.m. in almost two weeks. When I finally passed through the revolving doors that spit me onto 42nd Street, it was too late to make it to the class.
Randomly recalling my conversation with Tita Marie and since the afternoon downpour had reduced itself to a light drizzle, I decided to walk down the street to Times Square. I opened my umbrella and settled into the customary New-Yorker-with-a-purpose stride until I turned the corner and the signature billboards loomed overhead. Then I slowed down, stared up into the lights that will continue to mesmerize and dazzle the world long after I am gone and took a stroll for my Tita Cita.
Sunday, July 16, 2006
TV Dinner Days & Pan de Sal Nights
Got home from working at Job #2 last night/this morning at 3 a.m. I had one of the best Saturday nights at the casino that I've had in a long time. The beverage servers call weekends Amateur Night because that is when all of the small-time tourists (who don't tip for drinks) come in to gamble. Often high rollers avoid high-volume nights and weekends because they don't like crowds and want more personal attention and better service. And they know how to tip.
I warmed up some pan de sal that Tita Connie bought for me in a Filipino area of Queens when I was apartment hunting in New York last month. I've been preserving it in the freezer so that I wouldn't have to eat it all right away. Eating pan de sal in the morning with my brother and my aunts is one of my favorite memories from being in the Philippines as a child. It tastes great with butter.
I cannot wait to move to New York City, where pan de sal will no longer be the highlight of my night. Until then, it is now. And in my now, Job #3 starts in an hour and a half. I'm going to heat up a Lean Cuisine and get ready for work.
Seriously it's got to be better in New York.
I warmed up some pan de sal that Tita Connie bought for me in a Filipino area of Queens when I was apartment hunting in New York last month. I've been preserving it in the freezer so that I wouldn't have to eat it all right away. Eating pan de sal in the morning with my brother and my aunts is one of my favorite memories from being in the Philippines as a child. It tastes great with butter.
I cannot wait to move to New York City, where pan de sal will no longer be the highlight of my night. Until then, it is now. And in my now, Job #3 starts in an hour and a half. I'm going to heat up a Lean Cuisine and get ready for work.
Seriously it's got to be better in New York.
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