What does it mean to be Pinoy?

“Pinoy” for all those readers who are furrowing their brows and tangling their tongues in an effort to pronounce the word is the informal term for Filipinos. It is our version of “Aussies” to the more formal “Australian”. A reference to our origins, and always with a tinge of pride and patriotism.

It is the response you give when confronted with the question,

“Where are you from?

Sydney. [blank stare followed by a few seconds of silence]

I mean, what nationality are you?” 

The simple answer is Australian of course.

But no, it’s not defined by the label embossed on the cover of your passport. Nor the detail in the laminated ID page inside - next that unsmiling photo only meant for Australia’s Most Wanted file.

It goes beyond that.

It is borderless, boundless and undefined by the country you choose to call home.

It is the essence of your being.

It permeates your every fibre, every cell, every molecule, every atom.

It is the reason why you can find the scent of salt-dried fish deliciously aromatic instead nauseating. It explains why in the middle of winter, you can still walk around stockingless without the fear of blinding passersby with a flash of white, flourescent legs. It is why the bridge of your nose is vertically challenged and those pair of sunnies that looked so good on the magazine just keeps sliding off your face. It is the reason why you sometimes crave for that amazing dish made of pork liver and blood jelly that everyone else finds disgusting.

Yes, it is all that and more.

For those who have packed their bags and chosen a life outside what is rightfully their homeland, defining who you are is much more complex. It is strange that this fact is only ever highlighted in the company of other Pinoys. It is ironic that the ones you are meant to have an affinity with, judge you the most.

There have been numerous occasions when I have been confused by some of the comments about what it means to be a Pinoy. Trips to the Philippines have made me realise that I am increasingly being referred to as “so Australian” as I get older and more set in my ways. Recent conversations with a friend also touched on this “so Aussie vs so Pinoy” reference when I mentioned how my value system differed to that of another person, who admittedly was a recent resident to the country. Even a casual chat about a relation being “still so very Pinoy” despite being here for decades has added to my confusion.

So what does it mean to be Pinoy?

For me, it has always been about standing up for what is right and fair.

It is about fighting injustice, not inflicting it.

It is about earning respect, not demanding it.

It is about humility, not ingratitude.

It is about giving back, not just taking. 

It is about helping the hand that feeds you, not biting it.

It is about taking action against what is wrong, not just acknowledging it. 

But then again, how far off am I in defining what it means if I am more Aussie than Pinoy?

…

Overheard at the Duhiggs

Sette: Tim, what does it mean to be Pinoy?

Tim: When’s independence day?

Sette: June 12

Tim: It’s about knowing the public holidays.

dear Cancer

“Things should go especially well for you today, dear Cancer, so don’t worry about a thing. Life doesn’t necessarily get easier as you get older. You just learn how to deal with things. You’ll find this to be true right now as your incredible sensitivity and wisdom are making it possible for you to attain a clearer perspective. You realize that things are much better than you may have thought.”

…

The past month has been somewhat of blur. The cosy, comfy, cushy world that I had gotten so used to was thrown into a whirring blender of cosmic changes and complex challenges. Gone was the rose-coloured glass bubble that sheltered my world from the harsh, blinding reality of life. Long story short, the past month has made me realise that the tough decisions need to be made, the demons confronted and the dragons slain before you can truly say that the battle has been won. Yes, I am being vague but I am here. With a spring in my step and a bouncing beat in my heart, having survived what has been.

Watch this space

Unintentional blogging hiatus coming to an end. Promise.

i like you

Tucked away in the last few pages of Lydia and Andy’s marriage ceremony booklet was this piece which Tim and I both loved:

I Like You

by Sandol Stoddard Warbug

I like you and I know why.
I like you because you are a good person to like.
I like you because when I tell you something special, you know it’s special
And you remember it a long, long time.
You say, Remember when you told me something special
And both of us remember

Even if it was the 999th of July
Even if it was August
Even if it was way down at the bottom of November
Even if it was no place particular in January
I would go on choosing you
And you would go on choosing me
Over and over again
That’s how it would happen every time

I don’t know why
I guess I don’t know why I really like you
Why do I like you
I guess I just like you
I guess I just like you because I like you.