The author: A mainly Filipino upbringing

The house was filled with the familiar aromas of a party, including the mouthwatering scents of fresh fried lumpia and the pepper and bay leaves of chicken and pork adobo. Outside, the air hazed with savory smoke from barbeque smeared in banana ketchup.

All around the small property, laughter and music pierced the evening as food and drinks were passed around. In the kitchen would have been my mom, Imelda, replenishing the already abundant dishes of Filipino favorites. On the microphone would have been my aunt, Tita Helen, one of the many karaoke singers of the night. As for my grandmother, Lola Remy, she would have been enjoying the night, offering assistance but ultimately kept entertained by the crowd of young adults.

Many find it strange that I identify strongly with my Filipino heritage, despite only being half, and definitely looking more American than Filipino. However, the scene above must have occurred every weekend, at least that’s how it felt growing up. Despite growing up outside of the Philippines, my upbringing was mainly Filipino.

Even when my mom spent most of her days at work, my tita (aunt) and lola (grandmother) were always there to pass down traditional values to my little brother and me.

Mom wanted her family members close by when we found ourselves in Pyeongtaek, South Korea. Dad’s job had us relocating every few years, but the Filipino community was a constant presence. The first three years were especially the busiest, moving-wise. After the eruption of Mount Pinatubo and the closing of U.S. Naval Base Subic Bay, we went to Pensacola, Florida. Then, only mere months later, my parents and I went back to the Pacific. We only stayed in Okinawa for a few months as well. South Korea was finally a place in which we could settle down for a while.

Rachel’s women’s network, from left: Mom Imelda, Lola Remy and Tita Helen.

Lemuel was only a week old when my Tita Helen flew in from Hong Kong. She helped mom out, taking care of Lem and me. Soon, however, she had to return to Hong Kong. Mom and Dad decided that since they had the means, they would sponsor other members of the family to come live with us for the opportunity to work outside of the Philippines. South Korea was certainly a lot easier to reach than the U.S.

First to be sponsored was my Tia Mila, lola’s youngest sister. Unfortunately, I don’t have a strong recollection of the time she was with us. I do remember, and know her still, as a woman who is loving, youthful, and a natural nurturer—qualities often prided by Filipinas. Perhaps due to how young I was, I remember her as always smiling.

Unfortunately, it was not the same for my Tita Helen.

Mixed in with all the fun memories of her are also all of the memories of her yelling. After Tia Mila left, Tita Helen was granted a sponsorship to work in the country and stay with us. However, I was at a mischievous age, and Lem was growing fast and taking after me. We may have been too much the troublemakers for our tita, who was still just in her early twenties. She often had to take on the role of disciplinarian, almost as fearful as the parents. Being the younger sister, she was also very energetic and creative. She often had plenty of activities for us to do. She was like a third parent to us for years, and there is no way I could envision my childhood complete without her.

Around 1998 or so, my lola was able to stay with us for some time every six months. Lola Remy is a treasure. I don’t think there is any other word that can singularly encompass the essence that is my lola. She is sweet, and often cares for others first. Lola was always so calm, but really knew how to find the ticklish spots with her soft matronly hands. We’d always be thrashing wildly on her lap while she just sat smiling and singing, calling our backs her piano and our bottoms her drums.

Having multiple Filipinas running a household gave me a very different upbringing than a lot of other Filipino American children. While I received the traditional values, I was also exposed to the little nuances of the Filipino home—the respect for all family members by generation, the mano po (kissing the hand as a sign of respect), the walis (broom) and tsinelas (slippers) as disciplinary tools, the tabo (plastic or tin can used to scoop water), and even the squat and hover — sorry but I could not leave that out — just to name a few.

More importantly, I realize that lola’s love for family knows no bounds, and that was what passed on to my mother and tita. As cliché as it is, that’s really what I got being raised by many Filipinas, the overwhelming love and responsibility towards family.

Rachel Walt’s father, Martin, was born in New York City. A former Navy sailor, he is now a defense contractor in Afghanistan. Mother Imelda Walt is a native of San Juan, Metro Manila. They met in Okinawa and got married in the Philippines. Rachel just graduated from NYU and is currently working for Advancement for Rural Kids as an Operations and Marketing fellow.

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The story as reported in the NY Daily News…

Wealthy siblings are fighting over a Park Avenue co-op valued at $6.2 million and sold in July, as well as an art and antique collection worth about $1 million that is currently being auctioned off by a Manhattan gallery.

In an affidavit filed August 22, lawyer Pompeyo Realuyo, 79, is asking the Manhattan Supreme Court to issue a restraining order on: 1) the disposition of the proceeds of the sale of the 535 Park Avenue, Apartment 6A&C, which he said his sister Amelia Realuyo, 81, sold “fraudulently,” and 2) the sale of the art and antiques collection that came with the co-op.

The FilAm obtained copies of four court documents including two affidavits from Pompeyo dated August 22 and a summons & verified complaint dated August 21.

New York’s tabloids feasted on the juicy story about elderly siblings fighting over a piece of prime Park Avenue property. The Post headlined it as “Coconut fortune heir sells luxurious Park Avenue pad out from under siblings — and now she’s going for more,” while the Daily News reported, “Elderly siblings in legal battle over $6.2 million 11-room Park Ave. co-op.”

The case pits Pompeyo Realuyo against sisters Amelia and Josephine.

In his affidavit, Pompeyo detailed how the family came to own the property in 1977:

“During 1976, five members of the Realuyo family, i.e., defendants Amelia and Josephine Realuyo, one of their brothers (Gerry), and their parents (Mr. and Mrs. Realuyo), attempted to purchase the Apartment located at 535 Park Avenue (Apt. A&C). However, the co-op board objected to the purchase by all five family members, and insisted that only one individual could be named as the shareholder and proprietary lease holder. The co-op board also limited the occupancy of the apartment to the five specified family members: Mr. and Mrs. Realuyo, Amelia, Josephine and Gerry. The ‘ownership’ dilemma was solved when Amelia, Josephine and Gerry agreed that Amelia’s name would be listed on the co-op share certificate for the apartment, and that she would also be named in the proprietary lease.”

The sale was finalized in 1977.

For many years, this agreement “was honored” by the siblings who lived in the apartment: Amelia, Josephine and Gerry, according to court documents. The deceased Gertrudo (or Gerry), another brother, is identified in court papers as an interior designer and a serious collector of art works and antiques that are being sold by Amelia.

“Virtually all of the furnishings for the apartment were provided by Gerry Realuyo, who, over the span of many years, had acquired an extensive collection of valuable antiques and art works. The only furnishing of any real value in the apartment that was not owned by Gerry was a Steinway grand piano, which was owned by Amelia,” said the complaint.

As detailed in Pompeyo’s complaint, “Gerry made it clear to his two sisters, Amelia and Josephine, that he wished to leave his valuable art and antique collection located in the apartment to the plaintiff, Roa Realuyo Family Foundation.”

Continued the complaint: “Despite his clear instructions, Amelia consigned the collection to defendant Doyle for sale and/or auction, despite the fact that she was not the bona fide owner of the collection.”

Another sibling Augusto, also deceased, was a Bataan Death March survivor and was not mentioned in court papers at all. However, reference to Augusto was made in the NY Post where Pompeyo said the Roa Realuyo Family Foundation that he represents is named after brother Augusto Roa Realuyo, “who died in 2003 at age 82 and had completed two tours in WWII and survived both the death march and a brutal Japanese prison camp.”

Pompeyo further said Amelia sold the apartment at a “lowball price” of $6.25 million, substantially below the market value.

“Defendant Amelia Realuyo…acted in bad faith by executing the sales contracts and other documentation relating to the transfer of an ownership interest in the apartment, resulting in the fraudulent and unauthorized transfer of the apartment and the co-op shares,” he said.

Also named co-defendants in the suit are Felicidad Tortosa, the long-time partner of Amelia; and William Doyle Galleries, to whom the arts and antiques collection has been consigned. JP Morgan Chase Bank and Citibank N.A., where proceeds from the sale of the apartment are said to be deposited, are also named in court papers as defendants.

The affidavit warned that proceeds from the sale may be transferred since Amelia and her partner Tortosa have second homes in Spain.

When reached by The FilAm, Pompeyo declined to comment for this article.

…And the NY Post

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Jenjen Furer (right) with Roz Furer, her Jewish mother-in-law

I am blessed to have been married to a Jewish family. My four children get to experience a little bit of the Filipino Catholic tradition and a little bit of the Jewish family tradition.

Mom, as I call my husband’s mother, was born and raised in Brooklyn. Her parents came from Russia and passed through Ellis Island before settling in New York. Mom’s the driving force on why we get to celebrate the Jewish holidays. She believes that tradition and culture need to be passed on to the next generation.

Just like her own mother, Mom loves to cook. The kitchen is her favorite room in the house. Weeks before any holidays, she’d be baking and cooking and if she knew that it would make you feel better, she was going to do whatever she had to do to deliver her delicious matzah ball soup.

In September, our family celebrates Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.

So I asked Mom about Rosh Hashanah.

Rosh Hashanah, one of the holiest days of the Jewish New Year, is celebrated as a joyful welcoming of the new year or “The Day of Awe.”

Jews gather in traditional Synagogues, or other meeting places, and pray from a special prayer book called “Mahzor.” At special times during the service, with great respect and reverence, the Torah is removed from the Ark, and portions of the Torah are read aloud. At other times during the service a “shofar” or ram’s horn, is blown. It is a mitzvah, (blessing) to hear the shofar.

In the Catholic faith, we go to Confession and receive Penance. On Rosh Hashanah, it is believed, that God opens the Book of Life, and decides who shall live and who shall die. Rosh Hashanah is celebrated as a joyful welcoming of the New Year. On Yum Kippur Jews reflect on the sins of the past year and ask God for forgiveness by fasting for 24 hours and not working.

The days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur is a time for reflection, repentance, and pray for a good fate for the new year.

I asked Mom what does she usually pray for.

We thank God for our good health and pray for our loved ones’ continued good health. We pray for those who may be ill in body or spirit. We pray for America and the brave men and women who keep us safe. We pray for the safety of Israel. And, with great respect and prayer, we honor our dearly departed.

A traditional Rosh Hashanah greeting is “L’Shana Tovah,” Hebrew for a good and sweet year. That’s why Mom serves traditional foods like apples, honey, honey cake and a round challah bread. On Rosh Hashanah, challahs are baked round to signify the continuity of life. As we dip the challah and apples in honey, we are praying for a sweet and good life.

Traditional Rosh Hashanah repast: Honey for a sweet life

Of course, the most joyous time at any holiday, is being with family and friends. Unlike the time when families lived nearby, many families now live a distance away, and can’t always gather on a specified day. For our family, the traditional holiday dinner may not come exactly on the holiday. However, all of our very best traditional holiday foods are served when we do get together.

Like always, Mom had been cooking and baking for weeks. This year, our traditional Rosh Hashanah dinner consists of chicken soup, matzah balls (dumplings), pot roast. Much more will be served at the end of Yom Kippur on September 14, and our traditional dairy meal (which is usually eaten after the fast) will be eaten for breakfast the next day. One thing is for certain, we will be dipping the challah and apples in honey, talking, laughing, texting, (but not at the dinner table), missing the families who are not able to join us this year, and thanking God that we are together.

To all our family and friends, we wish you all L’Shana Tovah, a good and sweet year!

Jenjen Furer is the author of “Out of Status,” a memoir about her family’s immigration journey to the U.S. Her mother-in-law, Brooklyn-born Roz Furer is a 9/11 survivor and a grandmother of 4. She is at work on her first book, “Amber Beads,” a memoir about family and her favorite recipes.

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Heart, humor and honesty went into the making of this video by graphic designer David Gibson and comic Rich Kiamco. It may be a pitch for votes for candidate Barbara Buono – who is running against incumbent New Jersey Gov. Chris Christie — but beyond that, this story is one of many same-sex narratives that make the Garden State a truly ‘accepting and respecting’ home for many Filipino Americans.

Here’s David and Rich sharing their moving story with New Jersey’s electorate. They will be speaking today, October 4, at a 7:30 p.m. rally in front of City Hall in Jersey City with Mayor Steven Fulop and gubernatorial candidate Barbara Buono. — Cristina DC Pastor

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With his mother Cleo Driessler, who passed away before her 67th birthday

Editor, writer and artist Randy Gener, whose essay about his recently departed mother was published in TheFilAm magazine on what would have been her 67th birthday, garnered the Philippine American Press Club’s 2013 Plaridel Award for Outstanding Editorial Essay/Commentary at a gala dinner in Colma, California, on October 19th.

In addition, the Asian American Arts Alliance selected Gener as one of the eight top finalists for the 2013 Wai Look Award for Outstanding Service to the Arts. The award is given periodically to “Asian American individuals who are making a significant contribution to the arts by demonstrating a commitment to outstanding service, advocacy and leadership.”

This year’s the Alliance received 37 nominations for the Wai Look Award. According to the alliance’s website, “Selections for the Wai Look Award are based on demonstrated and exceptional service to or participation in the field, the impact of the work and the potential for future contributions.”

Gladys Chen of Second Generation Production was named this year’s Wai Look Award winner at a gala dinner in New York on Tuesday, October 15th.

PLARIDEL AWARD
Sponsored by the 25-year-old Philippine American Press Club, USA (PAPC), the second annual Plaridel Awards for excellence in journalism honored outstanding reporters and commentators from various Filipino American news media. Esther Misa Chavez, PAPC president, welcomed honorees and guests to the awards ceremony at Rene’s Fine Dining in Colma, just outside San Francisco.

Chavez said that all the Plaridel Awards judges gave Gener “top scores” for his two-part personal essay, “A Song for My Mother,” which he published in The FilAm on May 24, 2013. An honorable mention for for outstanding editorial essay went to Dy Calica-LaPutt of Asian Journal for “The fight continues for Filipino vets.”

Unable to travel from the East Coast, Gener sent a message to the awards committee: “The Press Club and the Plaridel Awards jury have given my Mom this amazing tribute. This award is not for me. I cannot be happy when I think about how broken my heart is that Mama is not here. May this Plaridel Award serve as a healing coda to the songs of love and pain we sing in memory of my fiercely loving mom. And in praise of the American life she had fought with the depth of her soul to live.”

Another Plaridel Award winner from the TheFilAm family of online publications was Lawrence C. Ochoa, an 18-year-old freshman from Cal State Northridge, who won Outstanding Youth Voice for his article “A Teen-ager Attends His First Kalayaan.”

Founder of the The FilAm online publications Cristina Dc Pastor: “TheFilAm has done it again, two years in a row. This year, The FilAm won Outstanding Editorial Essay for Randy Gener and Outstanding Youth Voice for Lawrence Ochoa of The FilAm Los Angeles. We thank the Plaridel Awards for honoring our pool of talented writers.”

The Plaridel Awards are named after Marcelo H. Del Pilar, a Filipino journalist and publisher who went to exile during the Spanish occupation of the Philippines in the 16th century and wrote commentaries against the oppression of Filipinos. For a complete list of winners, visit http://globalnation.inquirer.net/88551/community-journalists-win-phil-am-press-club-awards

This year’s judges include veteran newspersons Rene Ciria-Cruz of Inquirer.net; Gemma Nemenzo of Positively Filipino; award-winning photojournalist Ric Rocamora; Wennie Conedy, Odette Keeley, Oscar Penaranda, Peggy Peralta and Benjamin Pimentel.

The PAPC was established by former members of the National Press Club of the Philippines who had immigrated to the San Francisco Bay Area. Its member publications (then and now): Philippine News, the Eye, Filipino Monitor, Philippine examiner, Philippine Chronicle, Filipinas Magazine, Filipino Guardian, ABS-CBN, Asian Journal, Philippines Today, Fil-Am Star, Filipino American Radio Network, Filipino Gazette, GMA Pinoy TV, Manila Mail, Inquirer.Net, Philippine Headlines, Positively Filipino, Power ng Pinoy and San Francisco Post.

WAI LOOK AWARD
Established in 2011, the Wai Look Award for Outstanding Service to the Arts is a tribute to the life and work of Wai Look, who served on the Asian American Arts Alliances board of directors from 1999 until her death in December 2010. She spent most of her career in the arts, as an administrator and in artist services, and devoted herself to helping others. Look strongly believed in the importance of volunteering, which was reflected in her personal, as well as professional life.

The Asian American Arts Alliance (A4) is dedicated to strengthening Asian American artists and arts/cultural groups in New York City through funding, promotion and community building. A4 helps support individual artists and arts organizations access and share resources online and in person. A4 builds community through programs that lead to peer-learning, collaboration, and professional development.

The author: ‘Eating fish head was disgusting.’ Photo by Getty Images

Food was important to me as a child. My mother always fed me. But there’s one moment that sticks in my head: eating a fish head.

Now, I’m as American as you can possibly imagine. My mother used to say I was “bastos” and “you’re just like you’re father” and “(insert bad word in Tagalog)” when I did something “inappropriate.” The most Filipino thing I ate regularly was rice and ‘patis’ (fish sauce). But eating a fish head, by American standards, is considered disgusting. I wouldn’t dare tell my friends I eat a fish head in fear of being tormented even more than I was.

She told me, “Boojie (that’s my nickname), it’s good.” Really, it’s the best part of the fish. I obliged. She dug out pieces of meat from the face, the eye, pressed some rice with it, and with her thumb pushed it in my mouth. I was maybe 9 years old at the time. It was odd to have my mom feed me with her hands but it was okay, it made me feel like a baby. We all love those moments, no?

My mother chose my name Maya to represent both my cultures: the Russian ballerina Maya Plisetskaya and the national bird of the Philippines. I was also named also after both my grandmothers: Katrina Ariane.

I first set foot on the island of Luzon when I was 7. My mother’s family lived near the Mother of Perpetual Church in Baclaran. I remember the smells, the ants that bit my legs, the calamine lotion, the man yelling ‘balut,’ I remember being baptized there.

I remember the blind man begging outside of the church. He had no legs and flies danced around his sunburnt head. I was so frightened and asked my mom where his legs were. She said he didn’t have any as she gave the man money in his hand. I remember her also saying, “I wish God would just give these people a break in life.”

If she saw a child begging, she pulled out her wallet. To her, it could have been her “Boojie.”

Fast forward, I moved to New York City, lived by myself, and was independent of my mother. Out of the blue, my mom was rushed to the hospital. She died three days later.

From that moment, I felt I had lost my family and lost my Filipino ties. No one would call me ‘anak’ or tell me to pray to St. Anthony or St. Raphael. I would never eat her chicken adobo again. A year later, I went to the Philippines longing to spend Christmas with children who didn’t have a mother. Instead of being called ‘anak,’ the children called me ‘ate.’ They also used to drag to me to pray the rosary and go to church, just like my mother did.

Back in NYC, my aunt told me at dinner, “You know, you remind me a lot of your Lola Januaria (Ariane).”

“How so?” I didn’t know much about her.

“Your ‘lola’ used to feed the poor children in the neighborhood. She was so loved that when she died, they had busloads of people come to pay their respects.”

I had no idea.

She said, “You are your ‘lola.’” I learned that I was tied to my roots.

To this day, I haven’t eaten a salmon head, but what I wouldn’t give to have my mom feed me. Because it was in that moment, I learned what it felt like to be loved and how to share this love with others.

Filpino American-Ukrainian Maya Rowencak is the founder of Maya’s Hope, a charity organization inspired by her mother and grandmother’s love for children. She delivered this speech on accepting her award as one of The Outstanding Filipino Americans in New York dedicating the award to her mother Maria Milagros Cruz Rowencak and ‘lola’ Januaria Apolinario Cruz.

With fellow TOFA-NY awardees (from left) Christine Sienicki, Marietta Geraldino and Esperanza Garcia. Photo by AJ Photo

The author with son Noah, 7.

On November 27th, an Ohio couple returned their 9-year old adopted son to Butler County Children’s Services with claims he was “displaying aggressive behavior and earlier threatened the family with a knife.” The boy was adopted and raised from infancy, according to reports.

The couple was indicted on “misdemeanor counts of nonsupport” and a Butler lawyer considered their actions as “reckless abandonment.”

I read the article in disbelief, wondering what was going on in the minds of the parents and how this could happen.

The sad truth is that even adopted children are not protected from such selfish and inhumane treatment. Ever so often there are shocking headlines that question the core and purpose of adoption. You would not think that adoptive parents would commit such atrocities but unfortunately it makes the headlines more often than needed.

In 2010, the international adoption community was shocked to hear the news of a 7-year-old boy who was issued a one-way ticket back to Russia by his adoptive mother with a note saying, “ I am sorry to say that for the safety of my family, friends and myself, I no longer wish to parent this child. As he is a Russian national, I am returning him to your guardianship.”

The international adoption community was rightfully disgusted with the actions of Tennessee mother Torry Hansen and although she was fined $150,000 and will have to pay $1,000 a month for child support the little boy Artyom Saveliev now in Russia will have to live with the reality that he was abandoned by a woman he once called ‘Mom.’

As an adopted Filipina, there has not been a day where I do not think about my own journey into adoption. It does not define me but it is an extension of who and how I identify myself. And now as a mother to my 7-year-old son, I could never imagine the thought of sending him to some far away strange country because I as a parent was not equipped or did not have enough support to make a rational decision for his well-being.

Is there a moral to these two stories?

Adoption, both domestic and international, have and will always have a myriad of complexities; layers that seem to normalize the life-long process for both the adoptive parents and adult adoptees yet also challenge the ideology of family. The “forever family” or “chosen family” was coined to give a sense of permanency or belonging for all the members involved in the adoption. It was a means of identifying adoption as an act of creating a family.

I do believe that in order for “forever families” and “chosen families” to flourish, the life-long journey is not only for the adoptee but also the adoptive parents. Adoption agencies must put more emphasis on the need for post-adoption support services. To provide more educational workshops, support groups, counseling services for adoptive parents who require support just as any parent would seek for their child, whether adopted or biological.

Lorial Crowder is co-founder of Filipino Adoptees Network, a web-based organization created in 2005 to provide support, resources, and a networking system for Filipino adoptees and their families.

Ohio couple Cleveland and Lisa Cox. Screen shot from Fox.com

By Ludy Astraquillo Ongkeko, Ph.D.

Once in every 12 months, there is a day that tugs at a great many hearts.

There are virtual reminders weeks before it becomes part of the prevailing picture. Media and commercial interests zero in on Valentine’s Day. The meaning? To purchase expensive presents? To play up to romantic notions?

No, as this modest writer remembers, romance was not part of what Valentine’s Day meant to her as a 7-year old, decades and decades ago. My mother was the principal of a school where, although some of her faculty colleagues were chronologically older, they had that ‘connection’ with Mama. Her office became theirs. I would drop by now and then to go for my snacks and maybe, when I had a test paper that showed “V.G.,” it would mean a small reward, Nestle kisses?

But Valentine’s Day at the end of a school day was either one of joy or sadness. Some of my mother’s colleagues would be so happy (they received
floral arrangements from husbands or boyfriends) but more than not, some would be in tears. I queried from Mama; she had a simple answer, if you
see them ‘happy,’ they received Valentine greetings; the ones who cry, you don’t have to ask.

Owing to the fact that it was a ritual to see cheers and tears combined each year (even when I was off to high school), I remarked to Mama, why shouldn’t
everyone choose Valentine’s Day when they get married so there would be no reminders needed?

That’s why I promised myself that were I to get married, it would be on Valentine’s Day. I did.

When the marriage proposal came, my hubby-to-be knew what date I had in mind, so, since he immediately did what he had to do as a member of the military, he sent his ‘permission to marry,’ through the Commanding Officer, Second Military Area, on to General Headquarters, Armed Forces of the Philippines, Quezon City. The ‘approval,’ to marry this author, mentioning her hometown, and whatever would carry the communication through, bearing: “By Command of Major General Duque,” was granted on February 5, 1952. I don’t know whether such permissions are still being observed today.

Love never changes.

The author

Therefore, although Valentine’s Day celebrations came regularly, socials and similar functions were remembered; and I still told myself that if I were to get married, it would be on a February 14th, regardless of the day, even if it fell on a working day, as long as the date was what I had, duly ensconced in my mind and heart. When that date came, I was a reporter on beat at the Manila Daily Bulletin, (now Manila Bulletin), where I earned my first paycheck after I was done with all my undergraduate degree requirements, my bachelor of science and arts degrees.

When my wedding date came, I prayed that it wasn’t just romantic love, but genuine friendship that was to last ‘forever and ever.’

I thought of how it would be: how married love was going to spring from being a bride; how my husband-to-be and I would face love of family and children; how we would get along with one another, in sickness or in health; to look at one another review how, each time a February 14th would descend on us through the years, would be better. Above all, what lay ahead was our commitment to one another.

My husband and I would get saddened when we would hear from our dear friends who would discuss unhappiness, abandoned relationships, betrayal and
how they gave priority to their egotistical life.

I wasn’t prone to preaching; each one leads her/his own life. But having dedicated myself to teaching and reaching out to others, who sought me, I considered it one of the greatest challenges to let them know that striving towards the greatest love of all is how Valentine’s Day requires that significance.

To place the care and needs of one’s spouse before ourselves was my goal. And when our family grew, a son and two daughters, that commitment springing from their father and mother was strengthened. We told ourselves, it is not easy.

But we found it worth trying. Our children went through college and graduate school in a land away from our ancestral home. They became their own children’s role models.

I do realize as each single day beckons that my husband’s ideal of love was commitment. I know he lived a heroic life even if he didn’t articulate it at all.
His was not impossible for ordinary people to emulate. He did it up to the date when he passed on in the midst of all of us, his family.

We had six decades, four months and nine days from the time we said our marriage vows on February 14, 1952. For those who join me in remembering the date, they have my gratitude because Valentine’s Day, they say, isn’t just one of love, but of an undying commitment.

By Cristina DC Pastor

We paid the haulers then locked up the house for good. My neighbor Mike, who was washing his car by his driveway, waved. We met halfway to hug.

“You guys have been great neighbors,” he said with a wry smile like he was really sad to see us go. He waved at my husband who was loading in the car an old lampshade I re-painted and trimmed with an old filet lace which I decided I wanted to keep. There was a lump in my throat when I replied, “Come on, we gave you some sleepless nights,” reminding him of the occasional rowdy sleepovers my daughter hosted for her friends. He smiled back.

I was trying to make light of an awkward goodbye. We were finally leaving our old neighborhood where families owned at least two cars and backyards gave way to swimming pools or scattered lawn chairs. My family lived here for seven years. My husband and I downsized into an apartment/condo building with a gym and a receptionist, where living is simpler, more convenient and did not require frequent calls to the handyman.

My husband came up to Mike for a final handshake. Then we drove off, no turning our backs.

That was three months ago. Last month, Rene signed a lease to an apartment in Hong Kong. I was there to help him choose a flat and pick out some curtains and bed sheets. He would be working in this city for the next few years as a business editor. I would return to the U.S. to resume my life as a writer/blogger.

It did not present itself as a possibility that after more than two decades of marriage, Rene and I would be living apart. What we thought was likely to happen would be a separation on account of natural causes or that one would work in another state. Never that one would live in America and the other in Asia.

“Why do you have to live separately?” was a question family and friends invariably asked when we announced Rene has accepted a job offer in Hong Kong. It was not the first question. Our nice friends did not want to appear judgmental, but it was up there right after the profuse expressions of excitement.

We counted a couple of professional commitments that would require me to stay behind in the U.S.: an agricultural newsletter awaiting a big marketing push and a start-up TV talk show. Not to mention my online magazine on the cusp of becoming something, not quite sure what, and my work with a youth-oriented nonprofit organization.

The idea of living apart has been on our minds from the time the job offer was made. We talked about it endlessly, both in earnest dialogue and in hilarity, imagining how life would be without the other as supportive spouse and crotchety partner. How Rene would have to live on ‘dimsum’ and how I would have to go behind the wheel again. More urgently was how I dreaded having to face the tax preparer alone and how Rene would have to go see a doctor all by himself. We brushed those thoughts aside, bracing ourselves to test the Baby Boomer’s much-vaunted resilience. While many couples in our age population are choosing to stay close together and do things as a pair, we took a different path, which is to live separately in two continents while still sharing one loving heart.

I liked the idea of reclaiming personal space. The idea that after many years of making decisions together and sometimes sounding like your spouse you relearn to find yourself seemed like a good argument for taking a break from being a couple. I can be out, for example, without having to worry someone won’t be getting his sleep until I walk through the door of our apartment. I can choose to have just tea and crackers instead of dining at expensive restaurants. I argued how a moment apart would allow us to find our inner core all over again.

“It would appear to test ‘us’, but will not define us.” I said. I believe most marriages go through unseen turns and bends in the road. Only the couples who walk them truly understand how to navigate them.

Rene shrugged off my attempt at rationalizing what’s inevitable and said that at his age, he’s done with all types of tests.

One evening, one of our friends asked the same question. I overheard Rene’s reply on the phone: “Throughout our married life, my wife has followed me wherever my job took me. I will not ask her to do the same again.”

I was taken aback; I didn’t know he felt that way. I never complained about the moving and the adjusting to unfamiliar cultures, but he must have seen how his professional career has flourished while mine has remained in slow simmer. He was always the well-paid breadwinner working for a top company and I the parent who always worked for a kindly, benevolent employer who allowed me days off to attend our daughter’s marching band practice because one parent had to be there.

Who knows, I might decide to move to Hong Kong after a year or two. Rene shrugged, not exactly holding me to that statement. But he knows that when that happens, it is a decision I, alone, will make.

The authors. Three years in a long-distance relationship

‘If adults are happy together, why does it matter what color their skin is?
By John Nicholson

Any visitor to the Philippines has seen the older western man with the much younger Filipina. The woman is assumed to be using her feminine charms to con her way into a green card. Once the gentlemen with the ‘pay by the week’ companions have gone home, still some couples remain, together by choice.

Everyone has heard anecdotal stories of Fil-Western relationship disasters with the unfortunate man being bled dry or abandoned. A very good movie, “Closer To Home,” 1996, illustrates this beautifully. The man, portrayed as being a ‘loser’ with neither youth, looks, money or social graces. He is unable to find a ‘proper girlfriend’ in the west and so in desperation looks elsewhere.

It isn’t true. These men and women are merely making a choice.

Marriage was instituted because two people can live better than one. The arrangement benefits both parties and is suitable for the rearing of children. In many ways, marriage itself is a business arrangement. This doesn’t mean there isn’t love involved, but the institution of marriage is not as Hollywood portrays.

Men-women relations of any race are governed by the need for companionship, financial benefit, access to sex and affection, and a stable environment for the raising of children. To attract a partner and fulfill these needs, both sexes employ strategies to make themselves attractive. Women by wearing clothing that highlights their physical attractiveness and men by flaunting their implied ability to care for a family by buying expensive clothing or cars.

Why would some Filipina women and western men choose each other in preference to someone in their own country? They simply must find qualities in each other that are harder to obtain nearby.

The man may find a woman who is younger, slimmer, more attractive, or have moral values that closely match his own. If he was a millionaire in his own country, he would have that choice anyways. One only has to look at the young wives of extremely rich older men to see that.

Most divorces in the west are initiated by western women. Statistically, Filipina-American marriages are more successful. Divorced men know this, hence it is likely that the western man who explores Fil-Am dating is usually divorced.

The woman may find a husband who can provide a better life for her and for her children. Western mothers have often counseled their daughters ‘It is just as easy for you to fall in love with a rich man as a poor one’. The Hollywood idea of the woman choosing the poor anti-hero is fiction. In real life, given two men of equal looks, character and intellect, women choose wallets.

I think that this helps to explain why some Filipina women look for love outside of their race. It would be the smart thing to do. She would be in centuries of company. Both men and women are attracted to the different and ‘exotic’. For the woman, the pale skin of the westerner is a novelty, and my fiancée admits, amidst many giggles, to being repeatedly asked about the size of my feet. The womenfolk are fascinated by the answer to this implied question.

There clearly has to be love and compatibility in the Fil-Western couple or they would be unable to carry the relationship. However, their initial reasons for considering each other, before they fell in love, shouldn’t be taken as meaning that their relationship is somehow invalid.

Indeed the union of a western man and a Filipina woman is often viewed negatively by western woman and Filipino men. I have read embittered writing from both on this topic, motivated by a single word. Rejection.

Remember at school when the captains picked teams at games? And how hurtful it was to be passed over? No one likes to be rejected, and the idea of being ignored by someone in your own ‘ethnic team’ who chooses someone else from another, much further away team generates that feeling of rejection.

Rather than being bitter about it, I would say that Filipino men would make themselves more marketable by being better financial providers, and that American women would make themselves more marketable by being more family-oriented and less materialistic.

When I come home at night, I don’t want to find a note on the fridge and my wife out on a business trip. That just doesn’t do it for me. I don’t care to spend my weekends alone looking after the kids while she goes to a conference. So, I would rather choose a woman who is more family-oriented because I’m happier that way – and feminism be damned. I’ll vote with my genes on that one.

I have met driven, successful, loud, aggressive women in New York, and I’m not interested. The feminist line is that I feel threatened. Not at all. I just don’t find such women feminine enough. For myself I want to date a woman. Not a wannabe man.

It would be offensive to choose a Filipina woman just because she is not western. No. Choose her for her own special qualities. Filipina and western women have different spectrums of qualities that different people appreciate. And everyone is entitled to an opinion on what they find attractive and what they do not. I’m sure there are plenty of guys who find the loudest woman in the bar the perfect example of femininity. I’m not going to argue.

It is wrong to judge any couple for the choices they make, since everyone has the right to pursue happiness. Many Filipina women are very good, honest people who face profound adversity cheerfully and who have great belief in the sanctity of marriage and in true love. If two consenting adults connect and are happy together, then why does it matter to other people in society what color their skin is?

To Filipino men: ‘Be a real guy and pay attention to our feelings’
By Choi Mercado

I’m a 35-year-old Filipina with two children from a previous relationship. I live in Manila. I’m in a Filipina-Western relationship with a man five years older than me from New York, and we are very happy. It saddens me though that there are so many negative stereotypes and people constantly judge us so I wanted to write my point of view.

‘Boastful and aggressive Filipino men are a turn-off’

I am proud to be a Filipina. I’m not proud of the behavior of some of the women from my country, but there will be some bad apples in every country. It’s unfair to generalize.

I believe in love, and marriage for me is one of the seven sacraments. It’s the law in the eyes of God and I think that we view marriage as being more permanent than many people in the U.S.

Marriage isn’t like putting a spoon of hot rice on your tongue and if it burns you, you can spit it out. I think in the U.S., people have crossed the line. There is too much sex and too much abortion, artificial insemination and interference with marriage and with life. It is as if these people think that they are smarter than God.

Many Filipino women I know have been beaten or cheated on by their husbands, but still try for the sake of their families. A cheating husband says: “What can I do if the rice comes to the chicken?” But so long as he comes home and provides a good home for us and children then it’s often ignored and we are thankful for his good side. If a Filipina women discovers that her man has had an affair, she will not castigate the man. She will go after the mistress because that woman must have lost her goodness to ever go with a married man.

I think this shows the willingness of Filipina women to suffer hardship in a relationship. Part of this is social, since it’s unacceptable for us to divorce, and also, any woman that has children and has lost her husband isn’t seen as being a desirable wife. She is just seen as a sex object.

Western men seem more faithful and seem to treat their women better. I think that many western women are spoiled. They should be grateful for their blessings. I’m shocked by the way that some women there swear and dress and behave so immodestly. Flaunting themselves in public. People believe that many western women are too aggressive and it’s no wonder that some western guys come here to try and find true love.

Marriage here is treated more seriously. Before people get married, you have to go to a series of classes for two months, to explore the reasons why you want to marry, and make sure that you aren’t making a mistake.

Some people think that Filipinas are submissive and weak. It’s not true. There have been women presidents here, unlike in the U.S., and many Filipino women are breadwinners in the family. We are used to hard work and we are not lazy. A lot of women work abroad and send money home to the children.

In the past, men had more pride. It was an honor for a man to provide for his family and he would die doing it. But now, since our society has become more Americanized, things have changed for the worst. People have become more greedy and more lazy. Some men are not willing to work so hard and we women have to pick up the burden. That is why some of us have looked outside the Philippines for foreign men. I know a lot of women who date Japanese, Korean, British and American men.

Filipino women who might consider foreign guys tend to come from the less well-off families. Super rich people can marry each other with no worries about whether they will have enough food. But usually a women needs to choose a man sensibly, one who can stand for her and the children.

If I see my neighbor here who is having a hard time feeding himself, it wouldn’t be sensible for me to fall in love with him. It’s a real turn-off if the guy is well-dressed and boastful but his pockets are empty so when he takes you out for a meal he can’t afford to buy some noodles. I think that it’s sensible to meet or date a man where the relationship at least has a chance to go somewhere. Love cannot feed you all and you can’t just make love all day.

To any Filipino man who wanted to date a Filipino woman I would say firstly don’t be so boastful and don’t be so aggressive. Be a real guy and pay attention to our feelings. Be willing to work. Treat us with respect and stop being so aggressive. Nowadays, men are so excited to try and get into our pants. We aren’t sex toys.

There is some resentment here over Fil-Western couples. When my fiancé and I go out, I notice that some men give him nasty looks. The women look me up and down and I can tell they are thinking ‘why is she with him?’

My family was worried about me when they found out I was dating a western guy. They think that western guys come to the Philippines and treat the women just like sex toys. They were scared that he would just use me and throw me away. They are also scared that when we are together that he could change, and beat and abuse me. I don’t care where we live. If we could live in the Philippines I would be happy so long as we are together but if I have to move away to another place then I would do that.

There are lots of good and decent women here. All I can do is to be as good and sweet a person and thank God for my blessings.

Harry and Mithi’s first ‘selfie’ after being pronounced man and wife.

“Why me?” Mithi Aquino, 36, would ask then-Ambassador to Manila Harry K. Tomas, 57, every time she is wracked by doubts.

“Why not?” he replied in his usual curt manner characteristic of long-time diplomats.

Three years after the Jolo beauty and the American diplomat from New York met, they got married on March 15 — or eight days after her birthday — at the Church of the Blessed Sacrament in Manhattan’s East 76th Street. There were no flower girls, no ring bearers and no paired sponsors. Mithi was escorted to the altar by good friend and philanthropist Lin Bildner, whose family is in the Philippine telecommunications industry. In Mithi’s bouquet of beribboned roses, the photos of her parents and two children, who could not attend, were stapled.

“They may not be here with me but know that they are walking down the aisle with me,” she said when interviewed by The FilAm as she was getting ready for her 2:45 p.m. altar date.

Dates are very important to Mithi, and so remembers the milestones in her “fairy tale” romance with Harry, who served in the Philippines from 2010 to 2013 and was the first African American to hold the post.

March 5, 2011 was the day their paths crossed at a luncheon Holland America Line tendered for its VIP clients. Harry was fulfilling his social obligations as a diplomat when he spotted Mithi then working as front desk trainer for Holland’s training unit UPL.

“I remember he arrived late,” she recalled, suppressing laughter. After the speeches and the ceremony, the cruise staff was introduced to the ambassador. The two would meet again months later when Harry was invited to UPL’s training center. Unbeknownst to her, he was already smitten. She would receive an email from him inviting her to dinner, which she declined because she was “nervous.” In August, they agreed to meet for lunch at the H20 Hotel near the embassy.

They got engaged on March 30, 2013 in Bohol. In a restaurant for dinner, she got curious when he ordered champagne because he knew she was on a diet and was avoiding any kind of alcohol. Then he took out the ring from his pocket and asked if she would marry him.

“Of course I said yes,” said Mithi. Then, with coy laughter added, “No, I did not post it on Facebook!”

Harry did not observe the traditional Filipino ‘pamanhikan,’ but when he visited Mithi’s parents, he told her mother how “your daughter has captured my heart.” Her mother teared up as she blessed their budding relationship.

“Napakabait niya, sobra,” said Mithi, speaking like she was introducing Harry to her folks all over again. “He is down-to-earth and very funny.”

Mithi getting her makeup done while being interviewed by The FilAm.

The minute they became a couple, the entire country couldn’t get enough of Harry and Mithi’s curious love story: a divorced father of one daughter, Casey, 25, and a single mother to Emmanuel Miguel, 17, and Zoe Paulyne, 16, taking another chance at love. Race, age and cultural differences bubble in the background but the couple brush them aside as not nearly as important as the love and trust they have for each other. The only culture gap is her slow response to American humor: “I don’t get it, di ko alam, tatawa na ba ako?”

“They look good together,” said Dubhe Seat Currie, who worked as a nurse at the U.S. Embassy in Manila. Dubhe became a good friend and eventually the maid of honor to Mithi.

The two families, according to Mithi, have grown so fond of one another, their cultures mingling nicely with each other. Harry now calls her older sister “Ate Nelda,” using the Tagalog term of respect. He kisses the hands of Mithi’s parents when they go visit them in their Caloocan residence. He loves to wear the ‘barong’ and proudly explains to Americans how it’s made and by whom. For her part, Mithi has mastered soul food cooking and is not bashful about serving his favorite grits and corn bread. Harry’s mother, Hildonia Thomas, is Mithi’s champion. “I love her,” she said.

Mithi was born and educated in Jolo. Her father Magtanggol, an Army officer, was assigned to the Mindanao province in the 1970s where he met Mithi’s mother Zenaida, a pediatrician. They married quite late and was worried they will not have children. Mithi (Tagalog for “wish,” pronounced ‘meet-hee’) was born first, followed by two other girls Mutya (“young lady”) and Mayumi (“modest”), all of them named using Tagalog words. She was educated in a private, Catholic Siena College. Kidnap threats would force the family to leave the province and transfer to Manila where Mithi earned her Business & Management degree from Manila Central University.

Many times during the interview, Mithi would express how nervous she was at the wedding to be held in a matter of hours. She would hold my hand briefly and say, “I’m so nervous, feel my hand.” Hair & make-up artist Victor Palmos would humor her to calm her nerves, and Mithi’s laughter rippled across the white robe she wore while Victor applied makeup and styled her light brown hair.

Her wedding gown was designed by her friend, Amir Sali, from Jolo. It was a simple floor-length gown in blush whose bodice glowed with beadwork. “I like that I can wear it even after the wedding. I don’t want my wedding gown to just be stored in the box,” she said.

That gown is her “something new.”

“Something old” is the white veil Dubhe wore at her own wedding, and “something borrowed” a pair of diamond teardrop earrings lent by her friend Lin.

The sun smiled down on the couple as they tied the knot in a private ceremony attended by about 70 close friends and relatives. Many of those in attendance were friends of Harry in the Foreign Service and former classmates at the College of the Holy Cross and Columbia.

“The wedding was very nice, solemn,” said Susan Youngblood, a friend of the couple’s, from Texas. “I’ve never seen a couple so deeply in love.”

Shortly after the wedding, they will return to Arizona where Harry will resume his work as the State Department’s diplomat-in-residence for the Southwest and where Mithi begins her life as the ambassador’s wife.

On the day of the wedding, he posted “Suerte ako” (I am lucky) on his Facebook wall. Mithi said she is likewise: “He is so romantic, he says I love you all the time.”

Photos courtesy of Mithi Aquino-Thomas

With my dad and my brothers in this photo taken in 1984. I took this one using a timer.

I was about 3 or 4 years old. My dad was driving this top-down Impala in the middle of Manila.

We passed by this bridge with steel girders over the Pasig river, which did not give off a foul odor then. I held my hands up as the wind whipped through my hair.

I don’t even remember if we were on our way to the Odeon movie house to watch the old-school war flick “Where Eagles Dare.” I just remember the car ride and how carefree it was.

That was the last time I saw my dad until I turned 10 when he broke up with my mom. It was a confusing time for a small boy whose family had been torn apart.

Even when I joined my dad’s next family, the two of us never became close.

He was an accountant for a mining company. We would talk as I grew up, but nothing serious that would stoke a closeness between father and son.

Once a week, he would go off at 4:30 a.m. on Saturday mornings for Quinta market under the Quiapo bridge where he would buy chicken and meats from all his “suki” there. I would often watch with a tinge of bemusement as he would look at his supermarket receipt and add up everything in his head, down to the last centavo. I didn’t think the cashier was ever wrong, but he checked anyway.

He was a distant figure, the guy who paid for my education. The relationship was mechanical, verging often on perfunctory.

His dad – my grandfather – died as a guerrilla fighting the Japanese during World War II. That grandfather was tortured and executed in 1944, some 17 years before I was born.

As the oldest son, he accompanied my grandmother in retrieving the body. They had to bury him hurriedly as American bombing raids hit Manila. He had just turned 13.

I asked him about it, but my dad refused to talk about what happened. It was an ugly memory that I suppose he just did not want to recall.

For him, being a dad was fairly limited to the role of provider. I wanted more than that.

But it seemed like the only thing we shared a passion for was the Yco Painters basketball team in the old MICAA and an abiding love for the old Boston Celtics dynasty under Bill Russell, Bob Cousy, KC and Sam Jones, and John Havlicek.

My love for sports was kindled by my dad because it was the only thing we could talk about without getting into an argument. I certainly could not talk to him about Ferdinand Marcos.

I guess it was my way of trying to get close to him. But it was limited and was not enough. This went on through high school. We just could not connect so the distance just got wider and wider.

I did not get my moral compass from him. It was probably something I resented because I wanted, desperately, to look up to him as someone I could respect.

I was looking for a ‘father figure’ who is strong and stood for something. It was, as they would say, probably not his style.

When my first daughter passed away and we put an obit in the paper, he did not bother to call. That put the relationship into a deep freeze that lasted years.

I did not want to have anything to do with the guy my aunt says jokingly looks very much like me he could not deny paternity.

We would patch things up very slowly over the years, but like most men of his generation, saying sorry was too much for him. It’s hard to stay mad all the time. You move on.

The years came down hard on him especially after he left the mining company. I would end up sending monthly remittances in addition to what his sons were providing him. I asked him obliquely about that: the irony of the son he pushed away now offering him financial support.

“I realize that,” he told me. It was about as close to an apology he would ever come in this lifetime.

My dad is turning 83 this year.

I do not revere him, but I try to understand what he went through. There is a part of me that was shaped by him and comes from the bits and pieces of memory that made up my years when he was around.

I don’t really know if I can ever understand some of the decisions my father made in his life and how that affected me all those years ago. I just want to remember the good times and celebrate the time we have left.

The Balatbat-Ortega family with Lord and Lolibeth and their children Lheandrew Lloyd, Lharieza Anne, and Lheanna Lyn. Photo: GoFundMe.com

American dad says his daughter offered her personal savings in the amount of $160. Photo by Ledy Almadin

Americans and Filipinos alike are opening their hearts, and wallets, to three children who lost their parents July 24 when a tornado swept through a campsite in Cheriton, Virginia. The tornado hit a tree that toppled on the tent of sleeping Jersey City couple killing Lord Balatbat and his wife Lolibeth Ortega.

At least three fundraising campaigns have been organized for the orphaned Balatbat children, who suffered some injuries. The only son remains in critical condition in a Virginia hospital.

The Filipino American Friendship Committee of Jersey City was able to raise $3,450 from a morning fundraiser on August 2, PAFCOM treasurer Ledy Almadin told The FilAm. Regular passers-by dropped checks and small amounts of cash inside a cardboard box that sat on a long table in front of the University Charter High School on West Side Ave. The fundraiser was held around the same time as the funeral mass for the couple at Our Lady of Mercy Parish on Sullivan Drive.

One of the contributors was an American family with three children. The father said his daughter was donating $160 of her own savings to the Balatbat Children’s Fund, as recounted by Almadin.

She said the money collected would be turned over to Lolibeth Ortega’s sister who has pledged to care for her nephew and nieces.

Meanwhile, a Go Fund Me campaign has been organized by Balatbat’s co-worker at Walgreens Jersey City, where he works as an assistant manager. (Lolibeth is employed at Quest Diagnostics.) The campaign has so far received donations amounting to $22,686, exceeding its funding goal of $20K. Walgreens employee Mohsin Khan, who set up the campaign, said he received permission from the Balatbat family to create the Go Fund Me page called ‘In Memory of Lord and Lolibeth Balatbat.’

“All funds raised will be transferred to a trust fund in the name of the children that will be created by their legal guardian,” he said.

Khan described the couple, married 14 years, as “fun loving, free spirited, caring, outgoing, and giving.”

“(They’re) just an overall awesome couple that enjoyed life and loved smiling. They were the nicest people you could have ever known. They were truly in love and enjoyed being parents,” to their children Lheandrew Lloyd, 14; Lharieza Anne, 12; and Lheanna Lynn, 7. Khan said Lheandrew remains in a coma.

“We ask you keep the kids of Lord and Lolibeth Balatbat in your prayers,” he said.

The owner of the campsite, Cherrystone Family Camping and RV Resort, where the Balatbat family was spending their annual vacation, has also organized its own fundraising. The Cherrystone website says a ‘Balatbat-Ortega Children’s Fund’ has been established, and that donations may be mailed or delivered to:
Balatbat-Ortega Children’s Fund
PNC Bank
PO Box 623
Onley, VA 23418

The funds — $16K as of press deadline — will be turned over to the children’s court-appointed guardian.

“As we attempt to clean up and move forward, our thoughts and prayers are daily with the families of the couple who lost their lives and with all of our guests who were injured,” says the Cherrystone website.

At a viewing held August 1 at the Greenville Memorial Home on Danforth Avenue, Almadin said the two daughters were present. Older daughter Lharieza Anne’s leg was in a cast, but 7-year-old Lheanna Lynn was running around and playing.

“They’re too young to lose their parents,” said Almadin.

David Asis modeled Phil after his son Michael

David Asis is doing a pilot of “Phil the Fil-Am” in the hope of teaching his children – son Michael, who is 4 years old, and triplet daughters Gabriella, Kayla and Abigail, 3 – about their Filipino heritage, in a format they’re familiar with: the cartoon show.

“Dora is the standard in language-focused children’s cartoon,” David shared with The FilAm his project of raising funds for a pilot trailer through Kickstarter. “It’s been around for 14 years and is one of the most common shows for young children to watch.”

U.S.-born David is an IT professional. He grew up in Jersey City where there is a strong Filipino community. His cousins grew up in the South Jersey suburbs, where, he noted, the Filipino presence wasn’t quite as strong.

“I noticed that even though we were all first- generation FilAms, I have a much stronger understanding of my Filipino roots than they do,” he said.

The Asis family is now living in a South Jersey suburb, where David believes his children are likely to be the only Asians in the neighborhood. Anxious about his kids possibly being culturally disconnected, he created “Phil the Fil-Am” to continue their language education, which of course began at home.

“I want them to feel that Filipino culture is something part of the world around them, and not just something that they get from their parents,” he said.

“Phil the Fil-Am” will initially be accessed through YouTube, but down the road, David is hoping to pitch the pilot to major studios, such as Disney and Nickelodeon, for greater distribution.

David said his children watch “Dora the Explorer” almost 2-3 times a day and have picked up quite a few Spanish words and phrases. They also watch “Ni Hao Kai Lan,” a Mandarin-based cartoon show. And while he sees nothing wrong with their children learning foreign words, David said, “I’d like for them to learn about their own roots as well.”

In his proposed TV show, Phil is this adventurous and inquisitive boy who has a cousin, named Benjie, in the Philippines. The main character Phil is modeled after David’s son Michael.

“The two love to communicate with each other via webcam,” said David. “It’s through this communication that Phil (and the viewers) will learn about life in the Philippines, and despite being on opposite sides of the world, how much the two have in common, like their love of sports.”

The cartoon not only teaches language but also fosters closeness with family.

Will there be additional characters, such as triplet girls, in the future of the show? Possibly, but David said he is not out to create a show that is a “1-to-1 replica of real life.” — Cristina DC Pastor

Michael with his 3 sisters Gabriella, Kayla and Abigail

Eric Elizaga and Patrick Cooley as Jun and Brendan. The parents are portrayed by Arianne Recto and John Arcilla, and Julia Campanelli and Bill Hoag

‘Pamanhikan’ is the Philippine tradition where the parents of the bride and the groom meet formally to acknowledge their approval of the marriage. Writer-director Angelo Santos called this film a “witty and touching mockumentary that explores family dynamics, exposes cultural quirks, and challenges traditional views on marriage.”

Angelo, a gay Filipino-American, won Best Screenplay Short for “Pamanhikan” at the 2013 Vail Film Festival in Colorado.

“Pamanhikan” tells the story of when the parents of two gay men, Brendan and Jun, meet for the first time before their wedding.

“To tell the story of Brendan and Jun’s two families becoming one modern family, the film utilizes a similar format to ‘Modern Family.’ Yet, with any stories of marriage and family, really, it’s about relationships,” said Angelo in a statement to The FilAm.

In the short span of 30 minutes or less, “Pamanhikan” will examine the relationships of a gay couple, a married Filipino couple and a divorced American couple, plus the relationships of two fathers and their gay sons.

“Bringing all of these relationships together in the name of tradition can create situations nobody wants or expects. Yet, watching these situations unfold will not only entertain you , but it will make you think, laugh and possibly cry,” he said.

Starring as the engaged couple is Hawaiian-born actor Eric Elizaga (“Ten Thousand Saints”) and Patrick Cooley (CBS’s “Unforgettable”).

The Filipino parents are played by Arianne Recto (“The Winter’s Tale” for Shakespeare in the Park) and John Arcilla, who was nominated for a 2014 British Independent Film Award for Best Supporting Actor in the movie “Metro Manila.”

The roles of the American parents are played by Julia Campanelli (Off-Broadway’s “Macbeth”) and Bill Hoag (Netflix’s “Orange is the New Black”), as Bill Chapman, the father of the lead character, Piper Chapman.

‘Pamanhikan’ is Angelo Santos’s directorial debut

Angelo is an experienced short film producer and writer. His first film as a producer, “Kissed By Season,” was screened at the Academy of Motion Pictures Arts & Sciences in Beverly Hills, Calif., and was an official selection at the 2001 Sacramento Film and Music Festival and the 2001 New York International Film and Video Festival. His other productions include “Under the Harlem Moon,” which won The Wasserman/King Award, 2nd Prize, at NYU’s 2005 First Run Film Festival along with awards for Production, Cinematography, Production Design and Sound; and “My Brother’s Keeper,” which was an official selection at the 2008 Asian American International Film Festival in New York City.

“Pamanhikan” is Angelo’s directorial debut. He said this film is especially significant for him who is “a gay, Filipino-American Catholic man from a family-centric upbringing.”

“I hope this will starts conversations on marriage equality in all communities, especially within the Filipino community,” he said.

Here is a link to the film’s Indiegogo crowdfunding campaign.

The author: Hopes to carry her grandfathers’ ‘pamana’ well

I read an article recently in the Panay News about the Panay guerrillas being the best organized guerrilla movement during World War II. It casually mentioned Raymundo Teruel, and, how, as a result of that war, he became a general.

General Teruel was my grandfather.

Lolo Raymundo, or Lolo Ray as we liked to call him, was born in the very island of Panay — in Jaro, Iloilo — on March 28, 1920. He always had aspirations of becoming a fighter pilot, and his dreams came true when he joined the Philippine Air Force in his 20s. After World War II, he became a general. Lolo Ray was comptroller of the Philippine Air Force and later of the entire Armed Forces of the Philippines (AFP) under then Chief of Staff, Romeo Espino.

In 1985, he started serving in the Department of National Defense, under then Secretary, and now Senator Juan Ponce Enrile. He was married to my grandmother, Beatriz Del Rosario Mauricio, in 1950 and had five children. Lolo Ray was extremely loved, and it was heartbreaking for our whole family when he passed away on February 5, 2002.

I hope that my Lolo Ray is resting in peace, and I know that, wherever he may be, there must be angels admiring him. That’s just the kind of human being he was. He made you want to follow and support whatever cause he was behind. There was an air about him. He was an intelligent man, a beacon of character, and an exemplary leader. He was a man with a presence that exuded the power that he had held.

I remember how afraid I was of his stiff appearance when I was a little girl, yet loved him so deeply. Lolo Ray would often take me to school, and as we both sat in the back seat, he would share stories of flying his planes while in the Air Force and often educate me about his struggles. I may have been too young to understand the life lessons he preached then, but I remember them well, and they are fortunately instilled in my character now.

World War II General Raymundo Teruel: ‘Lolo Ray was an inspiration.’

My ideal of who he was has not only affected me in my own relationships and leadership roles, but has also been my motivation for wanting to create a better tomorrow. He has been such an inspiration and influence to me, that, not surprisingly, I have always been inclined to lead a life in service. I have a strong sense of leadership because of him, and I am proud to carry on his legacy, or as we like to call it in Tagalog, “pamana.”

I am also proud to say that my Lolo Ray was only one of many relatives who were strong leaders and survivors. Amongst them, is my other grandfather, Dr. Mario Lim. Among his many achievements, Lolo Mario had also served in both the Philippine Military and U.S. Army and was a POW survivor of the Bataan Death March of 1942.

Though my grandfathers were tough on the outside and formidable, they were the most loving and doting grandfathers a little girl could ask for. I felt protected, safe and very loved. I miss them deeply, and my memories with them will always be heartwarming and valuable.

Lolo Ray and Lolo Mario, were such amazing souls that showed me what generosity and kindness toward others truly meant. They were not about giving self-interested kindness, calculated generosity or superficial etiquette, but instead gave freely, and their compassion for others came innately. The optimism they cultivated because of this is one of the reasons why they were such positive role models. Not only were they an example of public service and leadership, but they both, in their own ways, made sure I understood the significance of education and rooted me in the importance of family.

I am in absolute awe of not only my Lolo Ray and Lolo Mario, but of those generations of leaders before us and all they’ve accomplished for our own generation. Leadership is about serving, and being able to motivate, inspire and set a vision for others. It has been astonishing to witness the struggle to sustain that moral and ethical courage and to watch an example worth remembering.

Recalling last year’s 50th year anniversary of former President John F. Kennedy’s assassination and also the 50-year anniversary of Martin Luther King’s “I Have A Dream” speech and Civil Rights march, I was even more inclined to have a closer look into the outstanding leadership roles that have personally impacted not only me, but other legacies as well.

I have found that grandchildren are the hope for preserving legacies. No matter what the family, it’s an honor to be part of a legacy that carries the torch from generation to generation. We definitely see this in the likes of Jack Schlossberg, Jason James Carter, Will Rockefeller, Gillian Hearst-Simmonds, Jane Lauder, David Tisch and Arthur Gregg, and those in the Philippines like Hans Sy Jr., Jaime Urquijo Zobel de Ayala, Robina Gokongwei Pe, and Carlos Aboitiz, just to name a few. They are all strong leaders today and in service to their community. They are the grandchildren of political, business and military heavyweights and, in their own ways, honor the legacies their grandparents have left behind.

I stand grateful for the characteristics I inherited from my own grandparents, proud of my Filipino heritage and I’m even more empowered to salute all their achievements. I hope to carry their “pamana” well and I realize that the influential leader I aspire to one day become will be my greatest tribute to the legacy my grandfathers have left for me.

Tiara Camille Teruel is a talent agent at NTA Talent Agency, a leading entertainment agency in California. She was born in Manila, and now is bicoastal between Los Angeles and New York City. Aside from entertainment, she has an interest in politics and is active in philanthropy.

Rodolfo G. Lagoc with wife Julia Carreon and their four children.

On September 21, 1972, a day of infamy in Philippine history, Ferdinand Marcos proclaimed Martial Law. This year on the 42nd anniversary of its proclamation, I exhumed this bitter remembrance — the memories ever fresh as when they were first written.

NEVER AGAIN! In bold capitals and with an exclamation point. That’s the comment I wrote in the visitors’ book at the Holocaust Museum in Washington, D.C. Never more was man’s inhumanity to man so starkly documented. The evil, the depravity, the mercilessness of it all boggle the mind. Humankind must not experience another Hitler. NEVER AGAIN! That I will write again, as I am writing it here.

In equal revulsion, I say NEVER AGAIN! should Filipinos be subjected to another martial rule. The horrors of the Marcos years stay intact in the mind. The pain and sacrifice, tears and blood of the victims of Martial Law are “too deep for tears,” to use a line from poetry. Hard though it be, we tried to invoke forgiveness, to soften the heart, and even to cast off resentment for those who figured in one dark episode of our life. Nevertheless, forget we won’t, because forgetting is to lose the courage to confront, challenge, resist, and defy the imposition of another Martial Law. That is what we have to do, what we must do if life is to be worth it. Stand up for Liberty or existence be damned!

As I’ve written in a previous column, there are memories that strengthen, and this remembrance is mine to share: September 25, 1972, a Monday, and a working day. My husband Rudy, a labor attorney, was typing a decision on a labor dispute in his office when he was “invited” to Iloilo City’s Fort San Pedro. For a “few” questions, the military said. The invitation lasted for six months of detention in the stockade and two months of provincial arrest.

Detained without charges. Why? These questions I used to ask myself: Because of standing counsel to student demonstrators who pitted guts against the Marcos dictatorship? Because he was too loud, in both print and radio, espousing the sovereignty of our nation? Because he spoke in forums that sought to elevate the masses through education? All these are within the ambit of the freedom of expression. But, of course, not he or anybody at all could reason out with the functionaries of the dictator.

For six months, it was a daily routine to bring in food and fresh laundry to the stockade in Fort San Pedro. On off-school days, I came with the four kids in tow – Rose, Roderick, Randy, and Raileen, aged 12, 11, 9, and 7. They would ask why this fate of a stockade for their father, he “who couldn’t even hurt a fly.” Why? I would mention love of country and people, in the hope the kids would understand. I told myself, “Later the children will all grow up and some such abstract things as steadfastness to ideals they will understand and, understanding, they will imbibe the truly good and right.”

President Ferdinand Marcos declared Martial Law in 1972 and ruled as a dictator for about 20 years.

The days were long; they seemed interminable. I drew strength from the young detainees’ own indomitable will to overcome the uncertainties of the future. During those trying times, there were people who avoided our company, putting on the blinders when we crossed paths. However, we didn’t lack for kind friends and relatives who extended moral as well as financial support. To them, I am forever grateful.

Rudy’s parents were Manila residents, so were the families of her three sisters, Nelly, Asuncion, and Linda. His detention in the Marcos stockade was kept secret by his sisters from his aged parents, Aurora Gedang and Leoncio Lagoc, now both departed.

When Mama, Rudy’s mom, got very sick, Papa told Rudy’s sisters, “What kind of a son is that (Rudy is the youngest and only son) who cannot even visit an ailing mother?” But how could he? Being on provincial arrest, he was not allowed to go out of Iloilo. Mama was dying, and so we pleaded to the powers-that-be to let him go visit his mother in Manila. Permission was granted on the condition that he had to be accompanied by a PC escort. Sgt. Dangan (I can’t recall his first name) was assigned to escort him. We had to scrounge for the plane fare of the PC escort as well.

As the story goes with some folks who wait for the arrival of a loved one before their spirit would leave the mortal flesh, Rudy was beside her deathbed when Mama breathed her last.

Atty. Rudy Lagoc retired as head of the National Labor Relations Commission, Region VI, and continued legal work with the Iloilo Legal Assistance Center, a human rights group, until his death in 2012. Mrs. Lagoc was editor of the Aqua Farm News and Aqua Dep’t News, newsletters of the Southeast Asian Fisheries Development Center. Their daughter Rose, a scholar at the Asian Institute of Management, is a financial advisor at Green Retirement Plans. Roderick is a Department of Labor officer. Randy is a physician internist in the Hilton Head Regional Medical Center in South Carolina. Raileen, the youngest, is a pediatrician in Redding, California. Send comments to the author at jclagoc@gmail.com.

‘Mano po,’ or the kissing of an elder’s hand, is a revered Filipino tradition still being practiced by some families.

The tenth of September was observed as Grandparents Day in the United States.

In our homeland, there is a similar observation, but the celebration period is longer: March 11-18, each year; hence, it is named Grandparents’ Week.

Reportedly, recognition of the much-anticipated event was made official a few years back through Presidential Proclamation No. 757. What is the impact of such celebrations whether they are rendered here or in the ancestral home?

It stirs greater awareness of the ‘important role that ‘lolas’ and ‘lolos’ play in contributing to the stability of the Filipino family and the special role of the senior citizen in our society.’

The names lola and lolo are derived from the Spanish words, “abuela” and “abuelo,” respectively. Those same derivations have since become terms of endearment. Most every grandparent, whether she/he is a blood relation or not, is often addressed as lola or lolo in our homeland.

For decades and decades, those endearing terms have likewise joined the forms of respect given to elders when one is not certain on how they should be addressed.

The Filipino way of greeting their elders is unique: it is not limited to blood relations. It is not rare at all to note affectionate titles given to non-relatives. They are respectfully known and regarded as aunts and uncles who are familiar in households that interact with one another.

Therefore, affectionate titles are given to those non-relatives out of courtesy and deference and how they are perceived in their lives by the younger generation
The terms, ‘tita’ and ‘tito,’ are popular ways by which the youth call those who, in their judgment deserve that touch of respect. Although they are chronologically older, they likewise weigh in their elders’ position in their lives, laced with the politeness due them.

It was learned that the aforementioned weeklong observance of Grandparents Day in the homeland was the outcome of the ‘coordinated work’ between the Philippine Cultural Revival Society (Mano po Lola/Lolo Foundation), the Office of Senior Citizens Affairs, and the Federation of Senior Citizens of the Philippines. All the proponents of the celebration have made emphatic the part that grandparents play: “They have contributed most in wisdom and affection to those who follow in their wake.”

Distinctive marks of Filipino traditions practiced abroad have also been observed as concrete indices that constitute the warp and woof of the Philippine ancestral tapestry.

Philippine holiday time is remembered away from home through hospitality among members of the younger generation in particular. They go back to recounting what dishes came from the cuisines of lola and lolo.

“I am not as good, or will ever be like my lola who, without asking us, knew our favorites, but I try hard to prepare some dishes and pass on whatever I remember to my own children, letting them know their origins,” said Linda Leary of Culver City, California.

It is far from difficult to admire the elders of the young raised in their respective households away from the homeland who insist on the age-old practices and traditions that are earmarks of the “old country.”

One elderly professional vacationing in Northern California’s Bay Area, spoke of her admiration for her U.S.-born kin and those who came here too young to remember the home front.

“I realize their parents are too busy making a living. But I notice how their children are: they are respectful and don’t forget to include ‘mano po,’ as soon as they see me,” she declared.

Senior citizens in Metropolitan Manila, the provinces, as well as the young adults who have joined “lola and lolo” celebrations to see that appropriate observances are held, agree that continuous homespun remembrances honoring the elderly have come about because of the rapid changes in aging, as well as the politics and economics of aging.

It is hoped that Proclamation 757 will continue to be observed so all the lola and lolo in the homeland will find encouragement in what they have done and will continue to do for their families.

It is likewise hoped that lola and lolo abroad will continue to play their all-important role in family solidarity in their desire to preserve family values Filipino families have cherished and upheld for generations.

Hillary Clinton is just one of several possible women contenders

I watched as she sang me lullabies and chased the monsters from under my bed. She was my biggest supporter and yet my strongest critic. My morals were valued and my character was shaped with her unconditional love by my side. She was and always will be, the biggest influence in my life. Selflessly kind, extremely intelligent, and even more impressive: strong. This was my mother, Thelma Lim Teruel.

Mom’s strength was beyond keeping her children safe and being our nurturing pillar. Her strength was also in her innate ability for bringing out the best in us and for helping us recognize our own strengths.

As her death anniversary has come and gone again, it made me reflect on the phenomenon of being a strong woman. The beauty of being able to balance a life of nurturing and the responsibility of leadership. It made me nostalgic at my past and made me look to the future of our gender and how far we’ve come.

What does it really mean to be a strong woman? In our world today, women are showing more and more leadership and a vast array of shades of strength.

A most exciting progress we are making as far as women in leadership is concerned is in the United States presidential campaign of 2016. There is a lot of talk about it being our year for a woman as president of the United States. I am ecstatic at the thought of a Woman President. The concept is absolutely thrilling and close to becoming a reality.

We finally have a believable chance of having a woman president in the White House. This should not be much of a surprise though, as women, with the right qualifications, have long been capable of running countries and empires.

We saw this in the UK with Margaret Thatcher and Corazon Aquino in the Philippines. We see it now in Julia Gillard, Prime Minister of Australia, and Angela Merkel, Chancellor of Germany. In 2011 alone, there were 22 countries with women holding the highest positions in their government. It’s finally our turn in the United States. It’s our time. I truly believe we are ready now and it looks like I’m not the only one who thinks so.

Thelma Lim Teruel: The author’s mother and role model for what a strong Filipina should be

At the Democratic National Committee Women’s Leadership Conference on September 19, Hillary Clinton spoke to a mostly female crowd and among the issues she addressed was the underlying suggestion that she will be running for the 2016 presidential election.

She has not officially announced her run, but there are buttons, stickers, and t-shirts sold through different support sites saying: “We are ready, Hillary 2016.”

It’s not just Hillary Clinton. There are plenty of serious contenders and strong female influence in U.S. politics today.

Other names, like, Senator Elizabeth Warren (D-MA), Governor Susana Martinez (R-NM), Senator Kelly Ayotte (R-NH), Senator Kirsten Gillibrand (D-NY), Representative Cathy McMorris Rodgers (R-WA5), Attorney General Kamala Harris (CA), Former Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice, Senator Amy Klobuchar (D-MN), Governor Nikki Haley (R-SC), Governor Maggie Hassan (D-MA), Governor Mary Fallin (R-OK), Former Governor Jennifer Granholm (R-MI), Former Governor Sarah Palin (R-AK), Senator Lisa Murkowski (R-AK), Former Governor Christine Gregoire (D-WA), Representative Michele Bachmann (R-MN6), Congresswoman Kristi Noem (R-SD) and Attorney General Pam Bondi (FL) would also be strong contenders if they ran. It’s very enlightening to know there are plenty of capable women contenders who would each be able to bring their own experiences and unique insights in dealing with issues that confront society.

What does this all mean for our community and especially Filipino women in the United States? Well, a more progressive intent to improve the political representation of women, goes hand in hand with correcting the under-representation of ethnic minorities. Especially female ethnic minorities.

We, Filipino-Americans, despite being the second largest Asian group in the U.S., have been surprisingly quiet in the political halls of power. We have not had a Filipino-American in state legislature in California, one of the top states with a significant Filipino population, until Rob Bonta assumed office in 2012.

Only a few members of Congress have some Filipino lineage. The only person with claims of Filipino-American descent in Congress is Robert C. Scott (D-VA3). This is of course unless Hawaii’s current State Senate President, Filipino-American, Donna Mercado Kim (D-HI) wins the CD1 congressional seat in the upcoming Midterm Elections and joins him in Congress.

I would like to see a change in this and desire a more visible presence for us Filipino-Americans in U.S. politics, especially Female Filipino Americans.

Even with our considerable progress as minorities in U.S. politics, for female ethnic minorities, there is still a long way to go. It is true that the obstacles women face across the western democratic political systems, have been greatly reduced in the last few years, but the opposition is still there and more prevalent in high level political positions. It is my perception that a woman as commander-in-chief will greatly change that and can pave the way for more women to step up for high-level political office.

The challenges are very real for women, most especially for us female ethnic minorities. However, with our strengths highlighted, alongside the promise of a woman president in 2016, there is hope that these will diminish and we will be one step closer to showing what it really means to be a strong woman.

Tiara Camille Teruel is a talent agent at NTA Talent Agency, a leading entertainment agency in California. She was born in Manila, and is now bicoastal between Los Angeles and New York City. Aside from entertainment, she has an interest in politics and is active in philanthropy. Send comments to the author at theredtiaraemail@gmail.com.

The author with his 8-year-old son Benjamin

The flight from San Diego to New York was delayed by eight hours due to bad weather. Hungry and tired, I arrived 4 a.m. at the hotel the office had booked for me.

I approached the receptionist to check in. I was told, “Sorry, we gave your room away since you did not show up last night.”

Before I could argue that it was a confirmed booking, the receptionist told me: “Don’t worry, here’s a list of our other properties. Take your pick, here’s money for a cab to get to the hotel of your choice. Please be back here at 11 a.m. Your room will be ready.”

Bleary-eyed, I pointed to The Benjamin at random. It was a nice, comfortable hotel. I slept so soundly that I woke up to the phone ringing at exactly 11a.m. The receptionist at the other hotel was calling to remind me that my room was ready.

I turned on the TV and caught an emotional moment at the US Tennis Open. There, on live TV, was one of the icons of our generation, Andre Agassi, crying. He has just lost his match and announced his retirement from professional tennis before a crowd of 23,000 that watched him play for the last time. He lost to a young player named Benjamin Becker. I felt sad for Andre — it felt like our generation’s time is over and it was time to hand over the sport to the young guns.

The Benjamin Hotel

The Benjamin Hotel. Benjamin Becker.

These were in my mind as I settled into my room at the hotel where I was originally booked. I switched on the TV. “Stepmom”, the movie starring Julia Roberts and Susan Sarandon, was playing. I had not seen the movie before. I would learn shortly that the son of Susan in the movie is named Benjamin.

Another Benjamin.

Only a few weeks earlier, Minnie and I were pleasantly surprised to learn that she was pregnant with our second child. I knew I had to text Minnie right away. Excited, I told her that even without the benefit of an ultrasound (we were still a few weeks off the scheduled check-up), I felt that we would have a son. And that, with all the signs that morning, he shall be called Benjamin.

Benjamin the Owl

I have forgotten this story, until recently, when I found myself back in NYC, walking past The Benjamin. I went to the concierge and told her about our Benjamin. The concierge so liked the story that she gave me a hotel merchandise — the stuffed toy Benjamin, The Owl — as a present for Benjamin, our boy.

Broadcast executive Joseph Jerome Francia is the Vice President for International at GMA Network Inc. in Manila. He is a frequent visitor to the U.S. for business and family vacation. This essay originally appeared on the author’s Facebook wall and is being republished with permission.