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| RYAN EDWARD CHUA |
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| THIS ESSAY IS PART OF THE LITERATURA READING SERIES | CLICK HERE TO GO BACK TO LITERATURA |
| I was a popular kid back in grade school. This was because I have white skin and chinky eyes, like people in the land where shaolins fly and kick their foes in the face. From my looks alone, one could easily say that I am of half-Chinese descent. My classmates back then would often ask me to speak to them in Chinese, which I did not hesitate to do. I always left them in awe. Little did they know that the Chinese “words” they heard from me were all sham. Those were just sounds I mimicked from my dad when he speaks Chinese with his friends. I don’t even know if those meant anything at all. I spoke “ching chang chong king” and “sung tang ping ching” over and over again, and I instantly sounded like Jet Li in the flesh. That was enough to make me a star. I really did not know how to speak Chinese then. I just enjoyed seeing my classmates amazed. Truth to tell, although I look Chinese and I have a Chinese family name, I have never felt completely Chinese. I have always considered myself more a Filipino. I came from a Chinese family but I grew up in a Filipino home. The lullabies my mom sang to me and my siblings when we were little children were in Filipino. My dad, although a pure Chinese, always spoke to us in Filipino. Every afternoon, we would join our neighbors in playing tumbang preso, patintero, and all those exciting Pinoy street games. At dinner, as in any other meal, we would salivate over delectable Filipino dishes. Though white and chinky-eyed, we had Filipino values and lived the Filipino way as we grew up. But we still had to be Chinese. When I was eight, my siblings and I were sent to a Chinese school. Nine years of studying there taught us the basics of Mandarin, introduced us to China’s great dynasties, and made us love eating moon cake and tikoy. Our parents wanted us to start being Chinese, and we were on our way then. Even then, however, I still felt Filipino. I still spoke Filipino, watched Filipino TV shows and movies, and sang Filipino songs. I still preferred Fernando Poe Jr. over Jet Li, sinigang over chopsuey, and using my hands over chopsticks when eating. I haven’t even mastered the Chinese language even after studying it for years. Simply put, studying in a Chinese school did not change the Filipino in me. I once had a Chinese teacher who often told our class how beautiful China is. Her point most of the time was that life in China is much better than life here in the Philippines, and that Chinese students like us should leave this country someday and settle in China. She said that once we get there, we would realize how much time we have wasted here. All her sales talk did not work for me, though. I never saw China as a home, nor did I ever dream of going there. I have no home but this country. I grew up loving the Philippines, and I do not want to go elsewhere. Where else in the world will I find people who, despite problems left and right, still manage to smile and be happy? As pessimism surrounds the world over, seeing happy people in this country is a breath of very fresh air. It’s not that we do not have problems; we have truckloads of them in fact. It’s just that we know how to find a bright spot even in a looming dark. Where else in the world will I find people willing to help a complete stranger? This is a country where it is easy to ask any person the directions to a place when you get lost somewhere, even if you have only met him or her for the first time. It is also easy to find random people who would help push your car when its engine stops in the middle of a road, or passengers in a jeepney who would pass on to one another someone’s fare until it reaches the driver. Where else in the world will I find families so large yet so intact? In this country, it is not unusual to see extended families, those with family members from generations past and present sharing one roof. We are a country of very close family ties, and we even admit more to our circle through our hospitality. All these, plus a lot of other remarkable things about Filipino culture, make me love being Filipino. They give me enough reason to cherish the Filipino half of my bloodline more. They give me no reason to want to find a home other than the Philippines. This surprises many people. They wonder why I would never want to leave the Philippines, a country beset by so many problems. They are surprised that I overlook these problems for whatever little good things I see. They say that I am being too idealistic. Well, I admit I am. I even call myself a “hopeless patriotic,” just as there are hopeless romantics. I remember how some of my friends and I would talk about our plans for the future. Most of them have the same goals: finish school then leave the country. They would be surprised to know that, unlike them, I plan to stay here, and that the closest thing to going abroad in my mind is a grand vacation. They would ask me why. I would give them a simple answer: I want to stay here because this is my home. Then I would also ask them why. Look everywhere, they would tell me. A simple answer, too, yet strong enough to crush any patriot-wannabe’s heart. Whenever I try to look everywhere, I tell myself that they might be right. As a journalism student, I make it a point to follow the news by reading newspapers, listening to the radio, and watching newscasts. This is a simple exercise of seeing poverty, corruption, crimes, and a seemingly endless array of problems hounding our country. It should not be surprising, these things seem to tell me, that the lure to get out of this country has become stronger now, so strong that so many people have already given in. That our country is losing nurses, teachers, and other professionals is no longer news. That many Filipinos are dying to leave our country is no longer surprising even to a gullible man. Today’s ultimate goal is to leave the Philippines. Today’s Filipino dream, if there’s any, is getting out. When all roads lead outwards, it is hard to hold on inside. Sometimes, I picture my Chinese teacher standing at the Great Wall, laughing at me because of shunning the idea of living in China someday. I also imagine people on top of New York’s skyscrapers looking at me, their tongues out while grinning devilishly. At times, I just find myself on the verge of eating my words and chewing my principles. Is there really any reason to stay in this country? I often ask myself this question. Answering it is hard, especially when I indulge on Hershey’s chocolates our relatives in the States sent, or when I receive gifts from my ninong in Saudi. It becomes harder whenever I get stuck for hours in the middle of traffic while commuting in EDSA, and whenever I see all the dirt and pollution in Recto. Sometimes, I doubt if there is an answer to this question at all. But perhaps, I do not really have to search for perfect answers. Maybe I just have to go back to what I have always said about staying in this country, which I believe with all my heart although it may not be perfectly reasonable: I want to stay here because this is my home. The single, most compelling reason why I would always want to stay in this country is that it has been my home for the past 17 years of my life. This is where I first saw the world and understood its every bit. This is where I became myself, where I built my identity. This is where I developed and continue to develop my ideals and principles. This is where I belong. It would be hard to replace a home that nurtured me all my life. I have grown used to this home. I grew up thinking, feeling, and acting Filipino. I do not see myself acting as naturally as I do if I were in another land. But what of all the bad things that lie right on this country’s face? What of quarreling government leaders, polluted airs and waters, homeless children, rising prices of commodities, and countless other problems? They strengthen my resolve. They prod me all the more to stay, knowing that someday, I would have to do something about them. The solution to a mess is not leaving it behind but cleaning it. A lot of people say that the Philippines is a damned country, much like a sinking ship, because of all its problems. So be it. But I am staying in this damned country. I choose to remain in this sinking ship and do something to help it rise again, than go somewhere else more stable, where I won’t have to do anything at all. In doing my part to repair this ship, I find my worth as an individual and as a citizen. My parents could have chosen to raise our family in China, Taiwan, Singapore, or in some other country where life is typically seen as better. But for whatever reason they have, they chose to build our family here. They chose this to be our home. They chose to let us be Filipino. For this, I cannot be thankful enough. Other countries may offer greater things, but they will never be home to me. They will never be able to recreate the first 17 years that shaped who I am today. They will never be able to give the same comfort, love, and sense of belongingness I enjoy here. This is why, even if half of the blood that runs through my veins is Chinese, I bleed purely Filipino. This essay won Second Prize in the Kabataan Essay in English in the 2006 Palanca Awards |