I Don't Know

He looked at me with a surprising, yet, disappointed look on his face. He laughed loudly at me while I looked down in shame. He finally went back to the food table, relieving me of my tormenting embarrassment.

I was at my girlfriend’s family party on a spring Saturday afternoon. She had invited me to her house to have lunch and to meet her aunts, uncles, and grandparents. Her parents urged me on the previous weekend to meet the rest of the family.

I had just parked outside her driveway which was full of cars. I entered the house to see rooms full of smiling faces. some were eating, some were talking, some were watching a Tagalog movie, and many were situated in a smoke-filled room playing mah jong. My girlfriend escorted me to the food arrangement, which was overflowing with delicious Filipino delicacies, introducing me to her relatives on the way. I met a nice mother of five children, a doctor, and about twelve nurses.

After I finished eating, my girlfriend left me on the couch to watch television. The room had an extraordinarily colorful decorum. My Filipino cultural status was enhanced by the beauty and texture of the miniature statues, the hand-carved animals, and the paintings and pictures of the abundantly green terrain of the Philippine Islands.

I was tapped on the shoulder by one of my girlfriend’s uncles. He was a short and overweight middle-aged man with many gray hairs. He was carrying a plate with three times the amount of food I had eaten. I was struck by intimidation as his eyes gazed at me. He finally asked, “So, you are the boyfriend of my niece?”

I said proudly, “Yes sir. She and I have been dating for quite a while now.” “Oh really. What do you intend to do in the future?”

My heart was beating fast but I knew I could easily impress him with my answer. Quickly I said, “I would like to operate a chain of businesses like Walmart or McDonald’s.” I noticed a little grin on his face. “That sounds like a nice career choice.”

Suddenly, he began to speak Tagalog, the national language of the Philippines. I had been trying to avoid getting caught in this situation because I didn’t have knowledge to speak the language. All that my ears heard were barbled words of Tagalog. He finally ended his opinion or question; I didn’t know what it was. My heart began to beat faster and faster and I blubbered, “I’m sorry. I don’t know how to speak Tagalog.”

He stopped, stared, and then laughed at me. I guess he had nothing more to say to a disappointment like me because he left and went back to the food arrangement.

I felt like an insult to my heritage. It was not my fault that I didn’t learn the language. My parents didn’t teach or talk to me in Tagalog. They spoke it to each other, but not to me. It’s not that I don’t want to learn but no one would want to teach me; my friends, parents, and relatives don’t have the courage nor the time to teach me.

I’m not a bad Filipino. It is just the language that I don’t know. Is that so bad?
by Joey Bernal, June 1995