Old Favorite- Embracing the 'Kayumanggi' in Me

Embracing the Kayumanggi in “Me”

I needed to have some business portraits made. After almost two years of searching for my next great “step”, I finally stumbled into something that might bring vitality into my otherwise mundane existence. So I headed out to a studio. The last time a professional photographer took my pictures was on my wedding day, twelve years ago. I glanced at the mirror image before me and I thought, not bad, a couple of years older, a few pounds heavier, nothing really strikingly disturbing, and nothing that a couple of high tech studio lighting could not fix.

A couple of days later, I got my proofs back. First thought that came to mind: could this be me? Who was this person? There was no way that this middle aged matronly looking woman could be me! I stared at the proofs for what seemed to be a lifetime. Is this who I have become?  Oh my God, I have become my Mother!

My son asked to see the proofs. He smiled and said, “It’s nice MOM!” With an even bigger smile he said “You look like Lolo (grandpa) with long hair!” I didn't really know how to react. A part of me wanted to hug him, a bigger part of me wanted to strangle him!

I continued the day fulfilling the requirements of my life. But somehow, I tried to find the answer to the nagging question: Who was that woman in the picture? I tried to find solace by looking up old photographs. It is debatable whether this brought answers or generated more questions. I found some pictures taken at my debutante’s ball. Whatever happened to the image of the bubbly and vivacious 18-year-old, I knew and loved? I looked at my business portrait once again. What I saw before me as an image although not personal, was indeed very familiar.

The stance, the demeanor and the maturity all seemed to remind me of someone I knew, but I couldn’t quite identify exactly. It suddenly occurred to me, that the familial feeling was generated from remembering the middle aged Filipino women in wedding parties, I so amusingly chastised. “Them”, whose number of fingers didn’t seem to be enough for all the pieces of jewelry they wore. “Them”, who always seemed to manage to wear sequined outfits. “Them”, who seemed to come alive when the “Achy Breaky heart” slide music came about the loudspeakers. Then it hit me like a ton of chocolate covered bricks… I have become one of “them”!

Once again, I stared at the image before me, and asked myself who this person really was. I obviously didn’t know who she was, nor have I thought much about her lately.   I spent the rest of the night tracing this woman’s life passage. I referred to her as “this woman”, as a third person, I still couldn’t quite reconcile her image with mine.

As a young girl, this woman in the portrait felt different but tried to fit into a culture where conformity was the gauge of normalcy. She grew up amidst the dichotomy of a third world economy of the filthy rich and the desperately poor. The elite personified by the “Mestizo” class, where anyone who had a tinge of Caucasian blood and money belonged. The ruling class made up of half-breeds speaking in various combinations of foreign languages that made the natives constantly ill at ease.

On the other side of the spectrum were the “natives”, also referred to by the 300-year-colonizing Spaniards as the “Indios”. Practically, a class where anyone who had a tinge of Malay feature and/or darker melanin coloring by default belonged! In essence, the majority of the citizenry of this tropical-nation was considered “Indio”.

This young girl never understood why being “kayumanggi” (dark skinned) in a whole archipelago of “kayumanggis” was detrimental to one’s self-esteem. Because she wasn’t “maputi” (light skinned), she was automatically disqualified from being a member of the “A” list. Short of having the aquiline nose and the creamy white skin, the rite of passage that seemed to allow one to become a card carrying member of the elite class was to ridicule anything Filipino. With her generation the terminology of the social classes was altered.  “Sosyal”, was the term used to refer to those who could relate to the lifestyles of the rich and famous. “Baduy”, on the other hand was an ultra-derogatory label used for anything or anyone that was remotely associated with the indigenous culture that defined the Philippine Islands! The words “proud” and “being Filipino” were seldom used in the same sentence!

The reruns of American primetime television shaped this young girl’s ideals of family and life in general. The values of the “Eight is Enough” and “Little House on the Prairie”, the fashion sense of the “Charlie’s Angels”, the musical acumen of Donny and Marie Osmond. Even now, as “this woman” attempts to retrieve memories of Filipino television in the 70’s, she could only come up with one: RPN 9 Evening News with Harry Gasser!

This young woman could have participated in endless discussions about the OSCAR winning movies of those years, having watched and enjoyed most of them. However, ask her anything about the Filipino movies during that time and her mind suddenly transitions to Alzheimer’s mode: blank! Totally blank!

She felt early on that she didn’t quite belong in her native country. As a teen-ager, her goal to achieve perfection in her self-image was brainwashed by American movies and television. As a young woman, her ideal everything was anything American. So the United States where Americans lived and breathed seemed to be the most logical place for her to be in. So she went.

In America, she found her “voice”. In America, she belonged. In America, her “kayumanggi” looks weren’t looked down upon. On the contrary, her looks were considered exotic! In America, she was given a once in a lifetime chance to “have it all!”

In this new land, her hard earned education and perseverance bought her a piece of the American dream: a mortgage, a husband, 2 kids and a retirement plan.

 In America, women and minority were given certain privileges, in theory at least. The opportunities were abound! She had blossomed into a woman by then and her ethnicity was in the minority. So she felt confident at last! That is, until her path lead her to Daly City, California where everything Filipino was anything but the minority! 

At this point in her life, having lived in America for what seemed to be a lifetime, she was homesick for anything Filipino. She gravitated towards Filipino food, Filipino friends and to her surprise, Filipino movies. She even found herself totally engrossed in Filipino politics. In short, she dared to become the Filipino she never was.

Her circle of friends’ also expatriates in America spent many a night reminiscing what it was like “home”. They recounted memories of street merchants who invented the meaning of “fast food” delivery. Indiana Jones like adventures navigating through the floodwaters of Manila were often told.  Each one had amusing tales to tell! And despite the proliferation of the mega fast food chains in the streets of the America, the cravings for “merienda” kept them going back to the most sacred of places: Goldilocks!

The island memories became a source of warmth in the cold winter nights and rays of sunlight a midst the thick fog that enveloped the hills of this land in the Bay Area they all now called home!

The irony of it all was, this young woman who was too Americanized to be a Filipino in the Philippines has become too Filipino to be an American in America! Her journey has come full circle, years of denying her heritage in her homeland has been replaced with an unconditional acceptance that a gigantic part of the person she has become was attributed to the culture she so personally revolted against.

Now, as she traverses another phase of her journey, she struggles to survive the challenges of parenting her first generation Filipino-American children. In the land of the plenty, she champions the character building benefits of having grown up deprived. In the land of diversity, she attempts to keep her homogeneous heritage alive. In this land of immigrants, she advocates the tenacity and the unparalleled work ethic of the migrant spirit. And surprisingly, in this land of the Americans, she recalls fond memories of a home so nurturing that in the midst of numerous sleepless nights she wonders why she left it in the first place!

As I attempted to find peace in my elusive slumber, I once again glanced at the image of the woman in front of me. Reality settled in and I sighed at her sight, indeed, I have become her! And although her experience might have been influenced by exposure to foreign entities, her choices and the decision to be…is definitely, undoubtedly and most especially, proudly Filipino!