PATRIOT ACHTUNG

In his great essay Notes of a Native Speaker, presidential speechwriter (to Bill Clinton) Eric Liu explores his identity as an Asian American and, in a fantastic approach to irony, starts it with an enumeration of the "ways you could say I am white" -

I listen to National Public Radio.
I wear khaki Dockers.
I furnish my condo a la Crate & Barrel.
I vacation in charming bed-and-breakfasts.
I have been in the inner sanctums of political power.
I have been there as something other than an attendant.
I have the ambition to return.
I am a producer of the culture.
I expect my voice to be heard.
I speak flawless, unaccented English.
I subscribe to Foreign Affairs.
I do not mind when editorialists write in the first person plural.
I am not too ethnic.
I am wary of minority militants.
I consider myself neither in exile nor in opposition.
I am considered "a credit to my race."
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Imitation is the best form of flattery, and so I will say the things I must say in a vein similar to Liu's.

I. Tell-tale signs that I am as Filipino as you can get:

I speak in straight, crisp, unaccented Tagalog to fellow Filipinos.
I can cook chicken adobo, pork sinigang, pinakbet, nilagang baka and pancit palabok in the same level as Mama Sita's.
I believe in the transcendental significance of patis and bagoong.
I am a sucker for green mangoes.
I am a sucker of ripe mangoes. (I engage the middle part of this fruit - the portion remaining after the "cheeks" had been cut - in mouth wrestling until its bone runs dry and all fibers stand erect and seem to say, let go, let go already.
I dip my shrimp, crab meat, or lobster meat in vinegar with garlic, rather than melted butter or tartar sauce, even if to the consternation of my American friends.
I taste something tittilating in the mixture of soy sauce and vinegar, or soy sauce with calamansi.
I adore Filipino poetry, particularly those by Lacaba and Nadera.
I am proud of Gen. Taguba.
I consider Gary Granada’s ballad, Kapag Sinabi Ko Sa ‘Yo, the most beautiful love song ever written in any language.
I lower my shoulder and say 'scuse me everytime I pass between two people talking to each other.
I instinctively look back whenever I hear a sound resembling psst or hoy.
I shower twice a day, once in the morning before I leave, then again in the evening before I retire.
I go over and scan magazines and read their articles in reverse, or from the back to the top.
I will always consider basketball the #1 sport.
I never go out with shirts and pants unpressed.
I keep pictures in albums, and all albums are in the living room.
I am deeply attached to my mother, consider my cousins as my brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews as my kids, uncles and aunts as my parents, and grandparents as the greatest beings in the world.

II. Tell-tale signs I may not be 100% Filipino anymore:

I don't use spoon when I eat, except for soup. It's either fork & knife, or chopsticks.
I don’t fart in public.
I don’t carry a handkerchief, or a comb.
I don’t have manicured nails, or wear thick gold bracelets - like Filipino cops do.
I don’t play mahjongg.
I don't recycle cooking oil.
I will never have a karaoke system in my abode, for heaven's sake.
I don't have wooden spoons, or the The Last Supper, hanging in my dining room.
I don't understand the rationale of a thousand bric-a-bracs in Filipino homes - or those souvenir giveaways from weddings etc. being used as ornaments and housed in china cabinets. (Dennis Aguinaldo may think this has something to do with horror vacui, by I don't understand horror vacui either.)
I also don't understand the accessorial significance of framed graduation pictures on top of pianos. I think this makes for bad music (by horrifying the pianist).
I am not overly sensitive to criticisms.
I am confident of my capabilities, fully aware of my limitations, and I know where I stand in the world.
I have learned when to say no, and I don't accept responsibilities I cannot handle.
I am not a big fan of buffet restaurants.
I have no intention of seeing Las Vegas.
I like flowers, gerbera daisies especially, and I don't see anything gay in a man who likes flowers. (An American male co-worker once received a bouquet of easter lilies from his wife during his birthday, and people at the office thought that was sweet.)
I have no crab mentality.
I RSVP, and commit to it.
I don't go to people's houses unannounced.
I arrive at appointments ahead of time.
I am not bothered when people stereotype Filipinos, even if I feel sorry for the stereotypist.
I am a birder. I don't shoot birds.
I don't go to Filipino parties and ask my compatriots, Ilang taon ka na? (How old are you?), Ilang taon ka na dito? (How long have you been here?), Nagtitina ka? (Do you dye your hair?)
I am mortified by the cliche in grace before meals that goes, "Bless this food we are about to partake.."
I am not superstitious and somehow turned-off by people who are. (When Filipinos warn not to sweep the floor at night, do we even know the threshhold for nightime? Cellphone companies are clear on this, darn, so must superstition be.)
I don't keep grudges.
I know when to hold my horses.
I am a Democrat.