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Sunday, October 26, 2008

philly busterismo

dateline: philadelphia, sunday, october 27th

sakit ulo ko! mayday! mayday!

philadelphia

philly cheesteaks at pat's (against doctor's order)

reading market

philly museum of art

freedom tower

world series game 3, done at 2:00 am!

6 bottles of amstel

university of pennsylvania

priceless!

Saturday, October 11, 2008

HOME IS WHERE THE LANGUAGE IS

My sister told me this story which happened here in America about a year after her migration. She was in the workplace and chatting at the hallway with a fellow Filipina in Tagalog when an American manager from another department passed by and abruptly interrupted their conversation. Why don't you two speak English to each other so you can practice?, he asked.

My sister was momentarily stunned, but quickly got to her feet. I don't have to practice English, she said, because it's as good as yours if not better.

The manager went straight to my sister's supervisor, a fellow white American, to complain about this little brown lady who must have thought she was privileged to answer back. The supervisor was apprised of my sister's retort, and all he said to the whiny manager was, You bet she's darn right.
----

And darn right a lot of Americans know Filipinos speak English well but like any other foreign culture will have to speak their own when with their own. Some Americans, however, don't get the idea that not speaking English is not disrespect of the English language, but rather a respect of the speakers' own language when among themselves.

----
In the company where I work, all you have to do is walk through rows and rows of cubicles and you will hear an array of foreign languages. And why not, a migrant's native tongue is where his real heart is.

----
I, too, have my share of not being able to shrug off my native Tagalog even if I tried - despite living in America for more than a decade, despite working for a huge company with no Filipino other than myself - just as the case in the office yesterday: My admin, thinking something was wrong with certain documents, handed them to me for spot-checking. I said aloud, Why did she (a colleague) do this na naman?!

My admin looked at me, perplexed.

And there was this analyst from another department, a looker from Hungary, who I once saw at the employee lounge. She started yapping to me in her native Hungarian, and as soon as she ended I yapped back, Wala akong naintindihan sa pinagsasabi mo. We both laughed to our native tongues' content.
----

Haynako. Sino ba pwede makausap dyan ng Tagalog. Nuninuninu...

Monday, October 06, 2008

bye bye, l.c.


















In Isaac Bashevis Singer's short story Gimpel The Fool, it is said that everything happens because whatever does not exist in the day is being dreamed of at night.

The other night I dreamed I was skinny and famished, which of course is far from true. Not only am I chunky, my cholesterol level is close to the roof because everything that is four-legged, dish-wise, was fair game to me. Was.

My doctor had just issued my quasi-death warrant. No more red meat. Which means I can no longer indulge in the one dish that I always picked everytime somebody else was paying: lamb chops.

Whenever I visited my mom, she always prepared a plate of medium rare grilled or broiled lamb chops for me, with my favorite mint sauce, and with a side of buttered boiled corn (pictured)- and which combination made any wine that would have tasted awful on any other night become drop dead gorgeous.

She learned of my condition, and so when I gave her company Saturday night she served me crackers with salmon dressing and orange juice. Ouch. That was my tummy speaking.

Of course mommies, and doctors, know best. I can't have it my way, or otherwise I'd end up as, what? cbs the fool?