Disgust With Television

In one of those rare moments where I will actually watch TV, my sisters and I were glued to the tube to see who would win American Idol. I never bothered with this show before, and the most I've ever seen was this season where I saw two episodes-- tonight's finale being the second.

I was hoping that Diana would win. She had quite the range and I thought she had a pretty voice. Fantasia, on the other hand, tried to fake her range by belching out the vibratos to the max. My sister compared her voice to Xena's Amazonian yell ("AAIAAIAAIEEEEE!"). It was grating, and I can't believe she won. And Simon is just... I can't stand him.

I hate reality TV.

September Can't Come Fast Enough

The prospect of moving and starting a new job is getting me very excited. It'll be like going away to Japan, where I will explore a different community and a slightly different culture; let's face it: Los Angeles, Orange County, and San Diego have very different lifestyles with very different mentalities.

I don't know which I am more excited about, living away from home or starting a new job. I've felt like a "vagabond" for the past couple of years because, out of all my friends, I still live with my parents and worked odd jobs here and there. I'm a latebloomer. I can't wait to settle down with my own life. It will finally feel like I have something of my own.

It's Official

I signed my soul today. I'll start my new teaching job in the beginning of September. My sister and I have already decided on the living situation. Locations will remain anonymous though.

Guilty Pop Pleasure Regrets

I found my box of CDs in the garage. They were in storage because of the redecorating. As I checked my CDs and placed them back in the CD rack in my room, I decided to pull some albums out to listen to and reminisce since I haven't heard them in over a year.

One of my biggest regrets... Lasgo. I put that CD in the player and by the third track I had to shut it off. That's not the only CD I ever regret buying... soulDecision, White Town, and even a couple of Japanese pop CDs.

It's time to purge my CD collection.

It's a Happy Day

I'm not a sports fanatic, but I just saw a recap on baseball this evening.

Cincinnati Reds vs San Diego Padres. Padres won, 2-1.

I am a happy camper, yes, sirree. Life would be perfect if all baseball teams can just beat the Reds and all football teams can just beat the Raiders.

It's All Girly

I finally got around to changing the layout. It's pink and I like it. Of course, it'll take some time before I figure out the new template to put up my favorite links section again.

Remembering Emmett Till

When I was in elementary school-- I forgot which grade-- I remember a video history lesson about racism and one of the stories that my teacher told me about a young boy named Emmett Till. He was a young black teenager living in the 1950s who was visiting relatives in Mississippi. Story goes that he whistled at a white woman and for that, he was abducted, tortured, killed, and his body thrown in the river. His killers were acquitted, mostly because of a biased white jury.

The one thing I remember particularly about this story was of Emmett Till's funeral. His body was so badly beaten that etiquette would have called for his coffin to be closed during the ceremony. But his mother, wanting to show the atrocity of his torture and death, requested that the coffin should be open. People fainted at his funeral, and upon seeing a photo of the deceased, I don't think I will ever forget it either.

He was only fourteen years old. He never got any real justice. His two killers were acquitted and are now dead, but there is new evidence coming to surface that there are more people involved in his slaying that investigators are going to re-open the case.

I hope Emmett Till will finally get some justice and peace this time around.

Under Pressure

I'm up in Riverside and I met with a school district who offered me a job. I won't have 30 days to review my contract as they first stated because my references cleared and they are all set to go with hiring me. All that is missing is my John Hancock. I have a week to decide... just one week.

I was hoping that my first choice district would have contacted me by now, but I'm not going to pin any of my hopes on that now, so I am a bit disappointed.

While I was in the area, I even visited one of the schools, met with the assistant principal, observed two classrooms, and got a copy of the district's curriculum. I drove around the freeways and looked at the neighborhoods. If I were to compare the landscape, it reminded me of the far end of the 8 East freeway, near Viejas, where there are some outlet malls and a few houses.

I want to teach, but I'm so reluctant about relocating, mainly because the barren wastelands that are just mountains and deserts won't do much to heal my sanity, especially when I start breaking down.

One week.

Old Places, Familiar Faces

I took another subbing job today at the high school where I previously worked. I said hello to former students who spotted me, hung out with teachers I hadn't seen, and familiarized myself with what was already familiar. It was nice to see an old haunt.

One of my students pointed out that I have a habit of pushing my glasses up whenever they slide down my noise. I never knew I had that habit until she told me. She claimed that it was the only way she really recognized me. Several students from the classes I subbed gave me lip. Stupid dipshits. There are times when I get frustrated when that happens, but as long as I can find out their names and write them down to get them in trouble, I'm fine by the end of the day. I refuse to bring that kind of stress home!

On a good note, I said my hellos to all the administration-- from the principals to secretaries. I think one of the secretaries is going to hook me up with a summer job. If all goes well, I may teach remedial English during the summer for ninth and tenth grade. Woohoo!

Unhealthy America

I hear it all the time... kids with obesity problems, kids with diabetes, kids with high blood pressure. I have experience with kids who have bad manners. All of it... it's a mirror on American society. Kids who have bad manners did not learn discipline in the home. They think the world should just give them things on golden platter because that's what they're used to, never learning to say please or thank you; just a take, take, and take mentality. They are used to having food in the refridgerator stocked with soda and sweets. They stay in the house all day playing video games and playing on the Internet. McDonald's is easily accessible, an allowance is always there, and kids go about their lives because having everything is the norm. And the grown-ups. Sometimes just as bad. They don't have time to exercise, so they go for the plastic surgery or the jeans that remove cellulite. They don't have time to eat, they eat junk food on the go. They don't have time to raise their kids, they think that giving them money will make up for that.

It's sad when I watch TV only to find reality shows that exploit a person's need for an egotistical 15 minutes of fame. People just want sex. Dating shows are no longer abour courting and finding the perfect person, but more about a person's need to get laid. Other reality shows are about people stabbing each other in the back.

I do blame the media for all of this. I know that the whole of America isn't like this, but the media does distort the indecency to the point where I feel that I can't find anything good about America at times. America is the land where anything can happen, where people can find what they need, but it's coming to the point where greed and selfishness has become the norm. Call it capitalism or consumerism, but it doesn't always have to look so evil or so selfish.

Like an overweight person suing a fast-food restaurant, or an SUV driver who has to go to the gas station every three days, everyone needs to learn moderation and accountability. But everyone thinks those little things will impede on the normality of their lives. If you're fat, maybe you need to stop eating so much junk food and stop blaming the restaurants. If you have a gigantic SUV with two gas tanks and shitty gas mileage, you shouldn't complain about gas prices. Learn moderation, learn some common sense. And just because you can have it doesn't mean that you always have to have it.

Mood: Accomplished and Confident

I'm feeling accomplished. Last week I sent out two applications for teaching jobs, and I started a new second job this weekend for extra cash. I'm also feeling confident; I just got a response from one of the school districts and they're offering me a contract already. I still have to go in and talk to the people and get the details, and they'll give me a month to think about it. That district was my second choice... But hey, I have about a month to see if my first choice district will contact me, too.

My self-esteem is high right now, and it can only get higher. (heehee)

Sometimes I wish I can live in a neighborhood where there aren't so many wannabe-rockstars with a band. I hate hearing classic songs ripped to pieces by a person who just can't sing. My neighborhood is like a karaoke bar. It's pathetic.

The Answer to Life: 42

There are approximately seven weeks left in the school year. I haven't been getting many calls to substitute. I'm sure that teachers are in the crunch to teach their students in time for the big finals. No time for breaks, ergo, no need for substitutes. I need another job. I actually started doing applications for retail/sales-- bookstores, shopping malls... The thing is: I'm a teacher... a professional who was making $$$. I'm sure I'm not getting any calls because I'm overqualified for minimum wage jobs.

I'm stuck in limbo. It sucks. And I'm bored out of my mind as I linger about the house, trying to finding the purpose of my wasted days.

Reverse Culture Shock In Effect... Now

Today was my first official day of going back to work. Yes, audience, I started substituting again. As I walked on campus, marveling at being back in an American high school, I was also at a dismay when I started seeing the way girls dress. Did shirts gets tinier? Did skirts get smaller? Did low-rise jeans get lower? And those boys... sagging that you can see their boxers curve their asses. I hate playing dress code police. Why don't fathers check what their daughters are wearing? I almost began to miss the Japanese school uniforms.

Luckily, the classes I subbed weren't so bad... until the last period. Female culprit; her outfit: low-rise jeans and a black blouse baring a bit of midriff. Sounds and looks tame. In fact, I didn't even think much of it. Not until the very end of class when she turned in her desk and started talking to some of her classmates. She had been talking for most of the period, so when the bell rang, I called her to approach the bench.

In cold female to female honesty, I said to her: "I just wanted to say that when you sit down, your butt-crack shows."

She laughed. I don't know whether she laughed because she tried to hide her embarrassment or because she didn't believe me. Maybe she even laughed because I was just a substitute who had no real jurisdiction and she thought she was going to get away with it today. Or maybe she laughed because she thought she was going to be in trouble for talking so much and she didn't expect me to make a comment about her ass. She laughed and disregarded my comment. I couldn't tell her to pull up her pants. They were already low. I was so itching to say some degrading sexist comment. Must... control... myself.

And damn you, Britney Spears. I blame you for all of this.

Breaking Out of My Shell

Went to the job fair. I handed out 6 resumés! Now, I didn't just hand them out just so I can achieve my goal, but I gave them to districts that I seriously thought about teaching in. Not only that, I got interviewed on the spot by a school representative.

I'm so proud of myself. It's times like these when I feel I can actually conquer the world. I'm feeling more confident that I will get a job this coming school year.

The Psyche of Asian Submissiveness

There's a stereotype that all Asians are politely mannered and submissive, that we're such a friendly people. Maybe it's a cultural thing that all Asian parents teach their children. They encourage them to always do their best. I'm sure that non-Asian parents teach their kids those same ideals and values that hard work pays off, but I think that there's an element that is missing when Asian parents try to instill in their children those same ideals.

I could never actually describe this element... until now. It's that weird submissiveness psyche. I've always been taught that girls should never be forward, and I believed it was some age-old sexism that a woman's place is in the home; an independent and headstrong woman will never find a husband. A husband feels that it is his role to take care of his wife, and a woman who can take care of herself is a turn-off to any man who wants a traditional household. Believe it or not, this ideal is very much alive in Asia.

But I don't think it is much sexism as it is the psyche of being Asian. People from Asia with different cultures are at opposite poles with American ideals. In retrospect, I saw a lot of it back in my old university. And I'm seeing it more now in the job market. Asian parents only encourage their children to do their best, while I believe that Caucasian parents encourage independence. These two things-- doing one's best versus independence-- can alter the way a child will grow.

My parents have always taught that I should just do my best. If I ever failed, well... at least I tried. Those were always the comforting words: "At least you tried." Now as a teacher, I'm seeing it all over again. My Asian kids just seem to do the work, they sometimes participate in class, and they accept whatever I give them. They whole heartedly believe that if they do everything, they will get the best grade they possibly could. My Caucasian students are different. Why do they always challenge me? Why do they always argue with me when I give them a grade that they don't like? Why do they try to bargain with me when they fail assignments?

I took it as a sign of disrespect when they come up to me and argue their grade when it's not to their liking. But then I realized something: it's that very skill that makes them more competitive in college and most of all, in the job market. In college, I rarely participated in class, but all my White classmates said a lot. I begin to wonder, how much of their thinking has influenced the classroom to the point where it had affected my learning? I will never know because I never voiced my opinion and my perspective. I sat and listened. Sometimes I participated. I never argued about my grades even when I should have (like those shitty poetry and grammar classes taught by professors who didn't like their subject matter and obviously didn't care about seriously teaching it.) In the meantime, I've heard stories of my White classmates setting up appointments to see their professors during office hours, they loudly voiced their opinions in a lecture class, and in one case, I remember a male student arguing with a professor about abortion laws. I would never have the guts to do that-- not even in the privacy of an office.

And in the job market... while I hang back and politely introduce myself and answer all the questions, I see my White competitors taking initiative by making themselves known and heard. I came upon this two years ago while I was in the credential program. There was a job fair for teachers. I went and talked to some of the people and handed out my resumé. I made ten copies of my resumé and I only handed out three. I was intimidated at that fair. Intimidated by all the White people; intimidated that when I was talking to a recruiter, a White girl stood behind me eagerly waiting for her turn with resumé in hand; intimidated that while I waited to talk to a recruiter, a White person could talk for an endless five minutes to make himself or herself stand out from the crowd, saying everything from their name to other bits of information that was never on their resumé . They took control of their conversations, asking all sorts of questions. To sum it all: it looked like they were interviewing the recruiters. They took initiative.

After the conference, I talked to some friends in the same credential program. I only handed out three resumés while my classmate, who we used to tease as our "token White guy," handed out eight of his ten copies. I felt like a loser.

I've always believed that doing my best would always get me far, but now I'm thinking differently. Competing for a job is fierce and I have to be aggressive and prove to people that I am the best. Yet doing that is so difficult because it was never in my mentality to be aggressive. It's like being something I'm not. I believe in hard work, but I always thought it would pay off and I will get my rewards. In this case, I have to fight for my rewards.

I feel that that is what's missing in the dynamic of teaching Asian kids success. They are only taught that hard work is good, but hard work is just the basic thing. Competition and taking initiative are just as important. It's a mentality that is not really instilled in Asian culture.

I have a job fair to attend to this week. I may have more experience than those newbie fledgling student-teachers in the credential program, but that doesn't guarantee that I'll get a job. If there's one thing that I learned from Japan, it was that everyone saw me as the aggressive and individualistic American because I spoke my mind too much. But that was Japan; I need to stick out more here in America just as I stuck out too much over there. So, now I have a goal. I have ten newly updated resumés , and I better hand out at least five or more. (It depends on how many interesting districts will be there. I'm picky that way.)

Fledging student-teachers, beware!

I'm the Blonde One, and I'm All Right With That

Even though I'm a teacher (and generally stereotyped as a smart person), I can be really dumb at times. I admit: my degree and credentials only prove I am adept enough in the classroom, but when it comes to social graces and wit, I can be really clueless. One of my friends fittingly described that only in our inner circle do they actually find my naivete as a source of humor. I'm glad of that. I provide some enjoyment and maybe one day, their gentle rebukes --an oxymoron!-- will sharpen my soft-hearted gullible edges. In the meantime, I'm grateful that I have some friends who just let me be that way and don't point out the fact, nor do they demand, that I should be a smarter person just because of my occupation and academic background.

Up and Running

Ever since my return to Stateside, I've had a near-horrific experience when I discovered that the Internet has been unplugged at the house due to redecorating. I never knew how much my life has revolved around Internet-- from checking email (basic communication to friends) to routine paperwork (typing letters for job interviews) to mundane research (what district is hiring now?). I've wasted nearly three weeks doing nothing productive. Not to say that Internet is the only way to be productive, but it was the source of being productive.

Well, now that the Internet is up and running again... my days can finally start off properly.

Traitor to My Own Kind

When I was young, one of my sisters made fun of me because I listened to alternative music, a genre of rock and grunge. She called it "white music" because only white people created it and listened to it. It used to piss me off when she said "white music," as if it was a bad thing, hinting that I was "whitewashed." I argued once that she listened to rap music and pointed out that she wasn't black. But in my time, the majority of Asians in my high school were listening to rap, and her rebuttal was that it was "acceptable." 

Whitewashed. It's a stereotype, and then it's not. Ever since college, I hated this word and at the same time, I can easily identify with it. It's everything I am, and then am not. The first time I ever heard that word was in an old movie about Tom Sawyer where one of the characters was punished for misbehaving in school, so he had to "whitewash" the outhouse. I assumed that meant he had to clean it, so I always associated "whitewash" with cleaning and sterilizing. The other time I heard it, in its more offensive tone, was from my own sister. Just the tone of how she said it made me realize that I was different from her and the culture we grew up. 

My family is Filipino. My sisters and I grew up in America. In the place where we lived, we were surrounded by Mexicans, Filipinos, Blacks (African-Americans, if you want me to be PC about it), and some Caucasians. My high school was mixed with the Asians being the majority, but we never had much of an impact on the school culture. If anything, Black culture was popular-- everything from rap music, style and fashion, and language. My sister and I grew up around this, but she identified with it more than I did. She liked hip-hop and rap and R&B music and I liked alternative music. Simply put: she saw it as black and white. Maybe my sister saw me as an oddball because I wasn't like the majority of Filipinos at school who followed Black culture. 

I thought I found my niche in the world when I entered college. I was with people who had the same experience as I have: growing up in a multi-cultural environment. But college itself posed a different environment which made me want to get out of my comfortable niche. Affirmative Action was banned from campus, but its lingering effect haunted me for the rest of my college years. I went to college to discover myself and my limits and push my beliefs into ideas where I can develop myself further, and Affirmative Action was like a forceful protest of anti-whatever shouting to my face to believe their propaganda. Affirmative Action was a group of students preaching to me to be proud of myself and my culture and to support my culture by supporting Affirmative Action which will help me to support my culture. It was a roundabout argument which did not answer my lifelong question: what is my culture?

I have written before in past entries about biculturalism. It was my perfect niche. I am Filipino but I adapted to American culture. I felt comfortable with this because it perfectly described who I was. But living in Japan has made me rethink this. To the Japanese, I am not American because I am not white. But there are times when I don't feel like a Filipino because of the American ideals and history that I grew up with. Being bicultural means identifying with both cultures-- Filipino and American. And now I realized that I don't really identify with both equally. In truth, I identify more with American than with Filipino culture. As far as my Asian roots are concerned, I only know food. I know how to eat it, but I don't know how to cook it. Language-- I can understand it only a little, but I can't even speak it. And for cultural traditions and history that date as far back as the Spanish occupation in the 1500s, they are lost and meaningless to me. I can easily identify with American culture, but no matter how knowledgeable I am of American life, some people still see me as a foreigner because I am not white. Everyone wants to categorize. I am not fully Filipino because of my Americanized upbringing, but I am not fully American because I am not white. 

I once wrote that I didn't care about fitting into a category, but even after a while, I want to have my place in the world... without being asked those invasive questions about who I am and what I am. I have often thought of reintroducing myself to my own culture by learning the language, learning to cook, and having my mother speak to me only in Ilocano or Tagalog. I once thought about visiting the Philippines to reacquaint myself with Filipino people who have a deeper understanding of our culture and to participate in the daily lifestyle of pure Filipino traditions, but when I see Filipinos, I am turned off by their arrogance and pride. They don't like Americanized Filipinos, yet they try to aspire to be Westernized. The Japanese are the same way: they don't always like foreigners, but try to be Westernized. And even if they are Westernized, the Japanese still have a strong sense of unity and cultural pride, that despite Chinese and American occupations at different points in history, they have retained their core, adapting around cultural influences. 

Filipinos are different. They are fascinated by foreigners, they try to be Westernized, and in the end, when they become Westernized, they have an arrogant air about them which they will look down on their own people. I try to understand this strange mix of pride and disgust, from my perspective and from theirs. My aunt explained to me that 300 years of Spanish rule and then 50 years of American occupation has led the Philippines and the Filipino people into a state of confusion of who they are. After three centuries of submission to an authority that meant to rule and overpower them, and then freed by Americans who helped to educate them, but not really to rebuild their government, the Philippines are in a state of purgatory. They are trying hard to reestablish themselves and who they are, but are forever stagnant in arrested development while corrupt leaders play a game of power. Nearly four centuries of just succumbing to invaders, the Philippines only knows submission. They don't know leadership, and so they vote for actors who plead with emotions to be their future presidents. And for those already in power, it's a euphoria of fame and egomania. They think being on top means having their way, forgetting that they have a duty to the people first. Three hundred years of oppressive rule is the only kind of leadership that they know. So the people are forgotten. They have nothing left but their pride and whatever is left of their battered culture. They come from a country that has forgotten itself, so the people have only themselves. 

These are the Filipino people I see. They are left with their language and a small part of whatever is left of their roots. And when I see these people, they look down on me with condescending stares. I am an Americanized Filipino. They see me as one who has had a life of privilege, who never knew hardship or what it was like to be poor. Language is the only real sign of cultural loyalty, and since I don't speak it, I am a traitor to my own kind. They give me a condescending stare because they think they are better than me, a tainted Filipino, a "banana"-- white on the inside, yellow on the outside. And I return one arrogant stare with another. I am tainted. I am "whitewashed." I may not know true Filipino culture, but whatever I learned about my heritage, I learned from my parents--and maybe that's all I need. I am a traitor to my own kind because I don't have any love for my native country, and because I now fully understand the renunciation of my native citizenship--and I am glad for it. They look at me with loathing, and I return the favor. I look at those Filipinos with disgust because they used someone to get them out of the Philippines, particularly the women. They married someone who promised to get them out of poverty, and once they got out, they think they're better than the Filipinos who were left behind. And when they arrive in America, they still think they are better than the Americanized Filipinos who they deem to be tainted. What a bunch of hypocrites! But who's to blame them for that? The Philippines and the Filipinos were never uprooted per se, but our roots and our foundation have been stomped on, replanted, stomped on, recycled over and over again. The future of the Philippines is being built on shaky ground. The people reflect that: what is there to be proud of when one has to leave their country and try to be anything but Filipino? What kind of roots can one look back on when all we see is the end result of foreign occupation and brainwashing? What foundation do we build for our future when we ourselves embody the confusion that torments our country? 

I am ashamed to admit when I realize I have placed a stereotype on another person, especially on my own people. Time and again, I have been made to rethink about my identity and my position in a long history of personal self-discovery and its connection to my homeland. But I, too, have pride. Why should they have more right to label me without thinking about who they are? They are not any different from me. I grew up in America, and now they come and try to be American, too. I struggle everyday about who I am and the labels placed upon me. I may be "whitewashed," but I am no longer afraid to deny it because it's true. And yet the color of my skin constantly reminds me of my roots and family history and heritage, so I cannot deny that I am a person of color either. Not white, not Asian, but not in-between either. Unlike the other hypocritical Filipinos, I don't deny anything. But who's to say who is better than whom? All I know is that I have struggled with this since high school, and I will probably struggle with it for the rest of my life.

I recently got this email from a friend who I haven't heard from in a long time. He asked me how I was and why I was in Japan. His email seemed fairly long, giving me a quick rundown on his life and then asking me questions about mine. It seemed to me that he wanted to resume contact with a lost friend. We were good friends, and I think we still are, even though I haven't really spoken to him in three or four years.

So I emailed him back. I answered his questions, and I asked him more questions about what he was doing.

I never got a reply from him again.

Really, what is the point of sending out emails to people you have rare contact with in the past few years? Out of the blue, I get an email from a friend I haven't heard from in a long time, and when I send him a reply, we are back to where we were: no contact whatsoever. I'm not mad, but I was hoping to get a reply back, maybe even resume the friendship again.

If you really don't care, don't bother. If you just want to see that my email account is active and that I exist, just send some "TEST--HELLO!!" message. I'll send one back, and at least we made the courtesy to say hi.