The Legacy of Stunted Potential

My grandmother was the happiest when her grandchildren were crowded around her fighting over a remote control. As soon as a channel was agreed upon and the children’s chatter ended, she would issue various orders that would stir the children back in action. I don’t think she did this out of malice, but because she enjoyed seeing us in action. There was a twinkle in her eyes and an almost imperceptible grin when in the presence of boisterous children. This paints a wonderful, stereotypical picture that most adults use to convince women to bear children. It’s superficial reason that only serves to depict children as benign, decorative objects to be paraded around or stirred in action. However, there are far more degrading conditions that children are subjected to. Children are especially targeted and victimized with indoctrination, unrealized dreams and hopes of the very adults who are supposed to help them. Children are autonomous, living, breathing, miniature, human beings.

One of the last Filipino movies I saw was about a woman who married several husbands each of whom died after fathering one child each. She eventually ended up with five children, each having a different father. The eldest child was going to college and was trying to win the heart of a nice girl. Long story short, the happy ending involved the eldest child quitting college to pursue work and breaking up with the girl he eventually won over to help support the family despite the mother finding another husband to marry. The eldest boy’s “sacrifice” subplot was combined with the search for a lost deaf sibling because money was needed. It’s even more disappointing when they found that the lost sibling didn’t even get that far and was found hiding behind a box near their home.

There is a stereotype in media that unless your family supports you with your ambitions, you’re just being “selfish.” Well, isn’t that just an oxymoron? Ambition only works if the person involved really believes in it. The eldest child from the movie had a lot of potential but was throttled before he could even take flight. What kind of a message were they even trying to achieve after building up a subplot of how the eldest child was going to college to pursue his dreams that was actually going to help save his family from poverty? Pursue your dreams but family will always come first no matter what? The boy should have continued his college education which would have only lasted a few more years and gained him more money to comfortably support his family and fulfill his dream. The eldest child damned himself into a mediocre existence that neither helps himself or his family. He was preparing ahead, working on a plan that would take some time to benefit from but had to abandon it for a temporary fix just to be with his family for what turned out to be a modest crisis. I wanted to burn the VHS after the corny ending which hinted that the new step dad was going to get into an accident like all the others and how the family got to stay together in the old dilapidated house achieving nothing at all.

The type of experience the eldest child went through is common and experienced by many. From childhood, we are encouraged to do our best, be successful and be open to every opportunity. This unrelenting pressure to be the best is inflicted especially for those who can afford an education. It’s common to hear someone losing sleep from studying for an exam or being punished for coming home with a dissatisfactory grade. Despite the strong support for education and the recognition that it would lead to a better life, they will eventually be told to settle for the “practical” choice, the “modest” choice, the choice that will ensure familial stability. The youth is told to abandon their ambitions; which contradicts what they were told when they were young. This has left many of us with the impression that the life of an adult is dull, unrewarding and apathetic.

If genius can be nurtured, why not have another child? Why not have more? A large brood is very popular especially in the provinces where children are used as free farm hands that also double as a lottery ticket to a genius who will rescue the family from poverty. Everyone should be familiar with this popular anti-abortion story:

How would you advise a mother who is pregnant with her fifth child based on the following facts: Her husband has syphilis. She has tuberculosis. Their first child was born blind. Their second child died. Their third child was born deaf. Their fourth child had tuberculosis. Would you advise the mother for an abortion? Oops! If you said yes, you would have just killed the great composer Ludwig van Beethoven! We cannot know what God has in mind for every individual…”

This story is factually untrue. It’s more like an urban legend, with the details changing from person to person. Nonetheless, most Filipino couples embrace this tale. It gives them another reason to have children.

Although both my parents came from large families, they didn’t entertain having more than three children despite regular nagging from us. My brother wanted another younger sibling since he had tired of us. I wanted a little sister. My younger brother disliked being the youngest because he was at the bottom of the pecking order. Despite setting up mock romantic dinners, hustling our parents to go on a date or another honeymoon, they ignored our requests, or discouraged us by giving us impossible tasks or sending us out on errands. There goes the unborn sibling who could have been a genius, an inventor, a talented actor or just the revolutionary the country had been waiting for since the Spanish era ended.

A close friend in high school came from a poor family of five girls, all of whom lived in a one-room Nipa hut she told me about, but never wanted me to see. She graduated as valedictorian from elementary school, and all her sisters were decked in school medals till they graduated from high school. The conditions of her lifestyle satisfied the Beethoven analogy but still made it difficult to raise their status from poverty.

I can’t imagine living in a one-room home with five other people. I grew up in a modestly-sized home where I had my own room, even if it doubled as storage. We also had some kind of a yard where we could actually run around and play, but also have the misfortune of being ordered to trim the grass with a giant pair of scissors on our haunches.

The Beethoven analogy doesn’t bother to satisfy if a couple is able to provide adequate shelter, food, attention or guidance for all the potential children involved to nurture genius. It relies on a gamble that you have as many chances of being saved from poverty from the number of children produced. Even if none of the children end up being a genius after all, they are treated as indentured servants who are forever in debt for the gift of life. We are talking about children, not livestock, investment or an inanimate object. Doesn’t this seem inhuman and disingenuous? Dreams coming true, good fortune, success. These are merely by-products of reaching a goal. If children are to be encouraged to do their best from the beginning, it should be encouraged further when they reach adulthood. Elders supporting youth to aim for the superficial results of success alone is tragic and cruel.

There may never be a perfect parenting method and no one can predict what kinds of moments and memories will be important to a growing and developing child. What does matter is to keep in mind that a child will eventually become an adult. What kind of legacy are our elders really looking for? A brighter future? More money? Success? Aren’t those all just generic platitudes designed to placate youth to keep up appearances of a supporting parent? Even if the disingenuous support produces results, the individual finds himself tied down to be just good enough for familial stability. The cycle continues and the desire for further progress hindered. The result of this upbringing in the larger scale of society results in an individual’s loss of initiative and inevitable stagnation.

A place to call home

I have a habit of secretly spying on people’s apartments while I walk home from work. Partly to get ideas on how to make my place livelier since it’s bare and spartan, and partly for my curiosity in how people live. Often, these homes are filled with furniture, eclectic decor, the usual picture frames and religious paraphernalia of some sort. A balcony just across my place is currently used by its tenants as storage space for boxes. An old lady living in the apartment next door for twenty years has stuff spilling out of her car. Down the street, there’s a family whose kitchen is always in disarray. In all these places, almost every corner is occupied by an object or two, almost as if there’s fear of space. I moved recently and found that unlike my previous neighborhood, this one was diverse.

It has been ten years since I migrated to the United States. I thought that my parents decided to come here to fulfill their unrealized hopes and dreams that would never come to fruition in the Philippines. An obvious course when moving to a foreign country is to adopt its customs and its language. It isn’t really surprising why many natives aren’t very happy with present day immigrants. While the early wave of immigrants came in hopes of escaping tyranny, striking it rich by their own skills and merits, share the philosophy behind the Constitution, the new wave only came to enjoy the fruits and riches and bring their baggage with them.

My family was fortunate enough to have purchased a small piece of property where the house we owned was falling apart since it was built. It was small and cramped but it was comfortable. It was very liberating to arrive in America, streets wide and free of litter, people using pedestrian lanes where they should, drivers respecting pedestrian lanes, neat and respectable looking policemen, affordable and reasonably priced commodities, this was the way the world should be. One shouldn’t have to decide not to buy milk to save money from groceries to ensure proper health and well being.

I don’t really know if it’s natural for people of common nationality to “stick” together wherever they are. It isn’t just with the Filipinos, it applied to every other ethnic group I encountered. Whenever my parents went out, they were sure to be found spending dinner with some other Filipino acquaintance they met recently. Other Filipino kids were drawn to us and so were we. Perhaps it may have something to do with common language and that it’s easier for people to communicate using a language they’re comfortable with… but for Pete’s sake this is America. They speak “English” here so shouldn’t you be making efforts to improve it since that’s the common language in this country? Had I migrated to France, I would have had to learn and make every effort to learn French and identify their customs.

Those who attended English as a Second Language classes (ESL) hardly improved or learned anything from their classes. They either chose to stay quiet and stare at the wall, continued to speak what language they knew with everyone else who shared it with them, and in a strange kind of way made gang fights almost comedic since two different ethnic groups would throw curses from their own language at each other, neither understanding what the hell the other group was talking about. They could’ve been arguing about teapots and fairies for all I knew.

When my folks were finally able to afford a home, the home… ended up being a carbon copy of the old house eventually. The new home though considered “small” was comparably more spacious and open than the one we left. Eventually, we accrued all sorts of furniture. Some of them were unnecessary purchases only considered because it happened to be “on sale.” I could understand saving everything that can be salvaged in the Philippines because everything you horde is valuable and can be traded when money can’t… but in America, what for? The country is bountiful that you can afford not to finish a $3 menu meal since the serving size is comparable to getting three times what you can get from the Philippines.

Today, the America I know is tolerant to the point of being laughable and ridiculous. Simple rights and freedoms are indiscreetly taken away by the introduction of more laws with strings attached and a growing welfare driven society. Despite its shortcomings, this is perhaps one of the few countries in the world where you can live the kind of life that every human being should have; A place where you can enjoy very essential human rights and freedoms taken for granted and ignored in most parts of the world; A place where you are recognized and valued for your efforts, talents and achievement, not your social status or background. Many of these ideals are slowly being taken away. I weep for the day this country dies as it is the first country founded on life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

Admittedly The US is the most hated country in the world right now for obvious reasons, but for those who live here right now, stop to think of what it was founded on. All we need to do is go back to the way its founders meant it to be.

Do dogs dream of heaven?

Break ins were becoming more common in our area that it prompted my mother to buy another dog. What she came home with was a scraggly, flea-ridden Doberman-German shepherd mutt we eventually named “Whispy.” My mom didn’t consider her for her shameful state, but rather, she was sold almost for nothing because the vendor just wanted to get rid of her and was worried if the poor dog would sell at all.

After an extensive defleaing and cleaning, Whispy showed signs of being an observant and capable guard dog. Despite her small and fragile stature, she was a terror when she barred her fangs at strangers and reserved her loyalty and adoration only to us. She would change her behavior when she realized that a stranger was part of family or a friend based on what she would observe from our behavior. She was great at keeping traveling Jehovah’s witnesses away who were too scared to preach the word of God in the face of this “menacing” wolf.

Cute widdle puppeh!

Since I was rarely allowed to go out even to play with the next door neighbor’s girl, I ended up playing with the dogs instead. Whispy was my favorite even though it was difficult to play tricks on her. She ended up being my confidant and the shoulder to cry on. She became my “first” best friend. She was so fond of me that my mother always had to call me in order for her to obey commands.

One summer evening, I woke up to faint sounds of squealing and Whispy’s distinct whine of worry. I realized that she has started giving birth to puppies before I opened the door outside and alerted my brothers immediately. As soon as we came out, she looked relieved and had two puppies crawling all over the place. She couldn’t help herself and didn’t know if she should look after the two puppies crawling away or deliver the rest of the puppies still in progress. She looked like she was having difficulty delivering the huge pups because of her small frame so my younger brother was assigned the task of keeping the puppies close to her so she didn’t worry about them, and I helped by playing midwife to the puppies being delivered. My older brother held the two other dogs we owned since they caused Whispy to growl protectively over the puppies. In the end, we ended up with five dogs. One was unfortunately still born and looked like a mutant with a giant head. Whispy had a longing look in her face when we took the dead puppy from her but didn’t retaliate. We dug a small grave for the puppy that same day and offered a little prayer for it. We set out milk to a haggard Whispy who looked grateful and set on to nurse the remaining pups.

After some years, Whispy became pregnant again. We were just as excited and spoiled her. One morning I stepped out and called to her as usual but didn’t get a bark or her presence. Furthermore, none of the dogs were responding to the call either. One of her pups actually came to see me, then darted away. When I turned the corner, I saw that they were all gathered at Whispy’s body. I didn’t want to believe it at first because it didn’t look like what I thought it was. She still looked alive except for a few flies flying around her. I came closer to confirm, my heart pounding in my chest. She was dead. I stroked her a few more times just to make sure, still not believing and I felt heartbroken when I hand moved over her swollen belly. She was due only a few more weeks.

I informed my mom right away, clearly keeping my hysteria at bay. I was expecting to be given one of those TV moment pats in the back or even some show of how sorry she was for my loss but I didn’t get any. I watched her order my older brother and an uncle to put her body in a sack and throw it at the creek next door. I kept thinking, “What? Aren’t we going to give her a funeral? She’s been with us for so long and you know how much I adore this dog!” I was told to get out of the way. Not knowing what to do with myself, I resorted to staying in my room, shocked, holding back tears, but crying eventually. It was a beautiful day for her to die. The weather was fine and the sun streamed into the only window that lit my dim room. Everyone in the household treated it like an ordinary day. The dogs were in a state of unrest and had to be kept to keep from distracting my brother and my uncle from moving the body. After some time, I did come out of my room and watched as her body was put into a sack and carried away.

It took me a very long time before I could finally pass the bridge alongside the creek where she was dumped. This was hard to do as it was only a house away from our home so I practically had to cross the street to go around it constantly. It took me three months to finally gain the courage to look down at the creek and look at the sack with her body in it. I didn’t have to look for it since it was still there. I only hoped that she wasn’t in pain and was very happy for the duration of her life with us. The whole ordeal made me wonder how people would feel should I die but this was definitely the beginning of a vague small voice telling me that there is no heaven or hell, only this earth and the life I’m living right now.

I’ve witnessed my mom break down during a previous birthday party I had when she received notification that her older brother in the navy had just passed away from a heart attack. She often spoke fondly of him and we felt much gratitude for his omniscience since he always seemed to be the mysterious figure behind an unexpected present or just the amount of money we needed to get through. For the rest of that celebration, I had mixed feelings of being happy for myself and being sad for my mom. I tried not to smile as my offer of condolence.

I was in 4^th grade when Whispy died. Though I knew there was a huge difference between a human being and a pet dog, I was expecting some kind of speech about life and death from my mom. Anything would have comforted me but I was left to explore that myself. Even though my mom acknowledge us as “mature” kids, I still hoped she would be a bit more attentive to matters such as this. After an unexpected flood, I passed by the creek again to visit her and found that the sack was no longer there.

Several years later, my mother’s mom passed away. The funeral was comparable to a celebrity since I found several strangers, perhaps every occupant of the apartment building she lived in, and distant relatives in attendance. I was “ordered” to do the Eulogy for my grandmother and despite some difficulty with it, did manage to write a decent one. I had to show it to my father for review because just the thought of it made my mother breakdown in tears. In it, I essentially narrated my short correspondence with her when she still had the ability to write letters. She had lovely hand writing and I would talk to her about how the family was doing, my hobbies and stuff I wanted. Despite knowing that her favorite grandchild is my older brother, I was the only one diligent enough to write to her. I shared language misunderstandings we had with her in her later years when her memory started to fail and would order us something in Spanish and forget that we don’t speak that language at all. I think the crowd got the gist of it. They laughed and sighed at the appropriate parts despite my choked delivery as I found myself breaking down. When it was all over, I returned to where my family stood and got a half hug from my mother who thanked me and cried right back in my father’s arms. Throughout the rest of the mass, I grieved alone. I held my tears and felt envious that my mother had my father and my brothers stood close to each other, both heads bowed. My aunt and cousins were in front, I had other distant relatives behind who occasionally patted me in the back for the “wonderful” speech but despite all this, I felt very lonely being the only person within that crowd without a shoulder to cry on. When it was time for the viewing, I found that my grandmother’s body was that of a stranger. It resembled her, but it wasn’t anything like her.

My grandmother’s body reminded me of the death of our neighbor’s daughter in law who died young of cancer. There were perhaps at least 10 people in attendance in her funeral, not including us. We were invited as our neighbor thought of us as her grandchildren since she babysat us and we babysat her grandchildren. The lady who died looked calm and ethereal in her coffin. She didn’t get the chance to live a long, colorful life the way my grandmother did and unfortunately left a beautiful daughter behind.

I don’t know how to mourn. There are many times I’d like to cry hysterically the way they do it in movies but had been trained to avoid this since my mother had a habit of criticizing me for a drama queen when I did. I could never get the routine right despite many elderly relatives dropping dead every year or so. When silently crying to myself wasn’t acceptable either, the only other option available to me was to feel nothing, after all there is heaven, right?

I believe that religion’s first purpose is to answer death. It’s “comforting” to know that an afterlife exists where you can find your loved ones later on. I will never have a dog like Whispy ever again and as a child, it was comforting to “know” that she’ll be the first one to greet me when I die. I don’t think of it that way anymore, I don’t believe there’s anything after I’m gone so I’ve resorted to leaving crafty presents behind to my friends to ensure my immortality.

Will we see all our loved ones in some afterlife? I just couldn’t believe that, no, not after what I’ve seen. Not after the overwhelming response of the crowd that attended my grandmother’s funeral. It wouldn’t have been that big of a deal if they thought they wouldn’t see her again. Not after the unceremonious nature of Whispy’s funeral. Religious or not, there’s that part of us that knows that this is the only life we’ll ever live.

You are “kept” by noone

I was delighted to find a notification that an old friend of mine left me a note at MySpace. It was someone I haven’t spoken to for a long time and considered a close friend. I am unfortunately very terrible at staying in touch. I don’t do this on purpose and I encourage my friends to poke me even if it’s only to abuse me for my talents. Though the purpose of the message was to get back in touch, the content was a backhanded insult.

“Are you married? Did you run out of invitations? Congratulations! Are you pregnant?!”

To give a little bit more understanding of this note, my profile’s relationship type was deliberately changed to “married” because I keep getting dating inquiries from male acquaintances. I’ve since stopped getting these inquiries ever since I changed it to “married” status. I assume she just noticed this change on my profile and wrote to inquire about it. As I said, she was a very close friend and I promised that if I got married, she would be invited.

Today’s entry is a reference to an infamous Christian saying “You are your brother’s keeper.” You’re not. This unfortunate saying does more harm especially towards women.

I’m not really sure if this is unique to being a Filipina but apparently if you are one, your goal in life is to get married as early as you can, have children, and be financially dependent on your husband. I’ve wrestled on my opinion of marriage for a very long time and finally decided that it’s really just a public declaration of a relationship. The celebrations, the trinkets and whatnot are not for the bride and groom but for their public.

I don’t really know how the government recognizes marriages but it’s always nice to know that if a relationship doesn’t work out, you can just walk away. I’ve heard people stay together to uphold the “sacredness” of marriage, because you go straight to hell if you file a divorce! I’ve heard people stay together because of the “children.” I’ve heard that people stay together because they’re just so used to their partner they’re not willing to find another one to get used to. There’s a solution to all these reasons to keep a marriage, they really are just shallow excuses.

In school, they teach you the hierarchy involved in a Filipino family. The father is the breadwinner. The mother looks after the children. The elder children look after the younger ones. What they don’t tell you is that it’s common to see mothers and fathers screaming expletives at each other, throwing dishes and cutlery at each other or threatening each other with divorce. This isn’t to say that I had a dysfunctional family. My mother and father were usually “sweet” but I used to think that it was normal to constantly fight with your sweetheart and occasionally have the urge to hurt them. For a long time, I avoided having relationships thinking that “this” picture was how it was supposed to be. I noted this behavior from many friends and their significant others I had growing up who constantly argued about the smallest, pettiest, mundane things from street signs to “another” significant other. I grew up thinking that marriage was a sacred. What makes it different from an ordinary boy x girl relationship is the fact that it’s a public declaration towards society or “god.” Does any of that involve how the bride and groom feel about each other? What does society have to do with people’s relationships anyway?

An auxiliary issue towards marriage is a woman’s dependence towards her husband. Any self sufficient woman who can cook, clean, educated, and beautiful is instantly expected to give up her career and be subservient to her husband. She passes “ownership” from her family to her husband. Most female are raised to crave the life of being pampered by a husband so they don’t know how to fend for themselves and are afraid of being independent and braving the world with their potential. Unfortunately, I see a lot of women using their children as an excuse to stay in a marriage because they don’t know how to go out there and take up work and fulfill both breadwinner and care taking roles. They’re told all their lives that they are second rate citizens so they know no other way to function than to be subservient.

And then there’s the children. When a woman gets pregnant, “society” automatically calls for a husband because they expect a breadwinner to pamper her while she looks after them. She can’t possibly take care of them on her own can she? Though pregnancy and having children is usually a happy occasion, there are several instances when it doesn’t fit our “acceptable” conditions. Some women have the misfortune of being raped. Some women did not have proper education regarding sex and contraceptives. Regardless, these are all trivial situations excused as ‘bad’ simply because it doesn’t fit the religious doctrine of birthing babies only under marriage.

A lot of parents I know who have daughters reason that they “lose more” if the daughter gets pregnant because they “have to take care” of their daughter’s child. True, the man involved can always “leave” because he doesn’t carry the child but it isn’t the parent’s responsibility to take care of their daughter. It is their daughter’s responsibility. I speak for those who are old enough, have the ability to get a job and are conscious and aware of their actions. Parents of these “women” completely disregard their 20+ daughters’ capability to take care of themselves. The fact that they keep telling their daughters that they are useless without some sort of husband/guardian makes their daughters feel even more helpless and bitter towards their unborn children. In the event that a child is conceived in unfortunate circumstances, such as rape, the parents should function as a positive support group. Parents have no other function than to raise their children and let them go when they’re old enough to think for themselves. Children are not free labor. Children are not slaves. Children grow up to become adults and lead their own lives.

This doesn’t necessarily only apply to women but it’s very frustrating. One should be judged, considered, treated based on one’s own merit. You are nobody’s keeper. You are not kept by anyone. You answer to no one but yourself. Society exists as a collection of individuals’ collective values. You should always uphold what you think is reasonable, logical and right. Most people go on presumptions and stereotypical ideas without having knowledge or understanding of your situation, your wants and your goals. You’re the only one who holds all of this so it’s your responsibility to see those through. To better expound on your individual rights, please read Ayn Rand’s argument regarding the Virtue of Selfishness. Don’t let the word “Selfish” scare you. Let it liberate you.

The sad truth is that if you call people on this bullshit, they don’t even realize or understand the full extent of their ignorance and shallowness. When you try to explain why they are “offensive,” they have this glazed look in their eyes and tune out once they hear “catch” words usually directed against religion since they are trained to do so that they do it on autopilot. This unfortunately keeps them from hearing out the reasons. It’s even frustrating when it involves someone you care about.