Middle photo from Kathara’s Facebook
Given the quick turnaround on the #WalangHiya project, the first few days of March have yet to be assigned to anyone. So to kick off some of the unique narratives coming up, I’m dedicating this post to uplift the work of Filipinx womxn that live with walang hiya because honestly, they don’t get enough coverage and we don’t get enough exposure. Continue reading
Since the election of Donald Trump, I’ve gone in cycles of lows and highs, of feeling replenished and feeling depleted. Even before the election, life in New York was feeling sh*tty and I was constantly searching for ways to replenish myself in the midst of a lot of heaviness. Time and time again, I come to the conclusion that life is just a series of moments of overcoming obstacles, sprinkled with moments of pure joy.
I know this cyclical process of overcoming as resiliency.
When asked what I’m proud of as a Filipinx American, our resiliency is at the top of my list. My grandparents, my parents, my aunts and uncles, my cousins — all of us, we exude a resiliency that is difficult to put into words. We’ve learned how to survive and how to persevere. What’s most challenging about resiliency is learning how to grow. Because with growth, comes discomfort. Continue reading
As much as my parents like to deny it, I am who I am because of them. The home they created for the three of us were my initial grounds for socialization, the space that sparked my faith, spurred my love for music and the outdoors, and where I developed my conflict coping mechanisms.
I always aim to publish my weekly blog posts over the weekend or Monday at the latest — but as you may (or may not) have noticed, this week’s post is late. I planned to write about my parents’ immigration narratives — a feeble attempt to articulate the historical and personal factors that contributed to their decisions to forfeit the lives they knew in the Philippines, sprinkled with quotable remarks made when the stories were passed orally to me and painted over with a broad historical lens. Continue reading
A few weeks ago, I witnessed a teenage couple verbally fighting on the subway. The girl looked like she was on the verge of tears as her boyfriend prodded her to open up about why she was upset. At one point, he threw out a taunting hypothetical, “If I was in a room alone with ___some other girl’s name___, would that bother you?”
“Well, would anything happen…?”
“I mean, we’re alone. So say something does. Would that bother you?”
As I listened to this conversation, I’m thinking (1) what an asshole (2) someone needs to tell this girl that she is worthy of better. I could feel the same hesitation emanating from her that I felt years ago when I attempted on multiple occasions to break up with an ex. My problem was that I feared I was not worthy of someone else.
At the next stop, the boy got off the subway. My heart raced as I pondered my place in this situation: say something or not? Subway conversations are rare especially in New York, where people (usually) avoid talking to each other. Eventually, it was the knowledge that if I was in her shoes, I would have been thankful for some validation from the universe. That, and I could feel the regret building within me if I stayed silent. So I turned around and said, “Hi, I overheard your conversation. I hope you know that you are enough on your own and you deserve better.”
There’s a combination of factors that contributed to this moment: my Catholic guilt, my Jesuit education’s call to social justice, my growing courage, and most of all: my identity as a womxnist. Continue reading
🎧 To the spaces in between our faces
The most beautiful places in the world
Don’t waste it, I could almost taste it
The most beautiful places in the world– Mint by KAMAU
I’ve been listening to this song non-stop this week. The hook has me hooked and thinking about space — the types of spaces I choose to inhabit, the types of spaces I stumble on and most of all how I take up space. Continue reading