Kwentuhan, Part 1: Undressing the Fragments

“Storytelling is the most important part of any culture. It is the way we pass on our values, our dreams, our memories, our ancestry, our history, our herstory. It is a tool to keep our culture alive,” writes Renee Rises. She continues, “Every day a person tells a story. In every culture, in every country, we live our lives and we share stories daily. About our day, about our best friend, about our youth, about teaching, about creating art, about the closeness of our family, our struggles, our foods, our literature.... Stories live everywhere.”

It is precisely because of this - the undeniable power of storytelling - that UniPro launched the Kwentuhan initiative. Celebrating Filipino American History Month and the unique stories of our community, Kwentuhan promotes four different theatrical productions, all the original work of Filipinos in NYC, all showing through October and November 2014. The first of these shows is Renee’s Undressing the Fragments.

On Friday, October 24 at the WOW Cafe Theater in NYC, I attended the premiere of Undressing the Fragments, a non-linear theatrical production that delves into the lives of 14 characters in one act and 16 scenes. Although they are all Filipino American, Renee captures the diversity within our community by portraying the characters as very unique individuals; they experience different hardships and joys, they relate to their ancestral heritage in their own ways (if at all), and they have varying (and sometimes conflicting) values. On top of the struggles of trying to build lives of happiness and success, as members of the Invisible Minority navigating between (at least) two worlds, the characters must face the reality and helplessness of being oceans away from their motherland as it is ravaged by Super Typhoon Haiyan. Renee explains:

"Undressing the Fragments is a play that explores the diversity of the Filipina/o American community during the time of a natural disaster, during Typhoon Haiyan. It brings about various issues that impacted the community before, during and after the storm. While the play takes place during the most catastrophic typhoon to ever hit the Philippines, it explores issues that Filipina/os in America face as families, friends, educators, activists, soldiers, mothers, wives, brothers, sisters and humans. There isn't one issue it focuses on, it's many; hence-- fragments. There are so many pieces to our identity and I wanted to capture as many voices and lives as I possibly could in a small amount of time. I wrote the play while travelling in California from San Francisco, to LA, to San Diego, to Chicago and back to New York. I listened to many Filipina/os across the country and I listened deeply. I wrote with all of their stories in mind."

The play succeeds not only in engaging the audience in the characters' complex emotions, but also in challenging us with thoughtful, uncomfortable, and at times unanswerable questions. "What does it mean to be a Filipina/o in America?" states the show description. In this play, it means everything from college PCNs to playing with light-skinned dolls that contrast so starkly with your own skin color, and from superstitions to the ugliness of shame in your queer family member. This latter scene, when a young Pinoy reveals his sexual orientation to his much-respected Kuya, was an "Oh, shit" moment for me; suddenly my Filipino American-ness smacked me in the face and I found that I was fighting to keep myself together. Although it is not a scenario that I have experienced personally, the scene expressed so much about the respect, pride, and social acceptance that Filipino American families value so dearly, and which may also become a weight so heavy that it forces the family - the foundation of Filipino culture - to fall apart.

Just as meaningful as the play was the post-show talkback, when Renee and the actors conversed with the audience about what we had just seen. What surprised us? What affected us? We spoke about the significance of the spotlight highlighting the teen-aged Jessica, the youngest character in the play, who will share with other Filipino American youth the honor/burden of carrying forth and building upon our community's traditions, successes, and shortcomings. We spoke, of course, about Typhoon Haiyan, raising the same question we've all heard over and over again since last November: What can we do to help? Well, what CAN we do? We're here in the States, miles away from the land that many of us, perhaps, know very little about. Are we obligated to join relief and rebuilding efforts on the ground? Should we organize our own fundraising events? Where should we send the funds?

Of the many questions asked and thoughts shared during this discussion, Renee's poignant reflection on Haiyan resonated with me the most. She explained how the destruction of Hurricane Katrina had blown her away upon seeing it firsthand as a volunteer. To think that Haiyan's level of devastation was much worse, and that this time, she looked like the victims.... This inexplicable connection that she feels to Filipinos – kapwa – made an enormous sense of guilt and helplessness well within her for being in NY rather than in the Philippines. But as Undressing the Fragments actress Jana Lynne Umipig responded, yes, we ARE here. We must be fully present where we are, remembering the reasons why our families migrated here, and innovating ways to maximize our impact as a united community. True to life, Undressing the Fragments leaves the focus of that impact as yet to be determined.

As for the overall message Renee wants the audience to take away? “I want the audience to make decisions for themselves. The message? Filipinos are... unique. We're beautiful. We're diverse. We're complex. We struggle. We're brown. We're yellow. We're friends. We're enemies. We're artists. We're talented. We exist. We have dreams. We have hopes. Aspirations. We work together. We are solidarity. We struggle. We listen. We learn. We love. We are human.”

To read more from Renee Rises, check out her three-part story in The FilAm Magazine:

• Part 1: The first wave of Asian American actors were Filipinos
• Part 2: Here Lies Love’ provides full-time jobs to FilAm actors
• Part 3: Coming soon!

For more Kwentuhan, support our community’s artists and attend the rest of the shows, and return to our blog for exclusive interviews with the creators:

• Luis Francia’s The Beauty of Ghosts (directed by Claro de los Reyes)
• Carlos Celdran’s Livin’ La Vida Imelda (directed by Ralph B. Peña)
• Nicole Maxali’s Forgetting the Details

Lastly, to get involved in NYC community efforts to commemorate Typhoon Haiyan and discuss climate justice, attend the "Remembering Haiyan" community forum + vigil on Saturday, November 8, 2014.

Special thanks to Kirklyn Escondo for interviewing Renee!

Discovering My Story in 'The Journey of a Brown Girl'

I made my way up several flights of stairs, where I was greeted and asked to choose a small stone from a bowl before entering the performance space. Each audience member did the same, and wrote a word or their name on their stones - I elected to scribble down the word “love” in Arabic. We placed them on the altar, located on stage right, and took our seats.

Jana Lynne “JL” Umipig, the director, creator and producer of The Journey of a Brown Girl, explained to the audience that the stones were meant to absorb the positive energy from the show, and that we were free to retrieve our stones at the conclusion of the night’s event.

The energy that flowed through WOW Café Theater that evening was beyond positive. It was also a mix of wonder, anger and passion; wonder – for many of the issues that the piece as a whole raised, all of which sparked curiosity and reflection among the audience; anger – for the many misfortunes and atrocities that fellow Pilipina women have had to endure throughout the course of history; and passion – for the intense level of emotion that each the five characters evoked during the performance.

The Journey of a Brown Girl did not follow a particular storyline. Instead, it was a collective; it was an exploration of Pilipina issues and experiences through varying lenses. Following the opening ritual, the five women gathered for “Ina sa Anak na Babae (Mother to Daughters).” Light, played by Precious Sipin, was the mother figure of the four other elements. Her four daughters were Wind (Renee Rises), Water (Leslie Hubilla), Fire (Vanessa Ramalho) and Earth (Karen Pangantihon). Each of the women in the show used a malong throughout the performance. The malong is defined by Umipig as “a life cloth.” Umipig describes the malongs as garments that:

“… become an extension of the spirits of the wom*n and are used throughout to help them transform into characters and to give to the stories of all the sisters, mothers, wom*n, and girls whose voices fill the piece… From cradle to grave, this is how the malong serves the Maranao. The malong is a tube-like, unisex garment that also symbolizes the Maranao’s artform and culture.”

In a commentary on the Catholic Church, poignantly referred to as “Sit, Stand, Kneel,” Light knelt on stage right, deep in prayer. As they sat, stood, and knelt non-stop, the four daughters began to itch with frustration. They recognized that they had been conditioned to abide by the expectations of the church, regardless of their understanding of faith and spirituality.

“I know Him, but I know the hymn by heart,” one of the daughters stated with discontent.

The wide disconnect between the church and women’s issues as a whole is still evident today. Change, though slow, requires arduous effort. Just this past week in the Philippines, the Supreme Court passed the RH bill, which previously faced much opposition by the Roman Catholic Church.

“The Reproductive Health Law is a historic step forward for all women in the Philippines, empowering them to make their own decisions about their health and families and participate more fully and equally in their society,” states Nancy Northup, president of the Center for Reproductive Rights. Still the church continues to clash with women’s rights, especially in the Philippines and among Catholic women of the Pilipino diaspora.

The performance also presented the modern Pilipina woman as an individual that is often overlooked in society. The performers took turns telling the accounts of OFWs who have become domestic workers after leaving the PI. These portraits explained the trials that domestic workers are subjected to, including receiving little or no pay, enduring physical and sexual abuse, and experiencing the inability to break contract and leave their employer. The piece went on to portray trafficked Pilipinas who have been deceived by recruitment agencies or individuals and forced into sex slavery abroad. The performers took on a different persona, reflective of the women whose stories they were telling. They took turns recounting several interviews and recollections over candlelight. Hearing these chilling tales brought tears to many in the audience, myself included.

The latter half of the piece explored the perception of beauty among Pilipina women. Light encouraged her four daughters to make their skin white by smearing thick layers of lightening cream upon their faces. Watching the women cover up their brown skin was comical at first; they appeared to buy into the acceptable perceptions of beauty (according to their mother and society). Eventually, each of the daughters realized that they were hiding their true selves, and began to wash away their masks.

All I could think of during the performance was how much I understood each of the daughters - and even the mother. The performers portrayed Pilipina women as victims of circumstance. Those circumstances ranged from religious faith and spirituality to colonialism and globalization. However, each of the women also portrayed strength, perseverance and resilience.

After the show, I approached Umipig, and thanked her for such a moving experience.

“It was like you were telling my story,” I admitted to Umipig.

“That’s because it is your story,” she assured me.

Photo credits: Chauncey Velasco

The Journey of a Brown Girl Community Launch Party

The Journey of a Brown Girl's launch party on November 15 brought attendees to The Living Gallery in Brooklyn, a cozy space just waiting to be christened with community. The walls were decorated by original creations by Journey's own team members and performers, including Vanessa Ramalho's handmade scarves, apparel by Inez Galvez, the iconic Journey painting, and even live art created on site by Karoleen DeCastro. Aside from fundraising for the production itself, 15% of proceeds from donations would benefit Sagip-Tulong sa Pilipinas (STP)'s relief funds for those affected by Typhoon Haiyan. The four actresses, Vanessa Ramalho (Fire), Karen Pangantihon (Earth), Renee Rises (Wind), and Precious Sipin (Light/Mother) opened the show, along with a piece from the show's creator Jana Lynne Umipig. The night was akin to an intimate family gathering, including familiar faces from Tagalogue, with an abundance of drinks and people, packed in to the point where some were sitting on the floor. A wide range of acts went on, including those by Chris Celiz, Andre Dimapilis, Nicole Maxali, Renee Rises and Luis Guillien, Deep Foundation, and Hydroponikz. Spoken word, stand up comedy, beatboxing, rap, and song were all part of the lively mix–a testament to the growing Filipino Arts Renaissance. The center of the room played a stage, and the absence of boundaries allowed the vibrant audience and artists alike to absorb one another's talents and messages.

Learn more about The Journey of a Brown Girl's message at thejourneyofabrowngirl.com. Keep posted for its debut in Spring 2014.

Photo credit: Kristina Rodulfo

"Tagalogue" and the Filipino Arts Renaissance

The second showing of "Tagalogue Vol 3: Within Us A Tribute to Our Ancestors" had attendees walking up a narrow staircase into a dimly lit, small white room packed with people shoulder to shoulder, and barely any distance between the performers and the front row. It was intimate. As the night commenced I soon realized the proximity mimicked the material. With every personal story of history, struggle, and identity, heads from the audience nodded in recognition like a silent chorus of "me too"s. There was no question: "Tagalogue" was going to hit home, and whether you knew it or not, sitting there made you a partner of its prose.

History certainly loomed overhead with each story. But, even if the performers were years removed from their tale their words felt immediate, stinging like fresh wounds. There was loss: Larry Tantay wrote "Mary Lou Tantay," a beautiful piece on the last days with his mother, played impeccably by Renee Rises, who succumbed to cancer. There was connection: Jana-Lynne Umipig's excerpt from her original work "Journey of a Brown Girl" summoned women of Philippine past to the present. There was conflict: J. Gabriel Tungol's "Another One of These Type Dudes" raised questions of authenticity in Fil-Am identity. There was even humor: RJ Mendoza's "My Main Man" had everyone guffawing over his endearing relationship with his lolo. In every performance, there was love. There was the 14-person cast's love for their craft, love for each other, and from every corner of the room–a love for our culture's past.

After the show there was a talk-back with the cast and directors, Andre Ignacio Dimapilis and Precious Sipin, and they took questions from the audience about their piece. In the same space, there were experienced Broadway performers, and others were first-time actors. At one point, Andre announced:

"We are experiencing a Filipino arts renaissance!" and I immediately wrote the phrase down. The words resonated in the room: Filipino. Arts. Renaissance. Up to now, it's nothing new that the Pilipino population is abundantly blessed with singers, dancers, and writers, but seeing a Pilipino artist in the performing arts was always an exception (think of the national worship over Lea Salonga). "Tagalogue" introduced a time for change, and now I'm looking forward to seeing a rise of productions for and by our community.

The Pilipino/Fil-Am experience has yet to be in the public spotlight, but if that small white room was any indication of what's to come... we're definitely getting closer.

Photo: Kristina Rodulfo