What's Another Round Fruit?

December 31^st, or New Year’s Eve, is the time of year that calls for many different traditions. Whether it’s sporting parkas and triple layers and preparing for the bitter cold of Time Square, or donning party clothes and preparing to clink glasses and share kisses at midnight, each person has their own way of celebrating. For my family, aside from another excuse to fill our table with food, New Year’s Eve brings the frantic search for twelve round fruits. On December 31^st, my mother, sisters, and I pile into the car, hopping from one grocery store to another. We realize each year, with a refreshed sense of bewilderment, just how difficult it is to find such a large – and strange – number of circular fruits. Hectic, but always fun, this practice is fairly new to my household. My dad claims that it is a Filipino tradition, but if so, I wonder why is it that we only recently started scouring Yonkers and beyond for oranges, cantaloupes, and grapefruits. If ringing in the New Year with twelve edible spheres is so deeply embedded into our culture, then why only during my high school years did this become part of our New Year’s repertoire?

Chinese Influence

Perhaps my dad’s hesitance lay in the fact that the collection of twelve round fruits is not an idea originally conceived by the Pilipinos but the Chinese. A way of petitioning prosperity for the incoming year, the Chinese adorn their tables with eight – a number that signifies good luck – round fruits. Pilipinos later adopted this concept, changing the number of fruits from eight to twelve, symbolizing each of the twelve months. This is not the only tradition the Philippines borrowed from the Chinese. Pilipinos also have become quite fond of Chinese customs, such as presenting children with money in red envelopes and, at the stroke of midnight, jumping with a coin in hand. So extensive is Chinese influence on Pilipino traditions that even when banned from using firecracker, an age-old Chinese method of ushering in the New Year, some Pilpinos mimic the practice by banging on pots and pans.

Authentic Pilipino Tradition

With this much foreign influence blurring the lines between borrowed routines and authentic Pilipino traditions, the question remains: Which New Year’s traditions can Pilipinos call their own? Yes, the Chinese loaned us numerous practices, but for every "stolen" tradition, we have just as many that are specific to the Philippines. Only Pilipinos swing their doors, windows, and cabinets wide open to draw in good fortunes. Only Pilipinos avoid chicken, hen, or any type of bird as a main course, for fear their luck will fly away with the meal. And only Pilipinos wear polka-dots as a prayer for prosperity, a custom so distinct that it appears on Mediait's list of The Most Unique and Unusual New Year's Traditions from Around the World. Indeed, many of the rituals Pilipinos observe are foreign-born, but that does not mean that the Philippines does not tote its own specific traditions that set it apart it from other Asian cultures.

Pretty Hurts: Why the Philippines Loves Beauty Pageants

Pilipino beauty pageant winners dominated 2013. The year closed with a total of four winning titles for the country: Miss World, Tourism International, Miss Supranational, Miss International, and also a top 5 placement in Miss Universe. As the only country to hold titles in the top 5 international beauty competitions, it is safe to say the Philippines excels at the sport of pageantry. The country dotes on its queens and ties pride for the Philippines to each crown. Online we witness explosions of excitement when Ms. Philippines wins, and outbursts of rage when Ms. Philippines leaves empty handed.

I'm no anomaly to the Philippines' beauty pageant phenomenon. I have acted as host, producer, and stagehand for pageants and even competed in two myself. You get sucked in by the glamour of it all: buying gowns and strutting the runway, showcasing talents and eloquence, hearing cheers for your name and being asked for your photograph. There is nothing quite like the audience of a beauty pageant, however. The crowd emulates insane sports fandom with big signs, competitive spirit, and loud roaring cheers.

From international stages to local functions abroad, why are Pilipinos drawn to beauty pageants? Let's take a look at some contributing factors, including nationalism, willing ignorance, and the desire to prove something of the Philippines.

And we'll show the world What a country girl can change And we'll show the whole wide world That we have a pretty face Pretty face, pretty face, pretty face have we 

Above are lyrics from "Pretty Face" sung by the Imelda Marcos character in the musical Here Lies Love. The former first lady immediately comes to mind when considering pageants, as she won beauty queen titles herself and earned nicknames like the "Rose of Tacloban" and "Muse of Manila." The song champions Imelda's infamous beautification program and vain pursuits. The 1976 Miss Universe competition, hosted by the Philippines, functioned as an opportunity to show off a developing nation deserving respect. Families in slums consequently faced eviction from their homes to hide poverty from the national image.

Even after the Marcos regime during the Philippines-hosted 1994 Miss Universe, police rounded up 270 street children to improve Manila's appearance. In Sarah Benet-Weiser's The Most Beautiful Girl in the World: Beauty Pageants and National Identity, Edgardo Angara, the Senate President at the time, voiced resistance:

"The Miss Universe contest is a misuse and abuse of our women that panders to the most ignoble instincts of our people."

Gel Santos-Relos, anchor of TFC's "Balitang America" (who actually hosted one of my pageants) echoed similar sentiments in Asian Journal while pondering pageant fervor:

"During these collective experiences, all of us are 'Filipinos,' regardless of our political leanings or social standing. We root for our kababayan candidates, athletes or favorite lead character in the teleseryes. We laugh, cry and cheer together. The unchanged 7.6 percent unemployment rate, rising gas prices, or another impending government shutdown do not seem to matter at all during that brief period."

Pageants are a way to pacify the people. The elaborate productions and beautiful women bearing the Philippines' name are welcome distractions to ongoing national crises. Santos-Relos also touches on one of three factors fueling pageant obsession: sosyalan. Rick Bonus in Locating Filipino Americans writes that socializing and celebrating pride during pageants are a way to bring communities together (especially abroad). The two other factors he notes are damay, or commiseration, and bayanihan, or communal unity.

Damay refers to the charity agenda most Fil-Am pageants have, since they tend to be fundraisers for an organization or cause with native roots. Damay is the motivating factor for purchasing tickets that reel in attendees. Bayanihan refers to the act of producing the pageant. It is usually a side project for community organizers that provides a way to collaborate with other Pilipinos.

Bonus takes a step further with pageants' allure by claiming they uplift Filipino American community. Often, pageants will include cultural segments wherein contestants sing tagalog songs or dance traditional dances in native dress. Participants, often second generation Filipino Americans, use pageants as an effort to relate to their roots. As a member of the Filipino American Community of Los Angeles (FACLA) stated in Bonus's book:

"[Pageants] are ways to announce to our community and the world that we are also achievers, even if many think that we are nobodies."

Clearly, to Pilipinos, a beauty pageant doesn't merely give one woman the title. The moment she gets her sash and crown, an entire nationality basks in the glitter of success–no matter how superficial. Photo Credit: The Inquirer, Manila Bulletin, Binibining Pilipinas, Khaleej Times, Filipiknow.net, and amywillerton.blogspot.com

Role Reversal

By Noel Aglubat, guest contributor Sexism is everywhere and happens all the time. In the school or office setting, sexism can get you fired or expelled or at least reprimanded (an action which shows a level of tolerance).

In a bar setting and beyond, men objectify women, as something to be had, something to be won, something to be conquered. Sexism in a party scene breeds an uglier crime: unsolicited physical contact, or in other words, sexual harassment. I was aware of how we men treat women in the party scene.  Awareness, however, doesn’t equate with empathy and the divide between the two wasn’t clear to me until recently.

Last weekend, I went out for drinks in the East Village with my good friend, my “bro,” who wanted to show me the neighborhood bars. Since I had moved to the area relatively recently, I hadn’t yet had a chance to explore the local bars on my own. We arrived at one of them, sat at the bar and ordered a round of drinks. My friend struck up an interesting conversation with the woman, who was with a group of friends, next to him. For all intents and purposes let's call her Rachel and my friend Ryan.

"Hi," said Rachel.

"Hi," replied Ryan.

"No, you can’t f*** me," she stated bluntly.

Yes, that is, word for word, how the conversation began. In an effort to alleviate the awkward tension in the air, Ryan continued the small talk, but it was downhill from the very beginning. Rachel remained aggressive and hostile. I knew this was not going to end well, so I decided to intervene before it got worse.

"Excuse me, ladies. If my friend offended you, that was not his intention. Let me buy you a round of drinks as an apology and we’ll be on our way," I offered with sincerity. Rachel then responded with the following.

"You’re cute. But you look a little gay. I bet you can’t f*** me either. Let me check."

At this point I’m at a loss for words, unaware of her hand swooping towards my genitals. She grabbed my crotch, and I backed up. She persisted. Rachel and her friend, in tandem, isolated me from Ryan. They asked me to go dancing, to party on her AMEX.

“I got money. We can go skiing in Wyoming,” she said. It was in that moment when I realized this is how many of us treat women when we “hit” on them. We isolate them, belittle their person and touch them when unsolicited. I declined her offer and escaped from the bar with Ryan as quickly as possible.

What is interesting is the range of reactions I got when I told this story to my friends. My male friends called me a b**** and a p*****. In my attempt to save face, I told them I was uninterested and just saving Private Ryan. Still, they insisted that I was a b**** and that I should have “manned up.”

The feminist blogger/writer Jessica Valenti once stated,

“The worst thing you can call a girl is a girl. The worst thing you can call a guy is a girl. Being a woman is the ultimate insult. Now tell me that’s not royally f***ed up.”

Ms. Valenti articulates my second realization: even our insults put down women by normalizing them as insults.

I told this story to my female friends and some suggested that I could sue Rachel. But taking legal action for an ill encounter at a bar? The realist in me said it’s highly unlikely anything would come out of going to the police, and besides, nothing terribly awful happened. Then, I had my third epiphany: this is what women go through all the time. They are often abused both verbally and physically and some take no action because it is the norm that society has led us to accept.

I’m not saying that I am a perfect person, because I'm not. I don't claim to have never made sexist comments, because I have. But due to that incident, I will be more aware of how I treat women, whether I am around them or not.

If you read through some of the stories in theeverydaysexism project, you will see how women experience sexism constantly.  The topics vary, from so-called jokes and catcalling stereotypes, to accounts of rape and the subsequent victim blaming. However, women are not objects nor are they categories (NSFW). Let us step down from the pedestal of privilege that we have built over centuries of sexism, stop promoting patriarchy and truly strive to attain our celebrated ideal of equality.

--

Noel Aglubat, 25, was born and raised in Queens, NY. He is a civil engineer at the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission. He graduated from NYU-Poly with an M.S. in Structural Engineering in 2013, and a B.S. in Civil Engineering in 2010. He joined the UniPro staff as a member of the Summit team in May 2013. Noel also volunteers with Advancement for Rural Kids (ARK) to help rebuild schools on Panay Island in the Western Visayas. He likes to play paintball, piano and bass guitar, and is gearing up to complete the NYC marathon this year. 

Infographics designed by: Highrank websites Inc. Sources: 1, 2, 3

Being Thankful: Witnessing typhoon relief operations during Thanksgiving

It was something that I was torn with for days after Yolanda: Should I reschedule my trip to Johannesburg, and instead, return to the Philippines, or stick with the original plans? Reason #2 of HowStuffWorks' "Ten Worst Things to Donate After a Disaster" echoed deeply. I reminded myself that I didn't have any skills, and that it would be wiser to use the money I'd spend on airfare and give it to a non-profit (with skilled workers and volunteers already in place, who are much more familiar with the situation on the ground). My parents hail from the parts of Iloilo province that weren't greatly affected by Yolanda, so there was no substantial reason for me to check up on them. But then I received a message from my mother a week after the typhoon. My lola had passed away. At this point I had no choice. Mom needed me to be in Miag-ao for the funeral. And so I returned to the Philippines. While I was primarily there to attend the funeral, I did spend a couple days shadowing the Iloilo chapter of Gawad Kalinga. I was introduced to Merveen Ortega, the brother of a friend and fellow GK advocate. When we first met just a couple hours after I touched down, it turned out that GK Iloilo didn't have any relief operations planned for the weekend. So, I spent much of the day discussing long-term plans in the reconstruction effort, as well as touring around several GK villages and meeting kapitbahayan - the beneficiaries of the homes.

As we hopped from one site to another, I noticed Kuya Merveen's cell phone was constantly ringing. There were requests for relief packs from five barangays in the far-flung municipalities that took the brunt of the damage in the province. Following up the request was a coincidental call from his companions from the neighboring island at GK Negros Occidental; they had assembled relief packs that were available for distribution. I was finally going to witness where donations go and get a glimpse of an another overlooked part of the Visayas affected by the typhoon.

We departed from the staging area at the GK Peco village, trekked to urban Iloilo City, then on to municipalities whose names I've heard my parents discuss with other Fil-Ams hailing from the same province - names like Leganes, Barotac Nuevo, Anilao, Banate, and Barotac Viejo. One thing that was unique about witnessing the aftermath of the typhoon in Iloilo province is that you saw it gradually in the scenery. Slowly you'd notice that the trees that provided the lush greenery were starting to taper with tree branches holding less leaves, then you'd noticed forests of trees who were bare of anything green, and finally, seeing those trees uprooted, or toppled over homes.

Much of the highway had since been cleared for traffic, but the scars were quite visible. Remnants of power and telephone lines were hanging. There were houses without roofs. There were children along the road, with their arms out in hope of receiving relief from passersby. But one thing that struck me even more was a van that we passed. A family had pulled over and were conducting their own relief operations by distributing goods to residents of a barangay by the highway.

After passing soldiers from the Canadian Force's Disaster Action Response Team (DART)  and tackling downed telephone lines in dirt roads, we arrived at our first stop: barangay Odiongan of the municipality of San Dionisio. The barangay itself is in the east coast of the province, and was one of the first in Panay island to be struck by Yolanda. Once we pulled up to the barangay square, I knew that witnessing the damage from storm surge would be hard to avoid. Wreckage, clothing, and trash littered the coastline.

The distribution of goods was done in cooperation with the barangay captains, who were each armed with a checklist to ensure that all families received a relief pack. Children surrounded the square, and several tried to make their way to me and my camera. Some would approach me and giggle whenever they heard my American English, which is something I was accustomed to due to past trips. Admittedly, laughter was comforting to hear this time around. One thing that was sincerely inspiring was to see how many of the residents were in relatively good spirits. I saw this even more as we proceeded to other barangays.

Once the distribution in Odiongan was complete, we crossed into the neighboring Batad where we met with councilman Ernesto Balida, who guided us as we distributed relief goods at four barangays within the municipality. We passed homes with white camping tents alongside them, probably distributed by the Canadian Forces or one of several NGOs. The locations of barangays that requested relief packs seemed relatively distant from the highway, and required a fair amount of time traversing through more dirt roads and downed lines. One of them was Alapasco, a remote barangay deep within the mountains that sat next to a reservoir of the same name.

Alapasco was the epitome of a village that could easily be forgotten in the initial rush of relief distribution. Getting there required us to leave our supply truck, and transfer packs earmarked for that barangay into a smaller truck that was otherwise used as an open-air ambulance to transport patients from these distant quarters of Batad. The trees that covered the mountains leading to and surrounding Alapasco were no more, leaving behind a barren terrain of fallen limbs and bare branches.

It was in Alapasco that a quote from Viktor Frankl, a psychiatrist and Holocaust survivor, seemed to resonate with me:

"We who lived in the concentration camps can remember the men who walked through the huts comforting others, giving away their last piece of bread. They may have been few in number, but they offer sufficient proof that everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms — to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way."

Throughout the trip, the cynic in me was prepared to see the worst of humanity, but instead I saw the best of it. We often hear of the likes of Pilipino hospitality, but I never knew of its resilience before this trip. The residents of the barangays that we helped seemed to have a justification to succumb to despair, and seek self-loathing; instead, they greeted us with the sort of friendliness that puzzled even US Marines when they participated in relief operations for Typhoon Ketsana (Ondoy) a few years ago.

I made it back in Miag-ao in time for my lola's funeral. With little time to mourn and reminisce, I walked into the room where her casket rested and greeted Lola with the same backpack that I lugged around during the relief operations, just hours prior. But after weeks of running to fundraisers across Oahu, catching up with classes, and then finding out of my lola's passing, it finally hit me: I had just spent Thanksgiving weekend in the Philippines.

My family hasn't celebrated this particular holiday since my brother's passing, and I've since used the extended weekend to travel to some far-off land. If anything, I certainly am thankful for the ability to travel as much as I can. But hearing of the things that we should be thankful for while saying grace before digging into that Thanksgiving dinner—things like the warm, fresh food we have, the roof over our heads, our good health—never echoed so much until I tagged along with GK Iloilo during this relief operation.

Witnessing situations such as how organized and patient the residents of affected the barangays were, while they waited until we distributed relief goods, really placed things in perspective for me. Meanwhile, images of Black Friday shoppers flooding stores back home played in the back of my mind. My experiences witnessing this relief operation really did bring being thankful to a whole different level, a level that I wouldn't have imagined from the comforts of indulging in a turkey dinner.

Be Proud of Your Pilipino Skin

On September 4, 2013, seven-year-old Tiana Parker was sent home in tears from the Deborah Brown Community School. The reason? Her dreadlocked hair. Claiming that hairstyles such as “dreadlocks, afros, [and] mohawks” detract from “a respectful and serious atmosphere,” this Oklahoma institution scolded Tiana, barring her from classes. Needless to say, the community was outraged. And they were not alone as the media rushed to the aid of this young girl. Prestigious news sources, bloggers, and TV personalities each defended Tiana’s dreads as naturally styled African American locks, instead of a “faddish,” attention-seeking gimmick, as the Deborah Brown Community School claims. Tiana is now enrolled in a different school which embraces her natural hairstyle. Her former elementary school has since changed its policies.

Reading this story ignited a lot of different feelings; anger, discomfort, but more than anything an eerie familiarity. I, personally, don’t know what it’s like to be punished for exhibiting a naturally Pilipino physical feature, but I do know that such mentalities exist among Pilipino communities; and for me, they inspire the same amount of outrage.

Whiter Skin is “In”

Pilipinos generally possess a distinct type of hair: thick and pin-straight. However, it is not our typically dark locks that cause dispute among other Pilipinos; rather, it is our naturally tan skin. Eliciting the help of skin whitening creams, bleaches, and even cosmetic surgeries, Pilipinos hunger for lighter skin. In an older time, light skin in the Philippines was a sign of a life exempt from outdoor labor, and thus, a symbol of wealth and luxury. Even today, the celebrities, talk show hosts, and news anchors that populate TFC and GMA are those with a lighter skin tone. And, from my experience, even when telanovelas feature darker-skinned Pilipinos, it is to emphasize the difference between one and the other, castigating the darker of the two.

My Color is Pilipino

This type of culture breeds a warped idea of self-worth, one in which the most valuable gem is the one that can shine the whitest, showing no appreciation for the land-laboring emeralds, the sweat-drenched rubies, or the sea-faring sapphires. This is a destructive culture and it is not one that Pilipino youth should be brought up learning. Yes, white-skinned Pilipinos are beautiful, but they are no more beautiful than those with naturally darker skin. Whether representative of badges of laborious ancestors, or emblematic of different regions, these deep browns and dark tans carry vibrant histories. These sun-kissed shades should not be diminished, but celebrated as hues that add to the rich palette of the Pilipino people.

Photo Credit: Asiafinest.com Forum