What It Feels Like When the Most Important Chef in the Country Looks and Sounds Like Your Mother

My workshop partner and I count the number of tables that fill the gala hall.

“Sixteen by eight,” he says.

I look around and sigh a little. Of one hundred twenty-eight tables at the East Coast Asian American Student Union’s annual post-conference dinner, a grand total of one table accommodates the Pilipino delegation to the conference. It’s a full house tonight, with Asian American student organizations coming in droves from up and down the coast to attend workshops and listen to empowering speakers in the heart of DC.

The difference in numbers between us Pilipino delegates and most other Asian student association is staggering, but what we lack in numbers, we make sure to make up for in volume and spirit.

ECAASU is a time for Asian student organizations from every hue of our collective student population to mix, mingle, and crystallize the notion that was born in the 1970s: that Pan-Asianism and education lead to empowerment. The folks at UniPro lend a hand to the discussion of effective communication skills and charity, and I make my debut as large-scale conference speaker. For the Fil-Am student, ECAASU can be a chance at interacting with high-profile community leaders, while tasting the fruits of their own labor.

And it is in that milieu that we young, emerging Pilipino leaders find ourselves invited to a closing banquet, to eat with newly-made friends and foster blossoming partnerships. We’re underdressed and a little restless, like the younger delegates we came here to inspire (someone makes a joke about this being Prom 2.0). We’re getting ready for some Grand Hyatt-quality banquet food. We’d all be lying if we said we weren’t primarily here for the food.

Speakers come and go from the mic. Introductions are made. Students receive awards. The featured speaker is next. She approaches the microphone. She’s shorter than I expect her to be. She looks so very different in person, compared to the photos of her in magazines and online.

She looks and sounds like my mother.

This Pilipina woman is Cristeta Comerford, the first female and first Asian American executive chef at the White House; she was selected by Laura Bush and cooks for the Obama family today. “Shatterer of ceilings,” my workshop partner goes on to post to Facebook. Everyone is listening. She is educated, bright, and talented. Everything that you expect in a featured speaker. Except she looks and sounds like my mother.

Featured speakers aren’t supposed to do that. They’re supposed to be taller or whiter or blacker or skinnier. With tasteful salt-and-pepper hair. In either a power suit or a full-fledged banquet gown. They’re supposed to be CEOs of hedge fund banks or whatever. Politicians. Company executives. Actors who do a lot of philanthropy. People with doctorates and fellowships. If they represent America, they’re supposed to have scrubbed away any accent that would give away they allegiance to a motherland. But Cris Comerford embodies none of that. Her training is in food, and that training spans continents, and her accent is garnished with the coconut, vinegar, and jasmine of a country very far away. If I stand next to her, she would go no higher than my chin.

And yet she commands the room. She closes the conference and offers us its lessons on a presidential plate. She jokingly apologizes that she isn’t the one who cooked dinner for us tonight, and everyone in the room genuinely sighs in disappointment. Two thousand of Asian America’s upcoming leaders, most of them probably exhausted from the day’s events. She is our focus, as she shares with us her spirit, and gives body and thickness to the Pilipino notion of kapwa – she allows us to see ourselves in her, as she sees herself in all of us.

Our table stops paying attention to our plates, our phones and each other, and I can tell that every pair of eyes is fixated on her, standing behind a podium seven tables away, because all of us children of Pinay women are thinking the same thing.

After the speech, I have the pleasure of shaking her hand. They are worked, calloused, and tell the story of a woman fashioning meals fit for literal kings in the most important house in the world. We crowd around her and call her Tita Cris because we are all feeling famous and confident, putting her hands in ours. A handshake with Barack, the man who eats the meals, can wait another day. These hands, the hands of the woman who creates them, feel just like my mother’s.

Photo credit: Kristina Rodulfo

Behind Closed Doors: Redefining the Perception of Mental Health and Illness

During the time of the ancient Greeks and Romans, mental illnesses originated from the gods. Disorders were consequences for certain behaviors, and were carried out by means of "divine punishment or demonic possession." Additionally, there was no clear line that differentiated between physical and mental problems, as treatments and remedies for both types were rather similar. Such treatments were a bit different than today's, as they rarely prescribed medication of any kind. Instead, they relied on observing a patient's behavior, utilizing methods like counseling and restraint, and encouraging magical remedies. Today, there's a negative connotation associated with the word "mental." Often, the word is used to reference an individual or an entity suffering from disorders or illnesses of the mind. People relate it to terms that are also less technical, such as "crazy," "mad," and "lunatic." It's this type of word association that has become commonplace in daily conversation, further cementing the stigma against mental health. However, it's important to remember that "mental" is an adjective that more simply describes something of or related to the mind in general.

For example, the phrases "mental health" and "mental illness" are mistakenly used interchangeably. So what's the difference between the two?

According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC), they are related, but not one in the same. The CDC defines the two as such:

Mental health is "a state of well-being in which the individual realizes his or her own abilities, can cope with the normal stresses of life, can work productively and fruitfully, and is able to make a contribution to his or her community."

Mental illness is defined as "collectively all diagnosable mental disorders” or “health conditions that are characterized by alterations in thinking, mood, or behavior (or some combination thereof) associated with distress and/or impaired functioning."

It's time to stop viewing either of the two phrases as synonymous. One's mental health, which can be further affected by mental illness, is valuable. The healthier an individual is, both physically and mentally, the easier it is for he or she to carry out day-to-day duties and activities.

People who struggle with mental health issues may not always have a mental illness. Instead, there may be a combination of factors that influence one's mental health, including psychological (perception of one's self), past history (family and relatives), current life events (such as relationships or other daily stresses) and biological (this is where illness comes into play). Those living with mental illnesses are not doing so by choice. Having a disorder or condition - be it mental or physical - is never a choice.

It's important that we start to redefine our perception of mental health and mental illness. We can actively do this by educating ourselves and those around us and by being mindful of our choice of words when interacting with others.

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This post originally appeared on Mama Tanap, a blog that focuses on personal health and wellness.

Being Pilipino in Taiwan

A few months ago, as my family and I were planning my study abroad trip to Taiwan, my dad quietly asked me if I could go to another country, a “safer” country. The half-joking request boggled my mind at the time because I had never gotten the impression that Taiwan was a dangerous country. I kept his question in the back of my brain, and did not contemplate switching my study abroad destination. I’d always liked Taiwan and, besides, I was already too deep into the application process. After letting the question brew in my head for awhile, I realized that he wasn’t worried that I would be stabbed to death and left on the streets in a foreign country. He was more worried that I wouldn’t fit in. Sometimes I look very Pilipino. I know that not all Pilipinos look alike; but I have the stereotypical nose, the big eyes, and the tan skin. Sometimes, my stunningly good looks throw people off, as people guess that I'm anywhere from Chinese to Malaysian. My dad probably fretted over my Pilipino side coming out and assumed that I would stick out like a sore thumb. In fact, a few days ago, he sent me a text briefly warning me of potential racism:

“If ever, don’t let it affect you. Be careful.”

However, despite the advantages of my dual looks, I have had a bad experience with racism in the past, so my dad's concern was quite understandable.

Now that I’m settled in at my university in Taiwan, I can assure my dad that he need not worry. I don’t stick out as much as my two white friends who tower at least a good foot above everyone else. In fact, the only moments where it’s obvious that I’m a foreigner is when I am speaking, because my Chinese is laced with American tones. When I go to places with my friends, I’m lumped with my Taiwanese friends. The waiters and waitresses welcome us with “ni hao,” while my white friends are greeted with “hello.” The most I get to a strange look or reaction from the local population is when I’m standing on the bus and people get the chance to give me a good look-over. Or so I assume.

Ironically, when I was in the Philippines, there was no doubt about it that I was American. My demeanor made it obvious that I was a foreigner. I could do as the locals do, but the way I held myself made me stick out. Once, while I was in a market helping my cousin buy flip flops, a schoolgirl passed by and gave me a look that was dripping with disdain. I'm not quite sure of what she was thought, so one can only assume. To this day, I still can’t find the words to express the difference between me and the locals. While I thought I was blending in, I must’ve seemed like a piece of cauliflower in a field of broccoli.

There are many factors we need to take into account when comparing my experience in the Philippines to my experience in Taiwan. For example, the locations that I frequented in the Philippines and those that I explore here in Taiwan. But those factors aside, I felt more like a foreigner in the Philippines than I do in Taiwan. In Taiwan, there may be a little confusion as to my ethnicity when you first look at me, but for the most part I blend in.

Still, you never know. Perhaps it is obvious that I’m Pilipino, but my foreigner status protects me like a shield from any racism I might incur. Or maybe my dad, wracked with worry over his first-born traveling to a foreign country alone for five months, was just overly concerned. The constant repeats of failing to fit in possibly heightened my dad’s dread of my departure.

Being Pilipino in Taiwan isn’t a problem. I think the problem is the fact that we fear that there is one.

Credit: Pam Wang

No More Apples, Just Respect

My boyfriend is one of the lucky ones. His life passions just so happen to align with one of the most venerated professions you could ever have: being a doctor. His parents beam at his accomplishment of getting into one of the top medical schools in the country and becoming the first doctor in their family. Genuinely fascinated by his chosen path, everyone he speaks with barrages him with questions about what he’s currently studying and wants to specialize in, to which he replies with beguiling stories about gut-wrenching surgeries and his exploits with cadavers.

I, however, am not as lucky in this respect. What I want to be is a teacher and the general reaction to my career choice is usually quite the opposite. Here’s how the scene goes:

Stranger at party: “Are you also going to medical school?” Me: “Oh, no. I’m planning to start grad school next year." Stranger: “What do you want to go to grad school for?” Me: “Education. I want to teach.” Stranger: (utterly unimpressed) “Oh…”

[End of small talk]

We’ve all heard the saying “Those who can’t do, teach.”  In the United States teaching is grossly undervalued as a second-rate career, as many people liken teachers to over glorified babysitters that get summer vacations off. What many people don’t realize that this conception has a profound effect on America that becomes fairly obvious if you think about it -- devaluing teachers means you are devaluing education itself.

Doesn’t that sound absurd? In a country that is obsessed with standardized tests and Ivy League universities, and where some parents pay $20,000 tuitions for fiercely competitive preschools, Americans know that an excellent education is as vital as food and water in order to become successful. One would think that more respect would be paid to the people who were actually facilitating said education.

Because of its current mediocre status, the majority of talented college graduates pass up teaching for more socially gratifying careers in medicine, law or business, all of which bring potentially lofty paychecks -- along with the prestige and esteem they represent. Teacher and author Ilana Garon reports that only 23% of teachers in the United States come from the top third tier of their graduating classes. In contrast:

“... the world's top-performing education systems – South Korea, Finland, Singapore – have this in common: 100% of teachers come from the top third of the college graduates, which (along with good working conditions, ample training and professional development, and higher salaries) promotes a culture wherein the teaching profession is viewed as selective and prestigious.”

America’s international rankings in education are severely lagging behind these teacher-driven countries, coming in 30^th in math, 23^rd in science, and 20^th in reading out of 65 of the world’s most developed countries.

Even though multitudes of factors (such as funding and policy) are involved in running an effective education system, researchers are finding that nothing tops the impact of an excellent teacher in terms of student achievement. While investigating studies on teacher effects, Malcolm Gladwell discovers that students are “better off in a ‘bad’ school with an excellent teacher than an excellent school with a bad teacher.” The bottom line is, if the United States wants to maintain its position as a globally competitive power, then the societal attitude towards teachers needs to change.

Things are slowly moving in the right direction, however, as education reformers are making grander efforts to find individuals who have the potential to be great teachers, and alter the public perception of the profession. It’s now trendy for graduates (such as myself) to go into teaching fellowships straight out of college. Teach for America’s skyrocketing popularity has made its application process even more competitive than law school. Following up their award-winning documentary, the makers of “Waiting for Superman” recently released a new film entitled “Teach,” which showcases the stories of dedicated teachers on a mission to make a difference.

As a Fil-Am, I haven’t heard much enthusiasm from family members about my interest in education. Instead, they also prefer talking about my boyfriend’s glamorous medical career and insist that I “Lock that up!” Of course, I can understand how for many Pilipino immigrants who uprooted their lives seeking greater opportunity for their children, pursuing anything less than a doctor or equivalently-esteemed career might seem like squandering the American dream.

The true American dream, however, is about equality. So is education. My mission as a teacher is to ensure that every child, no matter their background, has the skills and confidence to uplift themselves out of whatever might plague them (whether its poverty, ignorance, or boredom) and fulfill their potential. Just like any doctor, we teachers hope to change lives. Can’t we just get a little bit more respect?

Photo Credit: www.sodahead.com

Pilipino Figure Skater at Sochi: The Satisfaction of a Dream Realized

Pilipinos love winning - blame it on having always been stuck in the shadows of their big (pronounced "imperialistic") brothers. So when competitions like Miss Universe and American Idol are on, you can most certainly find Pilipinos tuned in, clapping at their TV screens and speed-texting their votes (although on any other day, most parents magically forget how to use a cellphone). They love rooting for who they perceive to be the “perpetual underdog,” because when the Pilipino underdog wins, all Pilipinos win too -- and it’s sure to be plastered all over Facebook and shared with coworkers at lunch the next day. Sure, it takes skill to compete. But in a world where some competitions can be based solely on audience support (even Miss Philippines advanced to the Top 16 via an online vote in last year’s Miss Universe), how could Pilipinos push a young Pilipino figure skater at the Winter Olympics to victory?

They couldn’t. Because this time, their underdog was alone, relying only on his sheer skill and talent in a sport that practically none of his countrymen dare to try.

Before even stepping onto the ice at Sochi, seventeen-year-old Michael Christian Martinez had already been considered a winner in his own right. He is the first figure skater ever from a Southeast Asian country to participate in the Winter Olympics and the lone athlete to represent the Philippines in only its fourth showing ever at the Games. Could this be the year that a Pilipino figure skater might finally earn a spot on the podium?

SPOILER ALERT:

The answer is no. At the end of the Men's Short Program, Martinez’s score was enough to qualify him for a shot at a medal in the Men's Free Skating Program, but he finished 19th overall. There was no “losing” and certainly no “failing” here; he simply just didn’t get a medal. While a medal might have been what viewers equated to a victory, skating at the Olympics in itself was what Martinez considered the real prize, especially given his humble beginnings in a tropical country without snow.

By chasing his dream, he has opened doors for other Pilipino figure skaters and has reintroduced the Philippines to the rest of the world as resilient and mighty, especially in the wake of Typhoon Yolanda (Haiyan), along with other storms.

In 2005, at the age of eight, Martinez laced up after being mesmerized by ice skaters at a shopping mall. Nearly ten years later, he would be setting foot on Olympic ice as the youngest skater in the program. Despite suffering from asthma, Martinez’s natural talent for figure skating became apparent and eventually he entered the circuit, winning medal after medal in competitions all over the world. Soon enough, he had his sights set on the Olympics. The passion and talent were there, but the funds unfortunately were not.

Martinez is a modern-day Cinderella man. His family struggled to support his training. His skates weren’t always made of the best quality. His Olympic coaches based in the United States cost a fortune. He wasn’t able to put in the ideal number of hours it took to properly train, because without a dedicated rink in the Philippines, he often had to share space with the public. There was no financial aid available to him from the government. Yet through it all, Martinez persevered and would often turn to prayer, even imploring his Facebook fans to pray for him just hours before his turn in Sochi.

This young boy may not have a medal to show for his efforts, but instead he has the satisfaction of a dream realized to elevate him higher than any podium ever could. By chasing his dream, he has opened doors for other Pilipino figure skaters and has reintroduced the Philippines to the rest of the world as resilient and mighty, especially in the wake of Typhoon Yolanda (Haiyan), along with other storms.

Martinez is slated to compete again in the 2018 Winter Olympics. By then, he will be more mature, more experienced, more confident... and maybe even flanked by a lot more fellow athletes from the Philippines. Perhaps he’ll even win a medal, and viewers will witness a victory based on precision, not popularity. A victory that is his, and not theirs.

Photo credit: EPA