"HEAVEN IS:
Where the chefs are FRENCH,
the designers are ITALIAN,
the engineers are GERMAN,
the police are BRITISH,
the lovers are GREEK ,
and everything is organized by the SWISS."
I flipped the shirt over and on the back it read:
"HELL IS:
Where the chefs are ITALIAN,
the designers are SWISS,
the engineers are FRENCH,
the police are GERMAN,
the lovers are BRITISH,
and everything is organized by the GREEKS."
These were clearly Greek sentiments, but entertaining nonetheless. I was still engrossed with the shirt when the stall owner – a tall, tanned Greek, with a mop of jet-black, shiny curls, azure-blue eyes the color of the sea, and yes, that aquiline, Mediterranean nose – sidled up to me and said with an almost imperceptible, smug grin, "You like?" I grew immediately defensive because he was darned good-looking and, boy, did he know it! "What like?" I barked. "The shirt, Madam, the shirt." I scrambled for my drachmas inside my purse, grabbed my purchase and hurried off, lest he convince himself even more that what the shirt said was gospel truth.
Hmmm… You can imagine how the nationalities are selectively reshuffled on the shirt depending on which country is doing the selling. And of course, I got sucked in by the clever wordplay and the novelty of it all. I spent all afternoon contemplating the origin of such universally ascribed nationalist traits. The thing about clichés is they endure because they hold water.
I hoped that the T-shirt quip might at least be of some future use since my two daughters were at the time studying at a university in Europe. Not knowing much about European men, I duped myself into believing that thanks to the shirt, I now had some guidelines, albeit illogical, about the men that they may encounter, heaven forbid! And they surely did. But the tragedy of it was none of them were from Central Europe. My older daughter Francesca made friends with Eugeney from Russia, Simon from Slovenian, Max was from Azerbaijian, and Peter was Polish. "Help!" was my first reaction. The shirt didn’t say anything about the likes of men from Eastern Europe. I was completely clueless about these types so I was in quite a state of panic. Meeting them personally sometime later reminded me of how silly it was to be affected by some touristy souvenir. Beatrice, on the other hand, met John Papaioannou, whose long, curly, caramel-colored locks reached his shoulders. There was that Greek nose again and the piercing blue eyes. He was an aspiring geologist and physicist; some sort of math genius, but I couldn’t see beyond the fact that the shirt said Greeks were little else other than "lovers." Heck, I wanted to ship my daughter straight home after that. Being the meddling Mama that I am, I needled her about John and when she said, "Who, John? Diyan na siya!" I breathed a sigh of relief.
What if your taste in men swings toward types that inhabit shores within our continent? Let’s look at Asians and go out on a limb momentarily here:
"HEAVEN IS:
Where the electronic engineers are JAPANESE,
the salary scales are SINGAPOREAN,
the car makers are KOREAN,
the population control commission is CHINESE,
the retail manufacturers are INDIAN,
the chefs are THAI,
the beach resorts are BALINESE,
and the wives are FILIPINAS."
The back of the shirt would read:
"HELL IS:
Where the electronic engineers are THAI,
the salary scales are FILIPINO,
the car makers are BALINESE,
the population control commission is INDIAN,
the retail manufacturers are CHINESE,
the chefs are SINGAPOREAN,
the beach resorts are JAPANESE,
and the wives are KOREAN."
Let’s hover closer to home and focus on our own backyard – more specifically, at ourselves. We hear of regional Filipino traits loosely mentioned in jokes and urban myths often enough to figure out whether there is truth to them or not. And so with tons of good humor and gallons of salt, let’s be good sports and have a laugh at our own expense. Caveat emptor: If you do not have a healthy ego, please do not read on. Talo and pikon!
Batanguenos are supposedly fierce and war-crazy; Batanguenas, also fierce and war-crazy. Visayan men, they say, are good-looking but lazy, because all they do is wait for their crops to grow and cash in at harvest time; Visayan women, good-looking and lazy as well. Ilongo men are said to be boastful and very laid-back; Ilongo women are said to be the same. Ilocanos themselves proudly profess that they are frugal and hard-working; Ilocanas are said to be very enterprising, industrious and loud. Kapampangan men are like peacocks, they claim, preening themselves all the time, conscious about dressing well and always appearing in their best. However, they are said to be henpecked by their Kapampangan women whose strength of character and temper are supposedly legendary. They like to take control of the family purse strings, leaving their men with not much to do but prance about. Bicolano men are amorous, they say, adept at wooing women; Bicolanas, big flirts and very jealous. Tagalog men are said to be honest and peace-loving; the women, too.
These traits may have been appropriated by people of a specific region, first, because of the lay of the land; and second, because of behavioral patterns adapted as coping mechanisms in their natural surroundings. Northern coastal societies may breed hard-laboring gentry to beat the howling winds and weather disturbances from the open sea that come down on their livelihoods at any given time. Their work ethic may be driven by the uncertainty of the future and so they do all that they can while they are able. Southern folk, on the other hand, are fortunately dealt with highly predictable weather patterns. They are mountain-locked and are therefore impervious to storms. Their crops and harvests are bountiful each time, hence, the laid-back attitudes. Bicol they say is an idyllic place: bucolic and picturesque, what with Mt. Mayon’s perfect cone serving as backdrop. The scenery is conducive to romantic pursuits, hence the reputation of Bicolanos.
These are but stereotypes. If you happen to fall under a certain classification and feel truly offended, then may I suggest you muddle your provenance by claiming that your parents may be Batanguenos but a quarter of your blood is Tagalog. You therefore have yin and yang in your system: a well-tempered contentiousness, if you will. You may also stretch your regional origins by claiming that although you are Bicolano, you were born in Manila and that you grew up in Ilocos. If you confuse the enemy as such, he’ll be hard-pressed to even bother to figure you out. As in everything, humor with a bit of imagination is key.