At one time she reminded me of a tanned Hilary Duff, at another, J.Lo ready to belt out into song. But it’s easy to forget who she resembles once the 21-year-old beauty starts talking. Her name is Leslie Mantaring.
"What do you think of banana ketchup?" she asks, while swirling a French fry in a sea of red.
"It’s a travesty of the essence of ketchup," I say. "It doesn’t deserve the name of ketchup." I emphasize my point by stuffing my mouth with fries drowned in tomato ketchup.
She laughs. "Yeah, me too. There’s no banana ketchup in the States. I was so shocked when I saw it here. It’s ketchup but not quite."
It’s the same with Leslie. Being Filipino-American in America, she says, is as good (or as bad) as being Filipino-American in the Philippines. "You’re neither fully Filipino, nor fully American." Ketchup, but not quite. "Sometimes it’s a good thing, because you get to be unique. Other times, you just stick out like a sore thumb."
I was lucky to interview Leslie and Stephanie for Y-Speak’s model youth segment Y-Idol (aired on Sunday from 7:30-8:30 p.m.) Leslie’s story is the same as those of many other young Fil-Ams in America. Her parents immigrated to the land of milk and honey back in the ‘70s, an idealistic young pair in search of better opportunities. With nothing but the clothes on their backs, they worked to give their kids the opportunities they never had.
Her father is an engineer, her mother a nurse. "I find it a common theme in the States. Lots of Filipino dads are engineers and lots of Filipino moms are nurses. You don’t even have to ask your Filipino friends what their parents are, you can guess for yourself: a doctor, a nurse or an engineer."
"Nice blazer," I tell Stephanie. "You like it?" she asks with a laugh. "It’s yours." It was my turn to laugh.
Her mother was petitioned by Stephanie’s uncle, who was in the US Navy. Stephanie’s father, a Philippine merchant marine, met her mother in the US. Both immigrated in 1974.
Lingap Pangkabataan, where Leslie is assigned, is an NGO that works to empower, educate and strengthen children in communities. She handles the marketing, creating brochures and newsletters sent all over the world, emphasizing the desperate need for support and funding. Everyday, she takes the bus from Bulacan with her host mother to the office in Tondo.
Leslie says she’s here for a reason. True, she loves to travel, and blooms with the challenge of new environments. Yes, she’s looking for hands-on work experience in marketing and communications. Yet what underscores all these is a deep sense of nationalism. "The Filipino in me is beginning to diminish," she says. For her, it’s not enough to be told stories, listen to songs and watch movies. She is determined to maintain her Filipino heritage by learning more about the language, the culture, and the people.
"There are three kinds of Fil-Am youths," she says. "The kind that look back to their roots and embrace their Filipino culture and the kind that take it for granted and immerse themselves in the American culture instead. Then there are those who struggle in between these two extremes, unsure of their identity." Leslie says she still belongs to the third, but believes, above all things, in giving back to the Philippines. Part of it includes preserving the culture among the young Filipinos in America.
"We don’t speak the language, we don’t practice the traditions, and we don’t even know what city our parents come from. I am adamant about keeping our culture – if we don’t then it will be lost forever."
The Leslie Mantaring Version
1. A live band in the middle of the food court
2. Hotdogs as red as mom’s lipstick
3. Chopped-up goat at the side of the highway
4. People who are not surprised by rats racing across the room
5. Tabo-tabo in the bathroom
6. Billboards plastered with faces ten times bigger than in the USA
7. A chapel in a mall
8. Every variation of whitener in the supermarket
9. A billboard that says "Funk You"
10. Households with 10 maids and two drivers
It was in CENTREX that Stephanie took away her most poignant experience of the Philippines. In a classroom, one boy, Patrick, continually interrupted the class with comments and questions. Teacher Tess was explaining how in plant propagation, baby stems attached to their mother stem depend on it for survival.
"Teacher, mahirap po ba ang walang ina?" Patrick asked. (Teacher, is it hard if you don’t have a mother?")
If he were a plant who lost his mother, he continued, who would water him? Feed him? "My mother is like the sunlight to me," he said.
The teacher later explained that his mother was sick with an intestinal disease. Her condition was so severe that then, the teachers did not know how long she would live. Just recently, Patrick’s mother succumbed to lung cancer.
Before departing for the Philippines, the mere mention of the city where I would be living (with a host family) – Muntinlupa City – was a place described as the holding place for criminals. Within the city walls is a well-known penitentiary for the most dangerous criminals. Yet, I live with a family of five in Ayala Alabang Village, a barangay or the smallest government unit in the country.
To give you an idea of its influence, my neighbors include: former Philippine President Fidel Ramos, former princess of Brunei, expatriates, some of the most powerful families including the Zobels and the Madrigals, and celebrities like Aga Mulach and Pops Fernandez. My daily life consists of a commute to and from work in Makati City from one of three family cars, ba-on (lunchbag) prepared by one of two of their maids, and occasional trips to the country club, complete with golf course, etc. It is a distant life from the one I am accustomed to in the States.
"And I guess I was offended, even at that age, I knew, I understood it, and that was when I knew I was different."
Perhaps it is true that schoolchildren can sometimes be the cruelest of people. For Steph, the grand awakening happened in elementary school. She was in the lunchroom, unwrapping the chicharon her mother had so carefully packed. The white children at her table sniffed the air and complained about the stench. She couldn’t smell anything. To her, everything was normal.
The children zeroed in on her bag and she tried to explain: It’s just chicharon. The other children were disgusted. For Steph it was a defining moment.
I am no longer amused (over the Philippines’ situation). My officemates, all Pilipinos, express everything from fear of a new president in the worse time of the economy, a lack of hope in the government and even indifference to the chants of rallyists. For the first time, I felt like I was a Pilipino native, given a brief understanding into the hearts of kababayan who are discouraged by the political unrest that binds them. All I can do is pray for the country and its people.
"How come you weren’t picking up?" we asked her.
"I didn’t want the drive to think I was a foreigner, so I just kept quiet and let Ate Mel (the helper who accompanied her) do all the talking. The driver might think he can rip me off."
Smart girl.
"Hey diva," Stephanie said to me, as we were walking to the escalators (how can I not like a person who calls me – the tone-deaf-can’t-carry-a-tune-musical-failure – a diva?) "I have something for you. "
She handed me a plastic bag. It was her white blazer.
There are some things, however, that are beyond argument. Halfies or not, we are no less than any race in the world – for as long as we believe in our worth.
Stephanie’s words put to shame the dozens who question Filipino nationalism.
"I came to the Philippines to find my purpose. If that purpose means staying here for good, then I will. It’s my country too."