an old poem

calm
with a poker face on
- that's how i wish i could be
somehow,
standing still
just isn't the same

as the wind rushes by me, with all the words
i can't speak
thoughts that are born
and die
in the same breath

and then, the ones that i have no control over.....

calm
with a poker face on

as you walk by me
and in my head,
we dance.

an interview on immigration

1. Why did you immigrate to the United States?

Most of my extended family was already here and my parents wanted my sisters and I to have the best opportunities. (I have two younger sisters, Sarah who is 22 and Daphne who is 15)

2. Which country did you immigrate from?

Cebu, Philippines

3. Did your family come with you?

Not exactly. My sister and I (I was 10 and she was 6 when we came to the US) were left in Philippines while our parents worked here in the US to save up so that they can send for us.

4. What was your native language?

Tagalog and Visaya (two dialects in Philippines)

5. What was your life like when you lived in your native country?

It was simple. I can’t really explain how but it seemed a lot slower and easier.

What did you eat?
A lot of rice, fish, pork..same as what I would eat here. The only type of food I really miss because I cant have them here are the exotic fruits (they only grow in that hot climate)

What were your daily activities?
I went to school, helped my nanny (she was in charge while our parents were in the US), did my chores.

What was your occupation?
I was a student. I left when I was in third grade.

If you were a child, what was school like?
Short! I only went for half a day but that is also because we started school so young (I went to two kindergartens!). School there was also really hard..we learned to read English and write in script in the first grade.

6. Durring the time you immigrated, what was your country like?
It was pretty much in the same political climate as it is now. It’s a third-world country so there are a lot of corrupt policies, unemployment, etc. When I returned in 2006, the biggest change was transportation and the expansion of the city into the suburbs.

7. How old were you/ how long ago did you immigrate to this country?
I was ten, that was 15 years ago.

8. How did you feel about leaving home?
I honestly can’t remember knowing that I was leaving home. It felt to me like I went from one place to another without really realizing what I was doing (since most of the arrangements were handled by adults, we were pretty much packed and shuttled off). I’m not even sure I can remember saying goodbye to my friends. I do remember being told in the weeks before we left how lucky I was to be leaving and being really confused about that.

9. What to you then, was the hardest part about leaving?
Not seeing familiar faces anymore (like my nanny and her family) and wondering what happened to them.

10. What did you want/ expect when you came to America?
I was looking forward to getting to know my parents, since I was very young when they left and for a long time, I only knew their voices.

11. Map out your journey, where did you stop, how long did it take?
My aunt and my sister were with me, we left our little island called Cebu in Philippines for the big city, Manila, on a passenger boat (like a ferry but you slept on it too). Then we boarded a plane to Seoul, South Korea (I think it was a 16 hour plane ride). From Seoul we flew to JFK (that was a 30 hour plane ride).

12. What did you think when you first saw America?
How cold it was! We came in March so it was still chilly.

13. Did you like living here or did you REALLY want to go home?
For the first few weeks, it was strange so I wanted to go home and I remember wishing I was back at school, practicing my handwriting. After awhile, especially when I started school here, I learned to like it. The best part was being with my parents and being a family again.

14. What were your first priorites when you got here?
I didn’t really have any. I didn’t know what to expect.

15. What was your life like when you first came here?
Hard, in hindsight. We lived in a tiny apartment in Brooklyn with my grandmother. My little sister was born soon after we came so we had to fit a total of 6 people in two bedrooms. My parents had to sleep in the living room, on a pull-out couch.

16. What did you like most about America and what did you not like at all.
I loved that the school I attended in Brooklyn had so many kids who were like me, recently immigrated, didn’t speak much English so we understood what the others were going through, even if we didn’t speak the same languages. I did not like that when we left our little neighborhood in Brooklyn, people looked at us and treated us differently because we didn’t speak English and because my parents had accents.

17. What is your life like now?
I think it resembles the life my parents wanted me to have— I graduated college with honors and am working hard in a job that appreciates my work. I live in my own apartment, pay my own bills and essentially, making my parents proud of the person I’ve become.

18.In one or two words, discribe what the total experiance of immigration was for you.
Scary and just the beginning of my life.

19. What was the process you had to go through to immigrate here?
It was a pretty long process that began even before my sister and I came to the U.S. We came on dependent visas and didn’t become permanent residents (what people call “green card holders”) until many years later.

Philanthropy in the mountains

my dad went home to the Philippines recently and just came back this weekend. i have not seen him this happy in a long time. he got to do all the things he's dreamed of doing.

a funny thing happens to Filipinos when they go back home, no matter what kind of life they might live here, no matter how hard it may be, they spend richly and live like they've never had to break a sweat. it has a lot to do with being just happy to be away from the reality of life and living the fantasy that every man, woman and child in Philippines has about "going to America!" and coming home to your friends to prove that it's as good as everyone thinks it is.

it's especially prevalent in the older generation, to be a "balikbayan" (literal meaning: returning to country) is to save up and spend it home.

in any case, a true sign of times and the spread of philanthropy has finally reached even a small village in Ilocos Norte, where my dad is from. He went home for a mini-reunion in Pagudpud for their annual fiesta. the mayor, knowing that a contingent of balikbayans would be returning for this fiesta, prepared an invite-only dinner at his home. my dad received an invitation, so did his cousin from San Francisco. it's an honor to dine at the mayor's home especially when it's a lavish dinner with a select group of people. of course, my dad went. they had a lovely dinner, the mayor discussed his plans for the village and told them that they all were considered VIPs for the weekend-long fiesta.

during coffee and dessert, the mayor told them about the fiesta contests and the cash prizes involved. he then asked each of them to sponsor one of the contests and provide the cash prize. pretty smooth ask, no? my dad, feeling particularly philanthropic, gave his sponsorship then and there. In Philippine money, it equated to about $300 but went a long way for the winner.

i never saw my dad as a philanthropist until now but i'm pretty impressed that the mayor of a small town can get him to think along those lines. i can finally explain to him what i do for a living.

only tonight

today i realized how much i have become part of the problem at work. in my mission to focus only on the work i produce and on my clients, to keep my head down and chug along, i've managed to make a decision that reinforces what i've always said was a problem--favoritism and cliques.

i was asked to invite my account team to a fancy gala-- to fill ten seats-- and in the end, only eight of us confirmed. to fill the remaining seats, i asked my two closest friends at work.

in hindsight, and with the help of another friend, i could have offered the seats to the entire company. i could have done it in a way that didn't exclude people. i should have put more thought into it. instead, i focused on my work and willed this side business of filling seats to be done with as soon as possible. i was complacent.

it hurt someone's feelings. for them, i should have asked more questions.

given the timeframe that i had, i know there was no other way i would have done it. i wish i could say that i would have put more thought into it but i know that my nature wouldn't have allowed it. i did what i was asked to do, i always do.

so only tonight i'll focus on what i could have and should have done. tomorrow, lesson learned, i'll stand by my decision and face the consequences.

my goddaughter

A toast for Juliana 4.20.2008

First, we want to thank Lucy and John for the honor and priviledge of being Juliana’s god parents. We promise you that we will look after her and love her like she was our own.

Thank you to everyone here who traveled near and far to celebrate this special day..one of many in Juliana’s life. And one of many where we’re sure to see each other again (so we hope you get really comfortable with each other now)

To you, our little guest of honor, a few words of promise from us. There are going to be so many (good-looking) faces to see and remember, and you’re too young now to even know that each face loves you.

We promise to be the two faces that remain constant in your world. Smiling, always for you.

D: I promise to be there to give you boy advice…when you’re 21, right John?

M: I’m there to let you know you don’t need them. They won’t deserve you.

In your most exciting moments to the ones where you are so sad, it hurts, just know that you have your Uncle Mikey and Aunt Divine to scream with, cry to and laugh with. May you have more good days than bad, with the grace of God. Cheers.

visual poetry

there is something about the following e.e. cummings poem that will
never leave my mind's eye.

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me,i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain, has such small hands

it's such a sad, beautiful poem. for a long time, i believed that this is what love
really was like-- silent, powerful and ultimately unfulfilled. this poem hung on my wall in
college after it was given to me by someone and it continues to affect me each time i read it.

the speech

in 2004, i was asked to give a speech at my college's annual scholarship fundraising dinner. i remember getting the call in my dorm room, i was at my computer surrounded by books and articles, knee-deep in my senior thesis. i hung up and wondered what i had gotten myself into. but i remember thinking, "it's only April. the speech is in June. worry about it later." the night before graduation, i wrote the speech. it changed my life.

fast forward to June: it was my second day as an intern reporter at the Staten Island Advance and i found myself in front of 300 people at the Plaza Hotel, publicly thanking the people who had helped fund my education.

my colleagues know this part of the story: following my speech, the chairman of my company introduced himself, gave me his card and told me that i was hired. in his words, "you have a job at my company, no resume required." i thought he was nuts. i thanked him politely and said that i wanted to be a reporter. he asked me to visit the offices and check out the company so i saved his card, just in case. later that year, i came to visit and, indeed, there was a job for me. he was not nuts afterall, he meant every word he said.

i almost lost the infamous speech. i found it last year, the original copy that i used that night, folded into quarters, enormous font and "pauses" in italics to remind me to look up. before i lose it again, i'm posting it here for posterity.

May 2004

Good evening. I am extremely honored to be among such a distinguished group of people.

Four years ago, I was a senior in high school, praying for a miracle, for someone to give me the opportunity to go to college. My parents were just coming out of bankruptcy and I was not qualified for financial aid. My best option was to attend community college for two years and work to save enough money to study for my Bachelor's degree.

With this weight on my shoulders, I received a letter from the College of Mt. St. Vincent awarding me the Corazon Aquino scholarship, a full tuition scholarship given to the Filipino-American with the highest all-around high school academic performance. I would not be here right now, honored to be able to share with all of you my appreciation for what the Mount has done for me, if I had not received that letter.

My childhood was spent without my parents. They were already here, in the United States, working to give my sister and me the American Dream. And when we got here, they realized that merely being here was not enough. A college education was their one wish for me and at point in their lives, it was the one wish they could not grant.

It's amazing how, in hindsight, I realize that one seemingly inconsequential piece of paper can possess the power of changing the course of a person's life. Since that day, however, the Mount has not stopped providing me with opportunities that have changed the course of my life.

I am sure we all know, or at least have heard, the words of our school's motto. But the motto of the College of Mt. St. Vincent has become very important to me.

"Teach me goodness, discipline and knowledge."

These words have become words by which I live my life. These words inspire me to be better than what I ever thought I could be. As soon as I set my feet within the gates of the Mount somehow I knew that these words, just like that scholarship letter, had the possibility of affecting my entire world.

Goodness. We have known this word since we were children. Our parents taught us how to be good. We aspire to be good people. But goodness was not truly evident to me until I saw it at the Mount. Everyone in New York City saw goodness on that infamous Sept. 11th day. I saw it at the Mount. Like second nature, when the Twin Towers fell, students gathered and made their way to every blood center ready to give their own blood to save lives. I saw students that have never spoken a word to each other hug and whisper words of consolation. I saw our residents sign up to give up their beds for the night for our stranded commuters.

The year after that, I became a Resident Assistant and saw firsthand the power of 25 young people who take the risk to care about ordinary, mundane human catastrophies: people who gave up one night a week, one weekend a month and (unofficially) their entire social lives, to be part of something that makes the Mount a better place to live. I have yet to see a better example of sacrifice than that of a RA on duty, with a final exam or paper due the next day, listening to a student wallow in their sorrow after a breakup with a significant other.

Discipline...was probably the hardest word to learn. Only because when I started college, again like many others, I had none. Being a RA helped tremendously, but I would be lying if I said that I mastered discipline. The environment at the Mount makes it necessary for every student to take ownership of their actions. Gone are the days when ignoring a problem or issue would actually make it go away. Having to balance the RA schedule with schoolwork was enough of a lesson in discipline to make me realize that I really did have to grow up in college.

At the Mount, I learned that whatever I do will come back to me. And make its way among several other layers, just as it does in the "real world." However, at the Mount, there will always be someone who will wonder where you are if they don't see you around for a long time, there will always be someone who will try to figure out what is wrong if you don't look happy, there will always be someone who will worry about you.

Knowledge...is not just what we take out of the books we read or the classes we attend. Knowledge goes beyond what we learn in school. In time, it becomes wisdom, the trait learned only after you've fallen and had to get back up. The teachers at the Mount dedicate their lives to teaching their students not only to gain knowledge but also to find strength to learn wisdom. Through them, I learned that strength does not come from power but from kindness. Teachers like Sr. Anne Denise Brennan or Sr. Pat McGowan, who exemplify wisdom through true kindness to their students.

Goodness, Discipline and Knowledge.

These three words are the reasons why the Mount is different from any other private, public, Catholic school or university. The motto, you see, typifies the people who are part of the College of Mt. St. Vincent community: the people who are there now, the people who were there in the years gone by, the lucky people who will be there in the future. I truly believe that each of their hearts go beyond what is expected, what is necessary. They truly care.

I know I speak for many graduates when I say that it takes all four years to learn and to begin to understand the intent behind these words. But once we get to this point, where every word means more than its initial meaning, we have already learned the most important thing of all. I believe a classmate, Christina Mesk, emphasized this in her senior speech two weeks ago. Christina said, "We will never leave the Mount. We take the Mount with us, along with the lessons that we learned, everywhere we go."

Yesterday, I started work as a reporting intern with the Staten Island Advance. There are not many people in this world who can say that they have become the person they always wanted to be. Since I was a little girl, all I've ever wanted to do was write. The Mount has helped me to achieve this goal. It's because of people like everyone in this room that I was given the opportunity that my parents wished they could have given me.

This is my one chance to thank you all-- my teachers, my administrators, and you generous individuals, who are the reason that I am standing up here today. Thank you all, from my parents. Thank you, from me.

faith

mike was promoted this past week. his company literally created a position for him because of the lack of openings in the level above him. he was pretty much at his wits end with his job before the promotion, when his supervisors asked him to have patience. they asked him to wait until the end of their fiscal year to figure things out, that they value the work that he does so they'll take care of him. this is a huge company we're talking about--thousands of employees and he's one person. imagine?

it's hard to have faith when all you have are words, flattering as they are. but he hung on and they rewarded him.

honestly, i've been at my wits end with mine too. i've been wrestling with whether it has been worth it or not. we have both been so devoted to our jobs. for me, so much so that it has taken a priority over more important things like my family and my personal life. i've been there for three and a half years and what do i have to show?

his promotion gives me some hope, not in that i think i'll be getting one too. but that sometimes people do mean what they say. i think about what i have to show after three and a half years. i realize, a lot actually. i've grown up so much in those years and there's more growing to do. this became easier to think about when i put aside the things that frustrate me about my company and my job. it can't be about them..it always has to come back to me, i can only look at what my actions have been and what i've learned.

i have to believe, i really have to have faith because that's all i can do right now. i can't put the onus on them to change the way things happened for me but i can believe them when they tell me that they're doing their best. i want to believe them when they ask me to keep the faith.

that's the one important thing i've learned in all of this-- no one can take my faith, i'm the only one with the capacity to lose it.

the perfect day

saw this question somewhere random- what would your perfect day look/sound/feel like?

here's mine:

- sunlight and blue sky all day long
- no night (daylight for 24 hours)
- a soundtrack consisting of Snow Patrol, Alicia Keys, and U2 cued at appropriate times
- every choice i make is the right choice
- i can sing
- i'm wearing high heels and they don't hurt, even though i'm on my feet all day
- i'm on my feet all day because i am never tired
- every second really counts, in that it doesn't go by wasted
- i'm walking around with a smile no one can erase

the darkroom

not many people know this but i had photography for about 5 years in school. the first time i was ever in a darkroom, standing over the sink and watching my pictures develop, i remember thinking, "this is it. i can see myself doing this as a career." obviously, things didn't quite work out that way.

the advent of digital cameras ruined classic photography, in my humble opinion. people are instantly gratified and the mystery/excitement of waiting for your images to come through a page is lost. i've always found working in the darkroom to be one of the most peaceful experiences in my life. someday, maybe i'll have that back.

the work that survived high school and college:

daphne anne

one of the many things keeping me up at night lately is the thought of my little sister growing up so fast i'll miss it. she's fifteen. i try to come home to staten island as much as possible so that we can hang out and every time i come home, i feel like there's something new and different about her.

it's strange but i really do feel like she's my kid. we are ten years apart so when she was a baby, i changed her and fed her when my parents worked (which was mostly all the time). one of my best memories is the first time she played in the snow. i worry about her grades. i worry that she's not being challenged at school. she's so smart and i know she can go to an ivy league college if she wanted to. it's just a matter of getting a scholarship so she doesn't have to go through what sarah and i have gone through.

she's sharing less and less with me. she used to talk about her fears and what she wants to be when she grows up. now she has her friends and she's the person they talk to when they have a problem. i just hope that she knows how much i want to be that person for her.

five or six years ago, i wrote the story below to one day give her so that she can know how unique she is and how proud i am of her.

Daphne

Nickelodeon in the background, she is the first person awake everyday.

She washes her face, her 4’0 frame not quite successful at being able to see her face in the mirror over the sink; brushes her teeth (first the top, then the bottoms in a counterclockwise motion); and combs her hair.

Today, she has her hair in pigtails.

Her outfit, already picked out by her from the night before, is draped over her mini-chair in her mini room. Dark denim flare jeans, with glittery butterflies and a blue t-shirt with "Princess" in little rhinestones in the front.

She goes downstairs, wakes up her older sister and the dog and puts a bagel in the toaster. Her first chore of the day is to feed the 1-year-old Yorkie who has a habit of nipping at the cuff of her pants while she walked. Her second is to make herself breakfast before going to school.

As a baby, she had the wise dark eyes of the experienced adult. Her tiny fingers would wrap around yours and squeeze when she saw you cry. Before she learned how to walk, she would smile knowingly, as if she too, shared the joke. And when she was angry, it was definitely best to stay out of her way or catch the wrath of her baby-teeth that would leave marks on your skin.

My sister, at 10-years-old, could give me relationship advice.

It was as simple as addition and subtraction- love minus respect/trust/understanding equals nothing worthwhile.

As if she somehow learned wisdom along with coloring between the lines and her alphabet.

She would look at you with eyes narrowed, a headshake and a deep sigh. Duh. You deserve more than that. What could you say in defense to that except nod your head and wonder at exactly what age do you get to be wiser than her?

Sometimes I catch her staring off into the distance and ask her what she thinks about. She tells me nothing in particular, that she’s just trying to imagine the world without stars in the sky.

Obedient by nature and by blood, she is that little girl in every class that gets nominated to be the hall monitor year after year. The humble one with straight A’s and gold stars who tells everyone it’s only because she studies a lot.

She loves to run around during recess, playing tag, the hardest to catch out of all the kids in Ms. Litrell’s fifth grade class. She has aspirations to be everything from a ballerina to a volleyball player and has been known to serve a mean ball underhand.

She’s the most sensitive one in the family.

In those moments, you see the child in her eyes. Beyond the tears, her worst fear is a broken home. When my parents raise their voices at each other, they’re careful that she’s not in the room. During the most turbulent times, she would crawl in bed with me, wracking sobs shaking her whole body. What’s going to happen? she would ask pitifully, hoping I could give her the answer she wanted to hear. But she never needed words. A kiss on her forehead, a rub on her back and she would fall asleep, curled tight into a ball against my chest.

And in the mornings, she’d be back.

Confident in the way that only children can be confident, she easily voices her opinions. Just because I’m the youngest, doesn’t mean you can boss me around she would tell us when we do boss her around.

She will graduate elementary school this year and enter the world of insecurity otherwise known as junior high. You wonder if she’ll make it through without changing her simple maturity. You wonder if puberty will affect her way of seeing things. You dread the day she dyes her hair and changes her clothes for the sake of being like everyone else. Maybe her black and white world, previously gray-less and cut-and-dried, will suddenly become a chaos of complications.

Somehow, you know she’ll be ok.

Soon the boys will come knocking on our door, the phone will ring, male voice on the other end, wanting to take her out, and there will be countless arguments because my dad will refuse to let her go.

Will she ace her SATs and go to a good college? She wants to be a teacher.

So many things to wonder about. What lies in her future? Endless speculation that requires nothing more than patience for the answer.

For now, she sits on the couch, Charlotte’s Web in her hand, reading glasses perched on her little nose and the dog, Jeter, resting his head on her lap.

back in the game

perfect example of my neuroses: instead of sleeping soundly after being up for close to 21 hours straight and counting, i am compelled to post my first blog post since Sept 2005.

let me explain.

i once kept up a blog on Xanga.com. in fact, it still exists, perpetually an online record of my crazy college years and really, it was more for me to write anything i liked than for anyone else to read it with any satisfaction. eventually the time between posts grew farther and farther apart until i forgot about it. recently, i found it again and began to read through. the experience was cathartic. there was nothing like "meeting" myself from a few years ago and being able to laugh, be embarrassed, and/or amazed at how smart i thought i was.

it helped me to remember how much i liked the poet e.e. cummings, from whom this blog's title is coveted/homaged. i read some of my own poetry, mostly written in a drunken haze. i lived through college again by reading my Xanga blog. this time around, it was a lot more fun.

here's why i've chosen to blog again: in the last 3 years, i've devoted my time to work, chugging along with my nose to the ground. one day, i'll want to look up and want to meet the me that exists now. if i don't blog, all i'll have are final reports and memos to read through.

i've learned so many lessons and the writer in me aches in the knowledge that i haven't really documented them. so, today i'll change that. i'll do my best to write as frequently as possible, more for me than anyone else.

but i'd be honored to have you follow me along my neurotic life.