you may think her kayumanggi skinlooks like mud, but it roots centuries of warriorsbirthing a movement that digs deep beyond your soil.
— Emily P. Lawsin (@emilylawsin) April 11, 2013
April 11, 2013
POEM: Mud [NaPoWriMo Day 11]
April 10, 2013
POEM: Anting-Anting [NaPoWriMo Day 10]
Circles of califas,Diwata spirits, and Babaylan legendsProtect me Everywhere I go.#blessed #NaPoWriMo Day 9
— Emily P. Lawsin (@emilylawsin) April 10, 2013
I showed my class THE FILIPINO AMERICANS book by Barbara Posadas & it fell open to the page with my Mom & war bride Aunties smiling at me 🙂
— Emily P. Lawsin (@emilylawsin) April 10, 2013
October 1, 2012
October is Filipino American History Month!
October is Filipino American History Month! The year 2012 marks 425 years since the first documented landing of Filipinos in what is now known as the continental United States. The Filipino American National Historical Society (FANHS) has been observing October as FAHM for the past 21 years, since 1991. You can read and download FANHS’ original resolution for Filipino American History Month on my main website: http://emilylawsin.com/resolution-on-filipino-american-history-month/
The United States Congress passed the Resolution to Recognize October as Filipino American History Month nationally in 2009, 2010, and 2011. Thank you to all the D.C. and nationwide friends of the Filipino American National Historical Society (FANHS) who made it possible. Click here to read the September 29, 2010 Congressional Record: http://tinyurl.com/FAHM2010, here to download the full text from 2009: http://frwebgate.access.gpo.gov/cgi-bin/getpage.cgi?dbname=2009_record&page=H12172&position=all and here for the Senate Resolution from October 5, 2011: http://thomas.loc.gov/cgi-bin/query/z?r112:S05OC1-0040:/.
And just in time for history month, our FANHS website has been revamped and is back online with lots of good info on how our 30 chapters and affiliates across the country are observing Filipino American History Month. There is even a list on what you can do to organize, commemorate, and participate. Thanks to FANHS National President Mel Orpilla (Vallejo, CA) and FANHS National Secretary Patricia Espiritu Halagao (Honolulu, HI) for their work on revamping the FANHS website. Click the FANHStastic photo below and check it out! (And no, I did not know they would be posting a photo of my old FYA Drill Team on the FANHS website. But yes, that’s my FYA fam and me! Can you tell which one is me? YAY!) 🙂
* * *Filipino American National Historical Society (FANHS) Website Revamped! www.fanhs-national.org
Click photo to go to revamped http://www.fanhs-national.org website.
(Yes, there’s a hyphen in the website name,
but NOT in Filipino American National Historical Society, got it?)
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Twitter Hashtags #FAHM or #FilipinoAmericanHistoryMonth
Tweet #FilipinoAmericanHistoryMonth
Filipino American National Historical Society Facebook Page
and
Filipino American History Month Facebook Page
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Follow me on Twitter: @emilylawsin
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July 27, 2012
Memories of Auntie Isabel Navarro (November 19, 1928 – July 18, 2012)
3 Sisters: Isabel, Emma, & Nora, 1991.
Memories of Auntie Isabel Navarro (November 19, 1928 – July 18, 2012)
© by Emily P. Lawsin
My mother’s last remaining sister, Isabel Navarro, passed away peacefully in Seattle last week at the age of 83. After a short hospitalization, she died from a sudden blood infection. Auntie Isabel, or “Auntie Chebeng”, as my cousins called her, was the feistiest Pinay I have ever known. Born on November, 19, 1928, in Tondo, a tough town in Manila, Philippines, she came of age at the onset of World War II. She was the pioneer Pinay, the first woman of our family to immigrate to Seattle in November of 1948. She spent the next 30 years bringing her parents, two sisters, two brothers, and their children to Seattle. For that, and so much more, we are eternally grateful.
In 1991, when I was doing research on Filipina American women, Auntie Isabel was kind enough to drive to my parents’ house in the south end of Seattle so I could interview her. I emphasize the driving part because she was also the first Pinay I knew who actually did drive, as my mother, their other sister, and my grandmother did not. Any student who has taken my Oral History Interviewing Methods class has heard of my Auntie Isabel. She is one of the examples I use when I recommend interviewing women in a quiet, private room, without men around. I often retell how Auntie Isabel told me her story in our living room, as my father, who NEVER lifted a finger when it came to chores, was all of a sudden banging dishes around in the adjoining kitchen, yelling answers like, “Tell her, tell her! You know, your Auntie was the one who taught the war brides how to make lumpia wrappers from scratch so they could sell it as a fundraiser! Tell her!” I adored Auntie Isabel because she was the only woman I knew who could stand up to my sometimes-belligerent (and hard-of-hearing) father. “Ah, yeah, yeah, yeah, shut up already!” she yelled back at him. Imagine trying to transcribe all of that.
In the interview, Auntie Isabel told me about growing up in Tondo during World War II. She said, “I was like the ‘achay’ of the family. You know what ‘achay’ is? Like maid. . . My eldest sister was working at the cigar factory, my other sister got married and left home at 16, my two brothers were still young, so I had to take care of them and then have lunch and dinner ready when my parents came home.”
When I asked Auntie Isabel how she met Juan Ordonia, an Ilocano manong from Seattle, who was a Master Sergeant in the U.S. Army, she said,
“Well, actually when I was 16 years old, in 1945. . . my responsibility was going to the market and buying the food. . . no means of refrigeration, so. . . Nora, my older sister, went with me at that time we went to the market. The market is at least about three. . .or two miles from our place. . . . To go to the market, we had to pass [my old] school. . . Rizal Elementary School. And then we cross the bridge, [to] the Pritil Market. . . coming back, I met my future husband. . . He was attached to the P-CAU they call it, capital P, capital C, capital A, capital U. I don’t know what it stands for, but. . . he was stationed out there. They took Rizal Elementary School to be their headquarters. And he was on guard at the time. So we passed him by. . . [almost everyday]. . .”
Indeed, many Filipino American soldiers served in the PCAU, Philippine Civil Affairs Units, which were stationed in 30 provinces for “mop-up operations” during World War II.
When I asked Auntie Isabel about their wedding, she continued,
“[He] proposed to my mom and my dad that he wants to marry me, then all this process. . . it’s a big meeting, you know. . . They agreed, so they set up the wedding. At the time, Manila was just recovering from the war and there’s no clothes to be had. And so my wedding dress was made out of a parachute. It’s a white parachute. I had a short dress and I was married at Santa Monica Church, June 10th, 1945.”
Meanwhile, one population study showed that before the war, males comprised an overwhelming 95 percent of all Filipinos in the State of Washington. By 1935, exclusion laws and immigration quotas had limited Filipino migration to the U.S. to only 50 per year. However, this all changed with the passage of the War Brides Act of 1945, which temporarily waived quota restrictions for alien spouses and dependents of servicemen. Auntie Isabel was one of these war brides that helped the Filipino population of Seattle triple in size in the post-war period.
After giving birth to her first child, Josie, and completing rounds of exams and applications through the American Red Cross, Auntie Isabel landed in Seattle aboard a military transport ship in November, 1948. They lived among other Filipinos and veterans in the Central District of Seattle. She and Uncle Johnny eventually bought a house on Capitol Hill, where the Gene Lynn School of Nursing at Seattle University currently stands. In 1949, Auntie Isabel became a founding member of the Philippine War Brides Association of Seattle, an organization that is still in existence. She claimed that the organization was conceived of and founded in her house, during a party, of course.
Auntie Isabel gave birth to three more children in Seattle: Elizabeth, John, and Carmen. When I asked Auntie how she managed to survive with all these kids and none of her family around, she said that it was hard to do at first. She said, “I had to perfect my English. So you know what I did? I used to turn the radio on and listen to country music on the radio. I would imitate and repeat everything they said. That’s right, that’s how I did it.” I laughed, finally realizing why she had such a twang to her voice and why she always spoke English instead of her native Tagalog to us.
Still, Auntie was lonesome and used to write her parents in the Philippines of how homesick she was. After ten years, she convinced her elder sister, Nora Español, to move to Seattle with her army husband and children. A few years later, my mother Emma, decided to visit. Auntie Isabel introduced her to Uncle Johnny’s cousin, Leandro Floresca; they fell in love and my mother stayed. In the 1960s and 1970s, after a change in immigration laws, Auntie Isabel successfully petitioned her parents, her brothers Junior and Felipe, and their wives and children, to all move to Seattle.
Auntie Isabel and Uncle Johnny, who was 20 years her senior, eventually divorced and she later remarried; this was another way that Auntie was ahead of her time, as divorce was largely frowned upon in the Filipino community. In her interview, she said that she and Uncle Johnny were better friends after they split and that she was there when he died. She joked, “That son-of-a-gun got me back by dying on my birthday. I will never forget it.”
Auntie Isabel said she had originally intended to go to school to become a nurse, even at one point working as a nurse’s aid. She worked many different jobs, moved to West Seattle, and eventually retired from a successful career at the Seattle branch of HUD (Housing Urban Development), where she got my sister a job. In the early days of her retirement, Auntie loved to travel to California, Reno, and Vegas. All of us cousins remember how Auntie Isabel loved to dance and show off her “sexy legs”. She would drink whiskey on the rocks with the fellas and laugh loud, slapping her leg like a cowgirl. The fellas would all show their legs too. Then she would laugh and lecture them in her Taglish: half Tagalog, half English, with a twang.
When she first got a mobile phone (with free long distance), Auntie Isabel would call me in Detroit to check on me. We would tsismis about recipes, celebrities, and the latest fashions. She would tell me the latest local news, as she read the Seattle Times religiously. In her later years, she slowed down and became more of a hermit, but she still loved spending time with her eight grand children, nine great-grandchildren, and her most recent great-great grandchild, taking our family now into its 5th generation.
When my mother was in a coma four years ago, my cousins kept vigil with us at the hospital for three weeks. On the night before my mother passed, the staff let us stay in a room with recliners set up for our family across from my mom’s room. That night, Auntie Isabel stayed up with us, talking story about my mom late into the night. She said she hated seeing her sister go like this. Then she shook her finger at us and said, “Hey, when it’s my time, I don’t want none of this gud damn sheeit. And if you don’t listen, I will come back and pull on your toe, you hear? I want you all to stick together and have a party.” Then she leaned back and started snoring. We were so cramped in that little room, Auntie Isabel’s big toe was in my cousin Carmen Espanol’s face. Carmen took a photo – two actually, one with flash – and we all slapped our legs, laughing. Auntie did too.
Maraming salamat po, thank you so much, Auntie Chebeng, for a lifetime of love and laughter. Thank you for all you did to bring and keep our family together. Minamahal kita. We love you and will miss you very much.
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Obituary, Published in The Seattle Times on July 25, 2012:
Isabel P. Navarro
November 19, 1928 – July 18, 2012
Isabel passed away peacefully at the age of 83. She was born on 11/19/1928 in Tondo, Manila, Philippines and is survived by her four children, Josie Whitehead (Stephen Banks), Elizabeth (Paul) Trias, John (Laurie) Ordonia and Carmen Ordonia-Lindal (Martin Lindal). She is also survived by a brother, Sergio Porcincula Jr. along with 8 grandchildren, 9 great grandchildren and one great-great grandchild as well as numerous nieces and nephews. She was preceded in death by her sisters Nora Espanol, Emma Lawsin and her brother Felipe Porcincula.
Funeral Information
At her request, there will be no viewing. Funeral services will be held at Evergreen Washelli, 11111 Aurora Ave. North, Seattle, WA. A Rosary will be held on Friday, July 27, 2012 at 7:00 PM with a Mass of the Christian burial to be held in the Chapel on Saturday, 7/28/2012 at 12:30 PM followed by entombment at the Washelli Mausoleum.
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July 27, 2012
May 26, 2011
‘Queen of Jazzipino’ Charmaine Clamor Performs in Michigan thru Saturday
Last night, I took our kindergartener to see Charmaine Clamor perform at the Dirty Dog Jazz Café in Grosse Pointe Farms and of course, we both loved it. The 5 ½ year old loves to sing and is proud of being a “Pinay” = Filipina American female, so she was really excited to meet the “Queen of Jazzipino”. She swayed and sang along through Charmaine’s 60-minute set, which included “Doodlin’ in Taglish” (half Tagalog, half English), a traditional harana (Filipino serenade), a Duke Ellington song, a cover of U2’s “With or Without You”, and so appropriate for Motown: “Feelin’ Stevie” (a tribute to Stevie Wonder). My favorite song of the night was when her musical director Abe Lagrimas (yes, Pinoy from Hawai’i) broke out the ukulele with Charmaine singing the classic Tagalog love ballad “Minamahal Kita”. Even if you are not fluent in Filipino, you should learn that title, which means: “I love you very much”. I surprised my American-born-self by being able to translate most of the Filipino verses for our daughter and our non-Filipino sistahfriend Deborah, who joined us for “Girls Night Out”.
The Dirty Dog Jazz Café is an intimate, classy restaurant, with white linens and candle lanterns adorning each table. (Being from Seattle and the daughter of an Alaskera [salmon cannery worker], I am pretty picky about my salmon: theirs didn’t need the seafood velouté sauce, but it was pan-grilled perfect, and their bread pudding with cherry port reduction was divine.) It was fun for our daughter to get gussied up and practice her table manners, since she has taken a liking to reading all of the Fancy Nancy books (about a young girl who loves all that is French and fancy). As we do for all entertainment outings, I prepped her for the show by letting her watch some of Charmaine’s videos that are on her website and YouTube. Her favorite videos are “My Funny Brown Pinay“ (a spoof on “My Funny Valentine” with a good message to be proud of our brown skin and flat noses. “Hey, I have a flat nose too!” she said) and Charmaine’s latest video “Flow” (about the need for potable water and how it affects women). In “Flow”, our daughter loves seeing other children singing along in the studio clips. During the live show last night, she said, “I don’t think all of those kids will be performing with her like on the computer.” And then later, “Are YOU going to perform a poem, Mom? I could sing my songs from my recital.” I shook my head and wondered if other performance poets who are also parents get similar questions from their precocious kids. 🙂 Now, I’m not recommending that every parent take their little kid to a jazz club, but hey, it’s not every day that a little Asian American girl is able to see talented role models who look like her, especially in Detroit/Grosse Pointe, where Asians make up far less than 2% of the population.
After the show, we bought CDs and a cute “Funny Brown Pinay” tote bag. The 5 ½ year old greeted Charmaine with a hug and the traditional “mano po” blessing of the hand; she was so happy to meet her and get her autograph. During our conversation, we realized we have many mutual friends in Los Angeles (Pinay extraordinaire Prosy de la Cruz is the one who connected us prior to the show). I was really surprised to discover that Charmaine attended California State University Northridge the same years that I taught there – and she said she minored in Asian American Studies (my home department)! Do any of you CSUN FASA alumni remember her from back then? Of course, she said she was in PCN (Pilipino Cultural Night), but I forgot to ask her if she sang in it, because how could I have forgotten her voice if she did?
Braving the rainstorms on a school night, we went to the early show so I could get the kindergartener back home in time for bed, even though I wanted to stay for the next set. I highly recommend everyone go see Charmaine Clamor while she is in town; it is a rare treat to have a Filipina artist – all the way from Los Angeles — perform in Michigan!
Charmaine Clamor and her trio (Andy Langham [piano], Dominic Thiroux [bass], and Abe Lagrimas, Jr. [drums and ukulele]) will be performing two shows a night — 6PM and 8:30PM — at the Dirty Dog Jazz Café, 97 Kercheval in Grosse Pointe Farms, Michigan, tonight through Saturday, May 28, 2011. Thursday shows are only $15, Friday and Saturday shows are $30. www.dirtydogjazz.com Call for availability: (313) 882-5299. www.charmaineclamor.com
Charmaine also appeared on Detroit’s Fox2 Morning Show on Wednesday. You can watch the video here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bqAbktvaBhc
Emily P. Lawsin is a poet, lecturer, and co-author of Filipino Women in Detroit: 1945-1955.
May 9, 2010
Poem for Mom: My Pinay Nanay!
In honor of Mother’s Day, I decided to reprint my mother’s favorite poem entitled “My Pinay Nanay”, that I wrote in 1998 for her and all Filipina American mothers. It was published (with three of my other pieces) in the anthology InvAsian: Growing Up Asian & Female in the United States, by Asian Women United of California (San Francisco: Study Center Press, 2003). You can watch me perform and explain excerpts of the poem on Jay Sanchez’s Fil-Am Television in Virginia Beach on WHRO by clicking HERE, or on YouTube, by clicking HERE. You can also listen to a live recording of the full poem and some of my other popular spoken word poems on Boston Progress Arts Collective’s radio blog HERE: http://www.bprlive.org/2008/09/23/recap-emily-lawsin-graces-east-meets-words/.
I wrote the first draft of the “My Pinay Nanay” poem in the car, on the way to another phenomenal spoken word poetry event that was curated by the incredible Irene Suico Soriano in downtown Los Angeles. I needed a new, fun poem to read because Irene was helping to christen the Aratani Courtyard: a new, outdoor public performance space (which is still being used to this day for the monthly Tuesday Night Café, produced by Traci Kato-Kiriyama and TNKat Productions). Irene’s mother had cooked all day for the event. It was November, 1998, and I wrote on the bottom of the “My Pinay Nanay” poem:
Chillin’ under the Mikasa empire’s patio heat-lamp, amidst candle-lit trays of Irene’s mom’s pancit and empanadas, ten bottles of wine, and seventeen spoken word instigators firing up pre-war spirits in L.A.’s old “Lil’ Manila”, once “Bronzeville”, now “Little Tokyo, the new Union Center for the Arts: tonight, our “Safehouse”.
“Safehouse” alludes to the title of Irene’s chapbook, but also to the fact that the building that now houses the Union Center for the Arts (including East West Players Theatre and Visual Communications) was once a church: a safehouse for immigrants, refugees, internees, and other outcasts of all races and generations. It was an historic night outdoors, at an historic place: who knew that it would lead to one of my most-requested poems?
The version below is what I read two years ago at my mother’s Rosary/Community Memorial, which had another standing-room-only crowd, in the newly refurbished Filipino Community Center of Seattle. Sadly, since then (and since my last blog entry), my father has passed away too, so watch for more on him in the near future.
Happy Mother’s Day, Mommy: I miss you and Papa very much. Happy Mother’s day, everyone.
MY PINAY NANAY
© by Emily P. Lawsin
Revised for Emma Floresca Lawsin’s Community Memorial at the Filipino Community Center of Seattle, June 27, 2008
My mother had many names:
“Mama”, “Mommy”, “Lola”, “Grandma”,
“Tia”, “Chang”, “Manang”, “Emma”, “Emang”,
But I just called her: My “PINAY NANAY.”
MY PINAY NANAY,
She could speak Ifugao, Ilongo, Ilocano, Cebuano, Waray-Waray, Kampampangan,
Spanish, Tagalog, AND English,
Thanks to the THREE Pinoy men she married,
And the thousands of U.S. troops stationed in her island province.
MY PINAY NANAY,
She could whip up a dozen lumpias — vegetable and shanghai,
Roll it, paste it, fry it, see you joke with it like a cigar or boto/penis,
And whirl a boomerang bakya/slipper at you all-in-one-breath.
MY PINAY NANAY,
She could cook a feast for seven in as many minutes,
Spread the table with fresh mongo beans, seafood, pinakbet,
Chicken/pork/beef adobo plus tokwa/tofu chicharron sizzling on the side,
Lasagna trays of pancit noodles: Bihon, Canton, Lug-lug, AND Malabon,
Vats of tomato-pasty Menudo, Machado, peanut Karé-karé, and
Dinaguan (“chocolate meat” — ha-ha!)
AND for dessert: platters of steamed Puto, Suman, Kutsinta cakes,
Maja Blanca/corn pudding, baked Bibingka, Biko, Deep-fried Cascaron/donut holes,
And bowls of steaming, sweet coconut-y Ginataan, with ping-pong-ball-sized-bilo-bilo dumplings,
Just like you like them,
And STILL asked you,
“ARE YOU HUNGRY?
YOU BETTER EAT!”
MY PINAY NANAY,
She could, with one hand, twirl a hundred-pound lechon
Over a fiery roast pig spit,
While smoking a Marlboro – BACKWARDS.
Guess a Mah-jong tile’s face with one finger — always her middle —
Sliding underneath. (“Ay, Mah-jong!”)
Filled the house with smells of fried garlic rice, longanisa sausage,
Sliced red tomatoes, and eggs,
So the Pusoy poker players would come back
With much “tong” to help pay for your 18th birthday debut.
MY PINAY NANAY,
She could sew First Communion dresses and Eddie Bauer jackets
Without a McCall’s pattern;
Net, pierce, gut, chop, and can Alaskan King salmon with a blind eye,
Write round-trip tickets to the Philippines,
And cuss-out the neighbor Jones kids
For throwing firecrackers down her white stone chimney,
All with her Tondo accent and ninth grade education.
MY PINAY NANAY,
She stood with a 100-member army (of all of you) in the Mayor’s office,
Demanding in nine different languages
That he give Seattle its historic Jose Rizal Bridge and Park,
Its Pista sa Ngayon, and save the Filipino Community Center
From the light rail wrecking ball and everything else in between.
Then acted like she didn’t speak a lick of English on a Metro Bus
So a greedy seat hog would scoot on over.
MY PINAY NANAY,
She had more power – more PINAY POWER –
Than all of our childhood role models put together.
My Pinay Nanay,
She was down,
She was brown,
She was the Pinay
SUPER-FLY.
An earlier version of this poem was written in Los Angeles, in 1998
and published in
InvAsian: Growing Up Asian & Female in the U.S, 2003.
Revised, 2008.
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February 10, 2009
Remembering Uncle Charlie
Uncle Fred just called me. I need to assign a special ring tone to him, because he only calls when it’s really, really urgent, as in life-or-death. Lately, it’s been too much of the latter. He called to tell me about the passing of “Uncle” Charlie Farrell, who, among other accomplishments, was a former Youth Director of the Filipino Youth Activities, Inc. (FYA), and a former Moderator of the FYA Khórdobah Drill Team. I had already heard the news from FYA friends on Facebook, but didn’t know the details about the services (see below): Funeral Mass, Saturday, February 14, at 10 AM at Immaculate Conception Church.
I am so sad to hear about Uncle Charlie’s death. Even though he was about the age of my eldest sister, I still called him “Uncle” out of respect. Manong Ben Menor, of San Jose, wrote that when he was an FYA intern in Seattle, he admired how Charlie had a certain way with the Drill Team kids, how he could make them listen and stay in line. I feel blessed to have been one of those Drill Team kids. Charlie always took such good care of all of us. When my dad made my brother and me join the FYA, I was so young and pitiful and didn’t really know any of the rest of the kids. Uncle Charlie and Uncle Stan Harris were the first ones to befriend me. They were the only ones who really talked to me at first.
On his way to pick up a bunch of other kids in the old FYA van, Uncle Charlie would pick my brother and me up first, and Uncle Stan would drive us home. During my first year on the team, they always let me sit in the front seat. I didn’t realize it until a year later that the back seats were where all the cool, older kids sat. I know now that they really put me up front to protect me from the backseat mischief. I loved sitting up front and being picked up first because Uncle Charlie would tell us all kinds of stories and play Motown music really loud so we could sing along. Then he would let us talk on the CB Radio with Buddah. (Gosh, do any of you remember what was Uncle Charlie’s CB handle?) On the way to parades, if Michael (“LSD”) was on the CB, all of them would start yelling drill team commands for the vans in the caravan to follow down the highway. Charlie would laugh loud, merging in and out, following all the red and white pom-poms tied to the vehicles’ antennas, while us kids would drum the beats on the back of the vinyl seats.
When we had the 40th Year Reunion of the Drill Team 10 years ago, a lot of our friends remembered how Charlie lived in that van, had socks and chips everywhere; how we loved to eat with him, how he used to tell ghost stories in the basement of Immaculate so we would hurry up and put the equipment away quickly. I remember his loud laugh, big Santa Claus cheeks and smile. If you ever asked Uncle Charlie for a favor, he would do it if he could.
I remember when I tried out for cheerleading in high school (twice) and was required to perform community service. The first
Filipino Youth Activities Khórdobah Drill Team, Seattle, 1985
time, I thought I could just goof off or pretend to answer phones in the FYA office and get credit, or that I could use the FYA newspaper drive we were already doing to earn hours. No, no, no: Uncle Charlie and Uncle John Ragudos (then Executive Director) put me to work right away, typing the FYA’s mailing labels. We were fundraising for an east coast tour, so there must’ve been more than 200 families on that list. AND Uncle Charlie taught me how to properly answer the office phone. When I asked Uncle Charlie to sign my service form, he said, “No, no, no, we will type a letter, on LETTERHEAD, so they know it’s legit and not just some relative signing off for you. You dig?” Before he said that, I never knew that could be a potential problem, since they were all my “uncles” anyway. When I didn’t make it on the cheer squad, Uncle Charlie gave me a hug and said, “It’s ok. Those people don’t know no better. There’s always next year and besides, you will be busy with the drill team.”
He was right. The next year, before I made the squad, when I had to volunteer again, they told me to go file papers for Uncle Fred upstairs in the archives so I could learn something different. (This was before the archives were known as the FANHS National Pinoy Archives.) Uncle Charlie always wanted us to do well, to study, and stay out of trouble, so we did; he told us that if anyone ever messed with us at school, just to tell him and he would take care of it. Although I never had to ask him to fight my battles, I carried all of those lessons with me, when I got teased at school, when I learned how to drive, when I worked various office jobs to pay for college, and when I used the archives for my research in graduate school. Along the way, whether he knew it or not, he was always there for me, as well as many others.
How ironic for Uncle Charlie’s funeral to be on Valentine’s Day, since he was such a loving, giving person. He taught me to love life. He was one of the first Pinoys that I met who wasn’t too “macho” to laugh and talk about romance. I remember when he met Auntie Carmen and how he told us, “I’m in love and I’m getting married!” We cheered. We were so happy because he was so happy. I am sure many others, especially those who are older and who were closer to him, will have a lot more stories to tell than I can. He had that gift of bringing people together and making us all smile.
Years later, I lost touch with Uncle Charlie after I moved away from Seattle, but my mother and I would sometimes bump into him at church or at a community function. He would always kiss my mom and say, “Hi Auntie, how are you doing today?” And she would tell him about her gout or her knee pains. He would tell her that he would pray for her and that she should just take it easy. Little did we know years later, he would have those same ailments.
Last June, when my mom was dying in the hospital, Uncle Charlie was in that same hospital, on another floor getting kidney dialysis. Folks told me to stay by my mom’s side, that Charlie would pull through it. A few days later, when I was at the FANHS office writing my mother’s eulogy, Uncle Fred got a call from Auntie Carmen and he sped back to the hospital right away to be by Charlie’s side, only to be sent home because Charlie was undergoing more tests and treatments. He pulled through until last Sunday.
Charlie was more than our chauffer and self-appointed bodyguard, he was our counselor, one of the few who would really listen to our problems and not belittle them; he was our leader, our teacher, our role model, our minister, our friend, our big brother, our Santa Claus, and that true Pinoy uncle every kid should be lucky enough to have. We were all so lucky to have him, and I just hope that he knew that.
Today would’ve been my mother’s 82nd birthday, but I cannot shed any more tears. Instead, I am lighting a candle and saying a prayer for her and for Uncle Charlie, because I know that both of them are tsismising and eating up a storm in heaven, smiling down on all of us. If I could be there for the funeral on Saturday, I would wear my FYA lanyard and be proud to stand with the Drill Team as honor guard, as I hope many of my friends will do.
I don’t remember all of the words and I’m sure I’m jumbling it all up here, but as we used to sing on Drill Team at the end of every Jhabandah (usually indoor) performance:
Halina, halina, mga kaliyag. . .
Dios ti agnina, at sa inyong lahat. . .
The FYA thanks you for everything,
Maraming salamat, salamat po, Uncle Charlie.
. . .
A salaam alaikum / Peace be unto you …
© by Emily P. Lawsin
Watertown, Massachusetts
February 10, 2009
Emily P. Lawsin was on the FYA Drill Team for seven years and
is a Trustee of the Filipino American National Historical Society.
A spoken word poet and award-winning lecturer, she has taught
Asian American and Filipino American Studies since 1992.
For a full bio, see: http://www.emilylawsin.com
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UPDATE 2/11/09 – Read Charles Awit Farrell’s Obituary and Sign the Guest Book at:
http://www.legacy.com/seattletimes/DeathNotices.asp?Page=LifeStory&PersonID=123991911
Charles Awit FARRELL Passed away peacefully with family by his side in Seattle, WA. Feb. 8, 2009. He is survived by his wife, Carmen; two sons, Conrad and Ian; 5 grandchildren; 1 brother, 6 sisters and numerous nieces and nephews. Visitation will be at Columbia Funeral Home, 4567 Rainier Ave. So., Seattle; 12 to 8:00 p.m. Thursday Feb. 12th; Rosary at 6:00 p.m. Vigil service will be held Friday Feb. 13 at 7:00 p.m. with Funeral Mass Saturday Feb. 14, 2009 at 10:00 a.m. both at Immaculate Conception Catholic Church, 820 18th Ave. Seattle, WA 98122
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Click HERE to read my previous blog post: GIVING HISTORY FOR THE NEXT GENERATION
December 29, 2008
GIVING: History for the Next Generation
Last Thursday was my first Christmas without my mom; she passed away last June at the age of 81. Finances are tight for us this year, not only because of the unexpected hospital and funeral expenses, but also because of our temporary move to the metro Boston area, where the cost of living is three times as much as Detroit. So our Christmas list this year was much shorter than previous years, with us trying to give more meaningful gifts.
Instead of spending the holidays in snowy Seattle or Massachusetts, we’re spending them with my in-laws in Los Angeles, where they grow fruits and vegetables in their tiny backyard. When our toddler saw the tangerine tree in the back, she said, “Wow, satsumas!” and couldn’t wait to pick them fresh from the abundant dwarf tree. As I watched Anak pick the fruit, I remembered how when I was her age, my mom used to go down to Uwajimaya’s in Seattle’s Chinatown and buy crates of satsumas as Christmas gifts for her friends. My brother was allergic to them, so I didn’t really get their appeal. 
Then I moved to Boston and saw them selling for four bucks a pound! And those aren’t juicy or organic like Grandma and Grandpa’s! Anak picked about 50 of the satsumas straight from their tree; we washed them off and wrapped them up to give to neighbors and friends. With every juicy, tart bite, I keep thinking how much my mother would have loved for me to ship her a crate too.
Dr. Joan May T. Cordova
Satsumas also remind me of my sistahfriend Dr. Joan May T. Cordova, who often wears the satsuma scent. She is the President of our Filipino American National Historical Society (FANHS) and writes a FANHS blog HERE. Today is her birthday, so I kept wondering what I should send her, since she always buys pasalubong/gifts for the whole barrio. “Should we send her satsumas?” Anak asked. Nah, she has plenty of that. Then I was reminded of the appeal letter Joanie sent last week, the first one FANHS has ever issued in its 25-year history:
http://fanhsis25.blogspot.com/2008/12/support-fanhs-for-next-generation.html
Emma Lawsin, 1953
When I got married, Joanie gave us a 10 Year Membership to FANHS (like she does for many others). When my mother died, Joanie was the first to ask to what organization friends should make remembrances. My mother was the longest-serving council member of the Filipino Community of Seattle, Inc, and belonged to almost every Filipino organization in the city, so it would be difficult to specify just one. Joanie never lets me forget how, when a FANHS delegation flew from Seattle to Manila for a conference, my mother sent a bag of store-bought cookies for everyone to snack on; although I was initially bothered by their weight, during our layover, we were grateful for those cookies because we didn’t have anything else to eat. As a World War II survivor, my mother was frugal, but she always made sure we had plenty of food. And although she never had a chance to earn a college degree, my mother valued education and believed in the importance of knowing and sharing our roots. She may not have understood all that I do in terms of teaching and preserving Filipino American history, but she supported it in the simple ways that she could: through stories and food.
FANHS is housed in 3 old classrooms here, at 810 18th Ave
When my mother died, I had to write the eulogy, but did not have any of my material, so I went to the FANHS National Pinoy Archives in the old, converted Immaculate School in Seattle’s Central District. The archive barely fits in two rooms: one is an old classroom and the other is in the basement. When I was a teenager on the Filipino Youth Activities (FYA) Drill Team, this same basement was where we learned Kulintang (ancient gong music), practiced Arnis/Eskrima (the Filipino martial art), and heard aswang/ghost stories. The National Office of FANHS is upstairs, in what was once, 25 years ago, the FYA Trophy Room, where we had “brown room” meetings and cultural classes. Twenty-five years before that, it was probably my cousin’s classroom. The FYA offices are gone, but FANHS remains. Now cardboard file boxes pile high to the ceiling, with sepia exhibit photos peeling the paint from the century-old walls. A snooty university archivist once asked me if the FANHS office and archives, with its thousands of valuable photos, interview tapes, and material artifacts, had “climate control”. I chuckled and said, “I think there’s a dial that controls the radiator.” Of course, that radiator is covered with papers too.
Drs. Fred & Dorothy Cordova
Joanie’s aunt, Dorothy Laigo Cordova, founded FANHS in 1982 and has served as its unsalaried, volunteer Executive Director since then. Auntie Dorothy’s husband, Uncle Fred Cordova, a retired newsman, is the FANHS archivist. When I arrived at the FANHS office (two days after my mother had passed), Auntie Dorothy shared a bowl of curry and rice she had made the night before. Downstairs, Uncle Fred had already pulled my mother’s files for me to see. They had material I didn’t even know existed: a speech my mom had written, a faded newspaper article on her parents’ arrival from the Philippines, a party invitation she had someone make. I still needed more, so I found her sister’s file, some of her organizations’ files, plus a book where part of her oral history is published.
I felt so grateful to have this sanctuary of information, where I could research and write, and still feel at home: the memory of kulintang beats and childhood ghosts dancing in my ears. Before I left the FANHS archives, I whispered a prayer, hoping that when Anak is older, she can touch, read, hear, and smell all of this too. But prayers don’t pay the rising rent (even if Uncle Fred is now an ordained Catholic Deacon)!
Remembering our pledge to give meaningful gifts, I wrote our check to FANHS and put it in the mail today, just in time to honor Joanie’s birthday, my mother’s memory, AND get our tax-deduction (since FANHS is a 501(c)3 non-profit organization). My mother would have wanted that, plus the satsumas, of course.
* * *
Please GIVE a gift of history and support FANHS for the next generation:
Click HERE to Download FANHS Donation Form.
And Mail Donations Payable To:
FANHS
810 18th Ave. Room 100
Seattle, WA 98122
UPDATE 2012: You can now donate online [in annual or monthly recurring donations] via PayPal or using a major credit card on the redesigned FANHS Website.
All donations are tax-deductible: http://fanhs-national.org/filam/donate/
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Maraming Salamat!
© by Emily P. Lawsin, FANHS Trustee
December 29, 2008 in Los Angeles, CA
Click HERE for my full bio: www.emilylawsin.com
Click HERE to Read My Previous Post: POEM: FOR CORKY PASQUIL’S BIRTHDAY
December 14, 2008
POEM: For Corky Pasquil on his Birthday
Aileen Federizo sent a cool Facebook message saying that she’s putting a collection of surprise birthday greetings together for her husband, Corky Pasquil. They moved from Southern California to live in the Philippines so that their sons can learn the culture, so I thought this was a brilliant idea! Corky and Aileen are the founders of MyBarong.com, my absolute favorite clothing company. I met Corky when I was a grad student at UCLA and he was editing his video documentary “The Great Pinoy Boxing Era” on Filipino American boxers of the 1920s-40s (which everyone, especially all of you Manny Pacquiao/boxing fans, should definitely watch. Now you can even watch or download Corky’s video for FREE on the MyBarong.com website HERE.)
A few years after working as a physical therapist, Corky left his job to start MyBarong.com so he could work at home and help raise their son (inspiring). Corky and Aileen are what we call good people who always “give back” to FANHS and our Filipino American community, so that’s why I also give their products as gifts to family and friends of all ages. (I was going to post a slideshow of my family and me in all their fabulous Filipiniana outfits, but thought that would be too cheesy. Just know that if it doesn’t look like it’s my mother’s vintage barong – which I also always wear – then it’s MYbarong.com.) Happy Birthday, Corky! Here’s my gift to you, with salamats to Aileen for the inspiration:
Ang Tulâ Para sa Corky, at Salamat sa Aileen
(A Poem for Corky Pasquil, on His Birthday,
with Thanks to Aileen)
© by Emily P. Lawsin
Cornelio, Corky,
P.T.-turned-MyBarong.com man
weaving a new page
so he could be a family man
brought his bride and his boys
to their ancestral shores
stitching the threads of our history
so they could learn more:
a fine example for you and me.
made his film “The Great Pinoy Boxing Era”
as a student Bruin on a shoestring budget
with pamilya and kaibigans in his corner,
learned the ropes and edited it with love,
a gift to the pioneers and our community: all that he does.
maraming salamat / with many thanks, Corky,
for bringing the beauty of our culture to the world
staying true to your beliefs and dreams
we ride your coat tails with pride,
as you embroider our next adventure!
Maligayang Kaarawan, ang kaibigan ko! = Happy Birthday, my friend!
Mabuhay!
November 21, 2008 / December 14, 2008
Watertown, Massachusetts, USA
For my bio, go to www.emilylawsin.com
Click HERE to read my previous blog post: “POEM: Padasal, Novena at the Polls, November 4, 2008”
November 15, 2008
POEM: Padasal: Novena at the Polls, November 4, 2008
Last week, the day after the historic election, someone asked me how it felt to vote. She knew that I had lived in Detroit earlier this year, and Barack Obama’s name was not on the primary ballot in Michigan (damn it), so I never had the chance to vote for him before. Now, I live in Massachusetts: ’nuff said. After she asked me that question, I went home and wrote this poem. I hope you like it; please leave comments below. Peace and salamat/thanks!
Padasal: Novena at the Polls, November 4, 2008
© by Emily P. Lawsin
“I go to prepare a place for you.”
~Harriet Tubman
Yesterday, as I approached the voting booth,
in this bluest of blue states,
where the last senator lost his bid four years ago,
a few miles down from where
another senator — the martyr Benigno Aquino — once lived,
tears streamed down my cheeks,
my hands trembled like my heartbeat
and I took a slow, deep breath,
careful to not close my eyes
in case some fool tried to spoil this dream and my ballot,
and I whispered a prayer,
not just for Barack Obama,
but for our country and our families,
remembering all of our ancestors
who carried us here to the Promised Land
despite centuries of broken promises.
I remember my Lola Carmen,
born nine years after the revolution
and 30 years before women’s suffrage
in the colonial Philippines,
how she birthed six children
yet only five survived;
how, during World War II,
she had to resort to selling socks (not stocks) —
on the black market —
as in insulation for soldiers’ feet,
then fled to the mountainside
with a pillow up her dress
to protect her and her children.
I remember my Lolo Sergio Sr,
the stern patriarch,
how he immigrated to America
to follow his pioneer daughters, right before I was born,
then worked as a low-paid post office guard
while his wife — our grandmother — watched us sleep;
how they mailed all of us grandchildren
crisp $5 Lincolns on our birthdays
with a carefully typewritten note
to “spend it wisely”.
I remember my Auntie Nora,
my mother’s Até, eldest sister,
how as a teen in Tondo,
she rolled tobacco at the Alhambra Cigar Factory
to help make ends meet;
she never smoked herself,
yet her grandchildren always wondered why
she suffered from lung disease.
I remember her husband, my Uncle Eddie Sr,
who fought in the Philippine Scouts
long enough to re-enlist under the U.S. flag
before the Rescission Act could rescind his benefits;
how one Thanksgiving,
he showed us kids the bites on his leg
from the Bataan Death March,
denied that he had PTSD,
then passed it on to his Vietnam veteran sons,
and we were never the same.
I remember my sister’s father, Leandro,
who, with calloused hands from picking unripe grapes,
cutting asparagus and fields of lettuce,
building bunkhouses and picket lines,
like thousands of immigrant Pinoys,
struggled to put food on our kitchen tables,
moved from crop to crop
from the California Delta to Seattle,
then became a Private
in America’s 1st Filipino Infantry Regiment,
his enlistment papers checked his civil occupation off as
- "Gardeners and grounds keepers, parks, cemetaries, etc."
as if there were no other words to describe “stoop labor”,
he never lived long enough to explain it to his daughters.
I remember our own mother, Emma,
who on her death bed last June,
when the Critical Care doctors finally
let up on her morphine drip,
allowing her to wake up from a three-week coma,
a breathing tube just removed from her lips an hour before,
mouthed the words,
asking if Obama had won the primaries.
When I said, “Yes he did,”
she closed her eyes and smiled.
I remember my father, Vincent,
the only one who outlives them all,
a merchant marine who followed MacArthur
after the general declared his “I Have Returned” speech
on his hometown of Tacloban’s shores,
in forever pursuit of the American Dream,
how on the day that I turned 18,
lectured me — not on the birds and the bees —
but on the urgent importance of democracy now:
then took me to the public library
to promptly register me to vote;
how a decade later, after 40 years of his U.S. citizenship,
Papa was finally called to Jury Duty,
wore his “JUROR” badge proudly for weeks,
framed his “I Served” certificate to display in our
cracked china cabinet,
volunteered to serve three more times,
proclaiming to the judges that, aside from voting,
this was his highest honor,
to finally feel like a true American.
So yesterday, I stood there (yes I did) and I did not care
if a long line would stretch around the whole block from that polling station,
because Barack told us:
“This is our time. This is our moment.
Kaya Natin, Yes We Can.”
So I took my time, savoring the moment.
I stared at my ballot, carefully wiped my cheeks so tears would not smear it,
filled the black hole
with the smoothest black pen I have ever felt,
my hips swaying like I was birthing a newborn child,
standing on the shoulders of these ancestors
and a rainbow of so many more,
who fought for this right, who fought for this night,
thankfully remembering thankfully remembering
ang bayan ko: my country,
ang kababayans natin: our compatriots,
ang pamilya ko: my family,
ang buhay natin: our lives,
and prayed that our President, our next President will remember them too.
November 5, 2008 – Watertown, Massachusetts
Padasal = Filipino for novena, a prayer session for the respose of the souls of the dead.
“Leadership is only incidental to the movement.
The movement must go beyond its leaders in order to survive.”
~Philip Vera Cruz
For my bio, Click HERE www.emilylawsin.com
poetry & tsismis: emily's blog 