Themes of rootlessness and incompletion are invariably themes that make many of Filipino-American writings. The identity crisis felt by those afflicted is notably common not only to Filipino expatriates and emigrants, but also to people from other parts of the world at large, particularly those in the ASEAN region, with most being Third-World countries in this scenario. In more precise terms, the Philippines itself is a multicultural state wherein nationalism and identity are still very much sensitive topics for how those issues are known to those who have experienced or are aware of linked hardships. However, what sets the difference--between the Filipino-American indentity crisis and that of the ASEAN--is history. Given that the Philippines was an American colony for fifty-eight years (1898 to 1946), the Philippines out of other ASEAN countries is the country that has felt much of the turmoil from the period. Its consequences still ring thereafter, and its aftermath--of leaving the country shrugged--has not yet dissipated.
It seems that the already oxymoronic coinage of the term "Filipino American" becomes even vaguer by what Filipino-Americans themselves understand the hybrid to be. Each with independent definitions of the term, Filipino-Americans have arrived at the idea that being Filipino is something they choose to be, and it remains a very interesting subject for thought. It is interesting, and ironic even, that while Filipinos locals love the feeling of anything American and foreign, Filipino-Americans are dying to know more about their roots, the Filipino language, and the Philippines, so much so that their eagerness for the Philippines is reflected in their writings and projects. In contrast to Filipinos who wrote about the second-wave diaspora (the "manong generation"), this generation of Filipino American writers seem to focus more on their own inner troubles of being bracketed or marginalized.
The event that ended just a few hours ago, entitled "Moving Archipelago: Fil-Am Writers Reading at DLSU," featured a panel of four Filipino-American writers, joined by three great, established Filipino writers from DLSU. The guest writers were Amalia Bueno, Sarah Gambito, R.A. Villanueva, and Ricco Villanueva, and the highlight of panel conversation was definitely when each talked about their own separate views on what the Filipino or the Filipino-American is. To one writer, a piece of writing is "Filipino" when imbued with hints of Filipino culture like Catholicism, which is a large contributor to our culture. To another writer, the Philippines had always been a mysterious place. Likewise, adding elements of mystery in her writings is how she makes her writings "Filipino." To yet another writer, a Filipino-American (or "Asian American") audience is taken into consideration. Although views were very different, each uncertainty story disclosed of truths that are deeply rooted on issues that involved much of Philippine history. The dramatic situation of the novel excerpt was unclear to me (am a bad listener sometimes), but I am aware that the poems each had themes that dwelt on the writers' perceptions of the Filipino culture and nation as a whole. Identity, or a confusion of identity, remains an unbreakable problem to them, especially when faced with questions regarding their race or when they think in matters of where they truly belong. I have sometimes accepted the idea that "where to belong" is likely not going to be a matter of one's choice, regardless of how eager one is to choose or how easy one thinks it is to choose from between two lands.
From a personal conversation with one of the writers, I have learned that shifting back and forth from two countries can play a huge part in one's growth and life--a person will grow up to realize that his birth country is just as important to him as the country he grew up in; and to choose between two countries would be akin to keeping killing one twin and keeping the other. People of bicultural identities would always have to accept the fact that they are both parts, because of attachment, and I am of the idea that regardless of citizenship or naturalization, racial profiling is inevitable. Furthermore, I also consider nationalism to be a personal thing, an understanding dependent on one's conscious decisions and upbringing. While a Filipino can keep having his "American dream," a Filipino-American can likewise also keep having his "Filipino dream."
On top of uncertainty stories and a Filipino nationalism which many Filipino-American writers may proclaim themselves to have, the difficulty in writing will always lie in truthfulness. Until a nationalistic Filipino-American writer will live in the Philippines and immerse himself in the Filipino culture--only to arrive at a realization that the Filipino culture is not really as unified and unalloyed as idealized--his works won't be "truthfully Filipino," and he will not write truthfully because of detachment, and because of mixed roots. From observation, writers who are "far removed from time and place" usually dwell on imagination to give their works a definite setting. Although an important and often necessary element of fiction, setting does more than give character and color to a work of fiction. An idealized and quasi-existent world on paper, setting also gives feelings of genuineness so that culture and identity might be understood to a greater extent. Writers who are far removed from the actual setting can't "write Filipino" without losing themselves in the making; but perhaps they can write proficiently about said crisis.
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