Dark Blue Suit
“And through the years they’d told a wanderer’s unchanging lie – yes, we’ll be back – to thousands of parents and lovers, sisters and brothers.” (Page 3)
That phrase ‘we’ll be back’ immediately brought to my mind MacArthur’s phrase as he escaped the Philippines during World War 2. The “I shall return” was iconic to many Filipinos and was in some cases, a rallying cry. The parallels to returning somewhere often invokes home. Makes me wonder what MacArthur’s declaration was meant to accomplish.
“Cebuano, unlike some languages, has a nice melodious tone. A harsh message delivered by men – like puta, used in reference to Mildred—could be tonally disguised and made to sound so sweet.” (Page 20)
The language of the Philippines is heavily influenced by Spanish. There are many words that overlap in such as the days of the week, zapatos (shoe), and many more. This is due to being under Spanish rule for over 300 years.
“Lotsa boys in the Union aren’t citizens even though they been here long time. Government say when they leave for Alaska and try to return, they’ll keep ‘em out.” (Page 22)
This clash between the Union and government is one way in which the social hierarchy and racial tensions emerge. The Union is a threat to the government as the Filipinos are banding together. The Red Scare also seems to be present, with fears of Communism serving as a convenient scapegoat.
Rico
“Vietnam killed him. Not there, but it killed him nevertheless.” (Page 27)
My first instinctual reaction is that this is PTSD with the stories of soldiers returning back from war changed. Another response could be how many soldiers were treated by their country after returning from the Vietnam War with anti-war being in full swing across the nation.
“Filipinos always hired black bands; they carried a horn section in addition to two guitarists and a drummer— no matter; this was black music, not white, and the horns made it raw and powerful, something white bands could never do.” (Page 28)
An instance of interaction between minorities, it’s interesting to read about what happened to Filipinos during the 50’s. This talk of black bands and the raw emotion of it makes think of soul music, jazz, or even rock and roll. In some ways, there is a connection being made here between both ethnic groups.
“And here was one other thing: the boy could box. He was still an amateur, but the old guys like Tommy said he had “pro” written on the knuckles of both hands.” (Page 29)
Something that popped into my mind reading this is Manny Pacquiao as he is one of the most known Filipinos in America. For many in the Filipino community, my family included, he is someone that is admired due to his fame. Pacquiao’s actions back in the Philippines are also commendable, participating in community drives, and donating his winnings into helping the poor.
The Second Room
“His critique led him to rebel not just against those arts, but against the sterile weight of Chinese opinion and tradition that sustained them.” (Page 42)
This is an angle of inquiry that I did not consider before. Seeing this hybridization of martial arts to refine them as a form of protest makes sense looking at it now. Moving away from rigidity and removing flashy moves for practicality is an aspect I can see that appeals to many.
“The sixties hit the neighborhood hard; people started to draw lines and call each other down, just on race. Mostly the conflict was black and white, but where did that leave me?” (Page 43)
It was a surprise to me learning that Asian-Americans were involved in the Civil Rights movement. Especially as Americans considered Asians a model minority. I wonder why Asians were not given much national coverage in the Civil Rights movement despite their presence.
“Food for their predators— a state as natural as life on the African plain, or the second room in the Bruce Lee school.” (Page 52)
The school is a reflection of Bruce Lee’s explosive arrogant style. A survival of the fittest type of environment where practicality trumps style and a sink or swim mentality. The competitiveness instilled in the students led to people such as Killer thriving.
August 1968
“Bloods spoke that way; Filipinos, too. That’s how we grew up.” (Page 57)
For many poor ethnicities, joining a gang was the only way they could get some form of protection and also to fit in. For some, it’s also due to being estranged from their parents growing up. This was a common story I heard growing up in Hawaii as cost of living there is pretty harsh.
“Night before last, violence had erupted along 23rd Avenue, the heart of the Central District. From my house, about two miles away, I heard the sirens, saw the smoke.” (Page 61)
Thoughts on this event are that the Union and government are escalating in their violence or it’s a gang war. The social climate during the 60’s was pretty charged to say the least. This is another reason I think youth joined the gangs.
“Was it anger? Fear? I looked up at Aaron, studying a face I knew well, and saw colors—blacks and browns—discordant for the first time.” (Page 62)
In a parallel to Seventeen Syllables with the bus story, the narrator wants to separate themselves from a person due to racism. Whether it is a Chinese person being called out or an African-American, the need to not be persecuted in kind still resonates.
Home
“I wasn’t sure if he’d talk about the war, wasn’t sure if I wanted him to. For now, Rico just stared at his coffee mug, lost in a distant, foreign zone I was happy not to know.” (Page 66)
It was strange how PTSD and mental help were not developed to the level of sophistication it is today. Knowing what happened to a lot of these veterans when the medical help or counseling was not available made trying to fit back into society very difficult for families.
“They ain’t got no right. I was there doin’ it for them—with their smug little smug-assed lives and their daddies’ accounts—doin’ fucked-up things, livin’ like some hunted animal. And they got the nerve to give me these looks, like I’m a criminal.” (Page 69)
I can’t really imagine what it must’ve felt to sacrifice your life serving your country only to return home and be treated as a criminal. Many protested the Vietnam War, and the soldiers who were traumatized by the Viet Cong and terrible jungle combat only got further insulted. For the families of those soldiers as well, how did they handle the ostracism?
“For those who didn’t go to college, voc class was a holding pen on the road to the draft.” (Page 70)
The previous exchange between Buddy and Rico really highlights the difference in perspectives for those who were able to go to college. Having to enlist in the military as the only option really hits on the concept for illusion of choice. America being touted as the land of the free and yet being forced to draft due to lack of funds to attend college is a stark contrast.
A Life Well Lived
“…my mother had told me that he was a Communist, but she’d added that he was also a nice man. Dad agreed. And for them both—the most non-ideological of souls—the latter trait was far more important than political beliefs.” (Page 81)
There’s something that can be said about being welcoming to people. Especially in Hawaii where every older person could be referred as an auntie or uncle. Perhaps it’s due to the shared experience of being outcasts that creates a place for inclusivity.
“Many feared that the rise in surrounding property values would close Chinatown’s low-income residential hotels.” (Page 82)
History repeats itself as this issue is happening now. The gentrification of Seattle causing residents to be relocated and lose their homes. Combined with the rapid growth and expansion of Seattle, the property values of surrounding counties have raised in price.
“It’s a Filipino custom to take pictures of the dead. And in my own experience, I’ve seen more pictures of doorknobs than living relatives.” (Page 84)
For me , that was the only picture I ever saw of my great-grandfather on my mom’s side of the family. We also have a superstition in that moths are our dead relatives coming to pay a visit. One other tradition that I remember whenever there was a death in the family was a long wake often a week long in remembrance of the recently deceased. Offering food for the dead is another custom.
The Wedding
“Wonderland, the America of Filipino dreams, survived the trip over but crumbled on the first night here…” (Page 91)
I always find it amusing to think about how America treats immigrants especially with how contradictory the qualities assigned to it are. A melting pot of culture where freedom is extolled but yet requires money to advance. “Native born” American citizens who are xenophobic to immigrants and yet refuse to acknowledge the history of colonialism that the country was built on.
“To Dad’s way of thinking, good news had to be shared. Had to.” (Page 92)
In the modern age, social media is the new form of expressing this desire of good news. However, the dangers inherent with using social media is the creation of a false, constantly happy demeanor. When only good news is shared, it presents a façade to the world that is only a highlight and not truly indicative of a person’s actual life.
“It was his point of honor, grounded in poverty and a deep Filipino sense of pride, never to need, even from those he loved.” (Page 96)
I am reminded of how my family always acts when someone tries to give them money. It’s always with a polite refusal, even from other members of the family. The sentiment is shared even among my cousins who bolt the moment I try to give them money. It’s interesting and something that I think stems from not having a debt to someone.
A Manong’s Heart
(Referring to the chapter title Page 103)
Manong is a term used to refer to an older male relative such as an older brother or cousin. The female equivalent is manang. This term was heard a lot growing up and especially on visits to my family in the Philippines.
“In those days, Pinoys followed the crops. For most, it was only work available. The life was hard, always on the move but without the Gypsy romance.” (Page 108)
I did not know that Filipinos followed the same avenues of work as Mexican transitory workers. It makes me wonder where they went when the work season was done. The type of hardships they must’ve endured does not even seem different from working on the farms back in the Philippines.
“As young boys, someone lied to them, but it wasn’t evident at the time. Or maybe they believed in dreams. They lived for this fable, this America of the mind…” (Page 109)
The dissonance between what is promised and what is given is one that we’ve discussed before in class. From the creation of the Transcontinental railway, the plantations, and many other events, they attracted immigrants for the promise of a better future.
Stephie
“Mildred had the annoying habit of telling anyone who’d listen how special her daughter was. Her precious Stephie was so smart and pretty, so polite (at least to those who counted), and so impeccably dressed, always.” (Page 117)
This was always a source of distress for me growing up. My parents and my cousin’s parents were always comparing their kids to each other as some form of achievement. The actual intent was to show that our family was very successful. To me? It was a reminder of not having the same kind of interests my cousins had in academics and that grated on me.
“I didn’t fit. I hated his family, all pomp and bullshit. I was his prize, Buddy, his goddam, exotic island girl.” (Page 119)
The stories of Filipino women trying to draw in an American husband during the second World War are one that my family used to tell me. Some of the people that my parents know were neighbors who managed to come to America by latching onto an American. Sometimes, the family even pressures the woman to find a rich husband so that the family can prosper from the act.
“You had uncles, Buddy. You had the Community. You had it made. It was easy for you to be who you are, to be Filipino. Mom and me were outcasts, Buddy. Lepers.” (Page 120)
The nasty ostracism that results from being only half of an ethnicity. For Stephie, she used her half-white status to secure herself financially at the cost of happiness. For the Filipino community, it must’ve been seen with envy.
A Matter of Faith
“Every week we attend funerals. Seems that’s all we do. All the old-timers, our friends.” (Page 123)
As a tight knit family, when the older generation of our family started to die, it did seem like a never-ending funeral procession. Considering how large our extended family is and my parents knowing just about everybody remotely related to us, I always felt alienated. There were many people I did not even know were related to the family until we attended their funeral. Seeing my parents cry for their passing while I stood there confused always made me feel guilty for appearing callous to the relatives of the deceased.
“In that sense, Uncle Kikoy differed from most of the other old-timers, an irreligious lot. I never saw him in a church, but he believed in God and summoned Him periodically.” (Page 125)
Thinking back on my grandparents, they never did seem to go to church but were highly religious. Always blessing the food before eating, always setting aside food for the dead (atang), and scolding us if we didn’t wait for everyone to arrive before eating. Amusingly enough, one of the things I would always spot in a Filipino house is a picture of The Last Supper without fail.
“For Filipinos, nicknames meant closeness, a key granting access to the intimate. I didn’t know his real name, didn’t have to.” (Page 128)
Something I am very guilty of when it comes to members of my family. Even today my capacity for remembering names outside of immediate family is a struggle. But nicknames, I think are a form of preservation. To remember a person how they wanted to be remembered. I find full names too formal to use for someone that close.
Dancer
“As a boy, I’d always loved pawn shops, most of them here on First, in the heart of Skid Row. They’d seemed so full of strange, forbidden things…” (Page 133)
As a kid, I had a similar fascination with swap meets in Hawaii. Waking up early in the morning, riding with my parents to the parking lot of Aloha Stadium, and standing in the sun for hours. So many things that stimulated the senses, explosions of smells and colors, ukuleles or radios coming from parts of the lot is something I’ve committed to my memory.
“I can’t blame your mom—I’m sure when Dad went back to the Philippines he didn’t tell her about me or the others he helped put on this earth.” (Page 139)
Sonia’s story in some way echoes the story of An Mei from The Joy Luck Club. Multiple mothers and one father but the hierarchy is muddled by the fast and loose nature of the relationships involved. Combined with the general poverty, these half-siblings are the victims of circumstances beyond their control.
“Above the door, a huge neon sign proclaimed the presence of live girls and entertainment that never stopped, not even on Christmas. I watched her go.” (Page 141)
Christmas is a very peculiar time for this event to have happened. A holiday in which gifts are given and received, the celebration of the birth of Christ, Buddy in a way is seeing Sonia all over again. The gift they both give each other being a form of closure to questions long left unanswered.
A Family Gathering
“The newcomers didn’t know what the old men had done and, quite frankly couldn’t care less.” (Page 143)
The next generation of people are blessed to not have to deal with the issues that affected the older generations. For me however, I wonder how the older generation views us. Is it pride? Contempt at having a better life? I’ll never really know personally the hardships my parents went through to get to America and raise our large family. For me, the future appears uncertain and I’ll never be ready for the day my parents finally die.
“In the time since, whenever I’ve come home to Seattle I’ve stopped by his grave and said a prayer, if I had one, or laid a flower or a coin on his headstone…” (Page 144)
As far as rituals go, whenever we go to Hawaii, we always visit manong J.P’s grave along with grandpa’s. We leave an offering of food and just sit there for an hour watching the clouds if weather permits. It’s eerily tranquil at cemeteries and I wonder if they are proud of me up in Heaven.
“Unlike my uncle Kikoy, who died an anonymous death, my father was a man of his Community; he is mourned and remembered.” (Page 146)
This quote made me go and look up my grandpa Victorio who was known back in the Philippines as the chief of police in his village. It’s fascinating what little I know of my grandparents despite growing up with them. I know little of what they’ve done in the Philippines and only through my dad do I know that he was a security chief. I do know that on Oahu, he was an employee at the Pacific Club before he stopped working.