“Ako’y isang Pinoy, sa puso’t diwa”
This was the first line of a song that my eldest daughter had to learn for one of her class’ performances during this year’s Buwan ng Wika. When she first started singing it, I just found it cute, as she struggled with the words – my daughters have grown up speaking English and are only now learning to speak Tagalog. As she practiced the song over and over again at home, in the car, in the mall, or wherever we happened to be, that first line began to hit me…Ako’y isang Pinoy, sa puso’t diwa.
I grew up as what they call a “third-culture kid”. My childhood and growing up years were spent outside of the country, mostly in Hong Kong (when it was still under British rule). Living an expat life of course had its advantages. We were afforded a standard of living most Filipinos can not even fathom, we grew up surrounded by international classmates which automatically gave us a “world view” of things from a very early age, and we enjoyed having that “expat” status (whether or not we admitted it). I was so disconnected from the Philippines that growing up, it was a “given” that I would pursue my college years and eventually settle down in the US. The option of coming home was not even on the table, until it was time to actually make that college decision.
To cut a long story short, I ended up pursuing my college degree in Manila (Go Ateneo, One Big Fight!) and have settled down in the Philippines. I did eventually pursue my US education when I took up my MBA in Fordham University in New York City, but by that time, I could not think of living anywhere else BUT the Philippines. Back to my college days. One thing that became apparent was how DIFFERENT I was from most of my dormmates (yes, I was a dormer, and proud of it). While all of us were coming from outside of Manila, most of them were coming from different provinces, while I was coming in from a whole different country and culture. And one thing that I envied about them was their rootedness in their hometowns. Sem breaks and holidays were a time for them to go home to their provinces while I took the short-ride to our house in Makati. And while my parents settled in their new home in Makati, the city still did not feel like home to me the way the provinces were home to my dormmates and friends. I suddenly found myself feeling like a nomad, someone without a real home. I was a Filipino, yet I knew next to nothing about the country. I spoke English like an American, but could hardly get out two straight sentences in Tagalog. I was a Filipino in blood and looks, but at heart, what was I? I suspect this is a familiar struggle for many of my fellow “third-culture brethren”.
So how does this tie in with my kids? Well, in a word, I am GRATEFUL. I am grateful that my kids will have the opportunity to find that rootedness in their country early on in their childhood. I am grateful that my daughters will grow up knowing that they are fully Filipino and will develop a love for the country that I only developed in my adult years. I am grateful that when they sing “Ako’y isang Pinoy sa puso’t diwa”, they will do so proudly and without a trace of hypocrisy.
Now, we just have to work on making sure they actually know what those words mean!