personal essay: jem mabalot
Who am I?
I am a Filipino-American woman who is legally-blind and multilingual. However, this is not all of who I am. These are merely labels that can't even be titles of my stories. I am like a tapestry with the richest and the most colorful threads, each representing an event, a person’s influence, a culture’s imprint, joys, sorrows, anger, fear, all intertwined into a unique, elaborate masterpiece that is a work in progress.
My Roots
It all started in the northern Luzon Island of the Philippines. I grew up in Baguio City, a place with the best of what nature and the city have to offer. Baguio is the Philippines’ summer capital, renowned for its scenery, the perfect year-round weather, resorts, and hot springs. It attracts wealthy, affluent tourists and American military. I enjoyed my childhood living in this culturally-rich metropolis with a smorgasbord of recreational activities that people from all walks of life yearn to experience.
My family owned a successful massage business, so we were blessed with the luxuries of an upper-class household. We lived in a home atop a mountain. As a child, I remember enjoying the view of the whole city. On a good sunny day, on our third-floor balcony, I recall taking in the vision of green in all forms, dotted with colorful buildings and residences in different shapes and sizes, and engulfed by the blue sky. The roosters crowed to signal the start of a new day. In a duet with the cock-a-doodle-doo’s is the booming sound of a man’s voice repeatedly yelling out in a rising tone, “taho taho!” The walking vendor was advertising a sweet soybean meal drowned in syrup. The taho man was the alarm to get my butt up and ready for the day and indulge in a healthy breakfast before school.
Just like many Asian countries, Filipino culture is family-oriented and education-focused. A small island nation, the Philippines is rich with over a hundred and twenty languages. My household speaks English along with Tagalog, the standard language, and Ilocano, the local dialect. My brother and I learned how to speak in all three languages since we started talking. My parents enrolled us in one of the most prestigious schools in Baguio. There, we were only allowed to speak in English except during Filipino literature class.
Filipinos are also known for being community-centered. We are warm and jovial to even strangers. Everyone in the barangay (also known as neighborhood or village community) knows each other and everybody’s business. When someone throws a party, all are welcome. It isn’t unusual to see a person you’ve never met, even the occasional confused foreigner, at these gatherings. Our friends and neighbors are like family, which is why we call non-blood-related friends and acquaintances “ate” or “kuya” (big sister or brother) and “tito” or “tita” (uncle and auntie). The community is always ready to lend a helping hand and share delicious meals with other families.
There is never a dull moment in the streets of every barangay. Large-scale businesses, mini stores, and street food stands with titos and titas, yelling out the name of their main dish to attract customers, line both sides of every road. Colorful jeepneys and tricycles, the main public transport for Filipinos, pass through with roaring motors. Street performers wow tourists with their singing and dancing to the booming P-pop and American hits. It’s a never-ending festival Day and night. And then there was me. During the weekends, a trusted ate, kuya, or one of our domestic helpers would chaperone me to go wherever and buy whatever I want. I always love horseback riding at Camp John Hay or Burnham Park, or bike riding on the mountain path, then strolling around downtown to convince the mini shopkeepers to give me snacks in exchange for showing off a cool magic trick or toy. This free and exciting life was the environment I thrived in until I turned nine.
The Departure
I was born with a rare congenital disorder called Aniridia or underdeveloped iris. This caused me to be legally blind and have glaucoma. I also have nystagmus or uncontrollable eye movement. Monthly visits to the ophthalmologists were the boring moments of my life. Regardless, eye doctors could only do so much with the lack of medical resources in the country. Although I enjoyed a life of freedom and luxury, I was well-aware that the world I perceived is different from what everyone else sees.
My uncle, who lived in America, advised my mom to consult an eye doctor there. He knew a glaucoma specialist in New York who was an expert in Aniridia. Hopeful, my parents took my uncle’s advice. On December 26th of 2006, my family flew to the US.
Starting Anew
My parents planned on staying in the US for a short while. However, in my first visit to the glaucoma specialist, the doctor warned us that staying in the US is the best course of action, lest I risk losing my sight because of the lack of medical treatment back home. My vision hung in the balance, and my parents made one of the toughest decisions in their lives - to leave everything behind and start anew in America. Since that day, life was different.
Our lifestyle shifted gears. Because of logistics and finances, we moved in with my dad's nephew, who invited us to stay in Charleston. We lived in the land of the free, but I felt imprisoned. I could no longer do what I want, buy whatever I wish, and go wherever I please. The fact that I couldn’t interact with just anyone that looked friendly outside boggled my mind. I stayed home most of the time with my mom and my brother while my dad worked. Only when we got settled, and my brother and I started going to school did I begin to accept our new life.
The Great Transformation
Mom and dad enrolled me back in elementary school, which wasn't prestigious or private. The environment there differed from the Philippines, but I enjoyed making new friends. I could easily communicate with them, but there were still cultural metaphors I couldn't understand. Every lunch, curious classmates would crowd around me, asking twenty questions.
“Why are you eating spam with rice?”
“Why does your food stink?”
"So you're Asian? Ching Chong!"
“Can you see?”
To end awkward interactions, I would either ask them, "Are you detectives?" or cry out, "Teacher!" Before I knew it, my peers got used to me, the interrogation sessions subsided, and I assimilated into the American lifestyle, or so I thought.
In my teens, the question, “Who am I?” constantly rang in my head. At home, my parents often reprimanded, “You act so American now. Don’t forget that you’re still Filipino.” Outside, I would sometimes see my friends’ misbehavior towards their family members and think to myself, “I would never do that.” Occasionally, I would hear my friends say, “Oh my god! You’re so Asian.”
Apart from being hyphenated between two cultures, I was also dealing with a barrier between me and “sighted children” due to my disability. I was pulled out from some of my classes throughout the week to get orientation and mobility training to learn how to travel independently. I also faced the embarrassment of my vision teacher hopping in my classes to make sure I’m keeping up with the rest of the kids. The most heartbreaking time was when every one of my peers was either prepping to get their driver's license or celebrating passing the DMV test. “Why am I so different?” was the soundtrack of my life.
My Identity Enlightenment
Around the latter half of high school, I began not only to accept but embrace my place as the tightrope walker who balanced herself between cultures and barriers. I enjoyed the excitement of having two cultures in me, so I wanted to learn more about other nations. I started seriously learning languages, joining and creating cultural clubs, and interacting with people from other countries. I even majored in International Studies in college. I wanted to know and appreciate the similarities and differences among people. My knowledge would be the leverage to bring the world closer together.
In my junior year of college, I went to Japan to study and do a teaching internship. Once more, I was opened to a new way of life. Japan's culture and values resembled some of the Philippines’, but there were several nuances that I discovered and valued. Linguistically, Filipinos and Americans communicated directly with one another. In Japan, I had to learn how to “read the air” or read between the lines to understand what my peers and co-workers wanted to say. The streets of Japan were quieter than those in the US and the Philippines, but I still couldn't make random small talk with strangers. It was customary to say "itadakimasu” before a meal and “gochisousamadeshita” after.
Taking a soak in the hot springs and public baths was very uncomfortable at first. Everyone had to strip naked, and I couldn't sit still because I felt self-conscious in my birthday suit.
There is an unspoken rule in both Japan and China when offering something to people. One must offer multiple times before anyone could accept. Once, in gratitude to a kind old lady, I offered her some Ferrero Rocher. But unbeknownst to this rule, I was surprised by her declining my offer. Just when I was about to pull back my arm with the chocolate, she quickly grabbed it and said, “Is it really okay for me to have this?” Unable to process what just happened, I simply nodded my head with an awkward smile. The woman was ecstatic over the chocolates!
In Osaka, while peacefully sitting on a bus on my way home, an old man sat beside me. After he settled in his seat, he roughly tapped me on the shoulder. He opened his satchel, took out a large bag, and suddenly pulled out snacks one after another, and dropped them all on my lap.
“hora kue kue, hayaku!” “Eat eat, hurry!” he said continuously.
At that time, I didn't know which rule to follow, to stay quiet inside the bus, or to politely answer “hai" (yes). More importantly, I was instructed not to take candy from sketchy strangers. He made such a huge commotion on the bus that I wanted to shrink. This was my introduction to the well-known "Osaka baa-chan/jii-chan" the Osaka granny/gramps, who kindly gives younger people snacks just because.
Today
There were a lot of interesting things I learned from Japan and the other cultures I interacted with, and adapted into my life. Since middle school, I have made friends with a handful of Chinese girls who have taught me a lot about their culture. China fascinated me. Its rich past and colorful customs enthralled me as I studied pre and modern Chinese history in college. I was always amazed by how much China had contributed to the world through its inventions and how their culture transformed from Ancient to contemporary. There was a time when I convinced one of my best friends to bring some authentic Chinese food in exchange for a Filipino specialty. When I started teaching Chinese children English as a second language (ESL) online, I was over the moon to interact daily with one of the cultures that captivated me. Deep connections with my students convinced me to learn Mandarin. I realized that their spoken and written language tells a lot about how Chinese people view things. For example, they don't have fourth floors in China because "shi," which is how you pronounce the number four, is pronounced the same way as the word for death.
During my first meeting with one of my timid students, I asked him his age. The child suddenly launched a fist toward the camera. I thought he wanted to challenge me to a mono-a-mono boxing match. Threatened, I rolled up my sleeves and got ready to call his parents. I later understood that he was trying to tell me he was ten years old. Chinese people have a unique and convenient way of counting with one hand. They count one to five just like we do, but start making different gestures with their fingers after five.
Not long ago, one of my teenage regulars came back after a long break from her English classes with me. A few seconds into the class, she enthusiastically greeted me, "Hi, teacher! I missed you. Oh, you look fat today." Not knowing how to respond to this comment, I simply laughed it off. I consulted my Chinese friends about this encounter. They said comments like these are a form of endearment. They care about you, so they notice small differences in your appearance. The statement was not an insult, but a way of saying, "Please take care of yourself" or "Stay healthy." Talk about being indirectly direct!
Currently, I am still in search for more new adventures to add to my collection of precious fibers dyed in unique colors and made into high-quality threads that I can intertwine into my tapestry. I started learning Korean and hope to visit the country soon. In my free time, I make pen pals from different parts of the world. What I've written here is just the tip of the iceberg - some things I've learned, a few of my experiences, the hurts, the discoveries. I believe that identity is not only found in one’s origin, but also in how much has been explored and amalgamated from what the world has to offer.
Jem Mabalot is a fresh graduate of the College of Charleston with a B.A. in International Studies. Currently, she writes for EP-Magazine and teaches ESL to children online. A lover of languages and different cultures, Jem studies Japanese, Korean, and Mandarin in her free time. She will soon launch Jem’s View, a YouTube channel that will provide a landscape of cultural perspectives, language learning resources, and gems for a positive outlook in life. Through this, Jem hopes to inspire and lead the youth from different backgrounds and abilities to pursue their dream.
