It’s one thing to learn about Filipino culture through books and stories—and quite another to fully immerse yourself in the place. The latter is a better teacher.
At 7, my son Mikey witnessed soccer legend Lionel Messi play his inaugural game on US soil. At 2, my daughter Alex attended a concert of her favorite Australian act, The Wiggles. To them, these are very normal childhood experiences—the perks of growing up in the Empire State.
New York. The most iconic place in the world, the backdrop to hundreds of movie scenes, a place where the biggest bands, acts and shows clamor to perform. It’s where people from all over the world come to chase their dreams—and with enough courage and luck, they might just fulfill their wildest fantasies.
A few days after we got back to New York, Mikey came up to me and said, ‘Mom, I would like to learn Tagalog,‘ reaffirming that I’m doing my children right by immersing them in their Filipino roots through travel.
My children were born in a land of opportunities where everything and anything they could ever want, see or experience are within their fingertips. This is not to say that they are growing up entitled, but truth be told, they know no less.
I’m a first generation immigrant who grew up in a middle-class family in Manila. My father is a banker, born and raised in Quezon province. He managed to create opportunities for himself and provided us with a comfortable life that took us to three different countries. Through his example, and with enough delusions of reality, fueled by my own personal ambitions, I was able to leave my hometown and carve a life for myself in New York.
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I’m fortunate to have a wide understanding of the world, having lived both in the Philippines and the US. It’s given me an appreciation of where I am today. However, this comes with an intimate understanding of the dark side of humanity: poverty, hunger to name a few. While I’m glad my children are detached from that reality and fortunately—or unfortunately—live in a bubble, it has become my personal mission to open their minds to the world outside of New York.
My hope is that in the future, they keep coming back to the Philippines with their own families so they can continue to pass on the culture.
As a multiracial family of American, Italian, Hungarian and Filipino descent, we try to find ways to incorporate our blend of backgrounds every chance we get; whether it’s recreating their late paternal grandma’s cookie recipe to exploring their heritage through stories and photos passed on to them. For my part, this means visiting the Philippines every year or so. My parents and extended family still live there and I’d love for my kids to form their own love affair with their second home. Mikey has visited three times and Alex’s first visit was just this summer.
While Alex had zero clue of her surroundings and was just there for the ride, Mikey is at an age where he is self-aware. On our drive from Ninoy Aquino International Airport to my parents’ home, his face dropped, shell-shocked as we passed by the shanty-lined street of Sucat, seeing children younger than him beg for money and food.
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At his last visit, he innocently commented on how the houses seem to still be “under construction.” He was three then. This time around, his sunken expression bore heartbreak caused by the realization of how life can be so unfair. Later that evening, he asked, “Mom, how can people live there? Where are their parents?”
That was his first taste of harsh reality and understanding his privilege. That evening, we had a long discussion about the Philippines, and life in general —lessons on humility and empathy that he will bring with him for the rest of his life.
The following week, I brought them to Boracay. My children love the ocean. We rent a cabana during summer and spend hot, lazy days by the beach. They’ve both been to West Coast beaches and the Caribbean but it was their first time in Boracay. I didn’t hype the trip so much because I wanted to see their real, raw reactions.
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“Oh wow, mom, the water — it’s SO clear! Is it warm?” asked Mikey who’s so used to the freezing water of the Atlantic Ocean. “Go in and find out!” I answered back. “MOM! You have to come here, the water is so blue and so warm, this is unreal!”
He will never see the oceans back home the same way again, I thought.
Three weeks just flew by. My children got reacquainted with relatives, met new lifelong friends, stocked up on Jollibee (though we have a couple of them back in NY— again, perks!) and experienced a life that’s far from what they’re used to. At the end of it, they didn’t want to go home. Both of them were crying the day we had to leave.
“You will always have a home here,” my father told them.
It’s one thing to learn about their Filipino culture through books and stories—and quite another to fully immerse in the place. The latter is a better teacher. My hope is that in the future, they will keep coming back to the Philippines with their own families so they can continue to pass on the culture.
A few days after we got back to New York, Mikey came up to me and said, “Mom, I would like to learn Tagalog,” reaffirming that I’m doing my children right by immersing them in their Filipino roots through travel.