In the new issue of Our Own Voice, my online writing group buddy Nadine Sarreal ponders what it means, exactly, to be Filipino.
It remains a puzzlement. On my first visit to the Philippines at age fourteen, some exceedingly polite Filipino boys asked me "what I was." Blushing and confused by the question (the permanent state, it seems, for most fourteen-year-old females), I told them I was Filipino. Then it was their turn to be confused. They retreated gently from the obviously mentally deficient and out-of-place girl with the feathered hair.
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