ahhh!!!

[That's me as a little girl running around my grandfather's house. This was in the Philippines.]

I just wanted to post something to let you know that I have not forgotten about my blog...although I do see that there are now two people following me (Hi Andrew!) which I am totally, completely, okay with and excited for. With that being said, it's dead week (and I really do feel dead after reading about 2000 pages between the weekend and today) and finals are coming up. I currently have no book that I would like to share with you, although I DID finish The Monstrumologist by Rick Yancy. It was amazing. It was gory. It was beyond creepy. Yancy totally gives Edgar Allen Poe a run for his money. More details on that later...

So now, I would like to share a piece of writing with you. This was my final for my teaching writing class and the book that I just finished up today was called, The Barbarians are Coming by David Wong Louie. It was from my Chinese American lit class and I have to lead a discussion on the paper that I wrote today. This book was all about a very confused male that purged himself of anything Chinese and it took two tragic occurrences for him to accept his Chinese side, for him to feel balanced at being both Chinese and American.

This brings me back to February, where my grandfather had passed away. No, I am not sharing my scholarly (and rather boring) paper about The Barbarians Are Coming, but rather a poem that I had written that I feel pertains to the book. I can relate too well to the protagonist. I know what it's like to be torn and push away a part of yourself. I know what it's like to feel guilty for never being there enough, for wishing you could turn back time. I know how hard it is to keep a balanced life and having to come to terms with dueling cultures. It's rough. So here is a very personal poem that I would like to share with you all that I wrote several months ago.

Here it is:

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INSIDE by Ethelyn Tumalad
March 2010


Inside the girl who longs to dip her toes into sandy beaches, hear the 'flip flop' slap of rubber soles against rough brown heels, and drink the sweet buko juice of Manila.

There is a part of her that yearns to bundle in layers, jump in crisp white snow, admire the Cascades, and rigid evergreens that pierce the clear blue sky of Bellingham.


Inside the girl who longs to frolic among the emerald rice paddies, crystal waters, and catch the light blue, green, and brown winged tutubi in her fingertips, the sun beaming onto her skinny tan shoulders.

There is a part of her that pays for overpriced make up, has bleached her skin, dyed her hair blonde, and wishes to look like the plastic Barbies she held in her hands as a little girl.


Inside the girl who longs to be dragged to the palenke, clutching her grandmother's wrinkled hands, vendors haggling prices in pesos, as they pick out the juicy starfruit and fresh sarimanok to take home to cook with papaya.

There is a part of her that orders pepperoni pizza, a crinkled bag of cheeseburgers and greasy fries, and refuses to be in the kitchen when her mother begs to teach her how to cook all the strange foods that fill the house with exotic aromas.


Inside the girl who longs to speak her native tongue only in the original alibita letters, not having to think about proper grammar, and never having to worry about translating: “What is that in English?”

There is a part of her that only speaks to her parents in English, corrects their language, gets embarrassed by their accents, and loses patience when they struggle to find just the right words that get lost in translation.


Inside the girl who longs to eat fresh adobo and rice off banana leaves, sip halo-halo while sweating in the sopping humidity, resting on a hammock in a bamboo Nipa Hut, laughter filling her ears as family surrounds her.

There is a part of her that would rather go shopping, spend time with her friends at the movies, and keep rescheduling time spent with her mother, “I'm sorry. Next time, I promise.”


Inside the girl who longs to peer over the metal railing of her grandfather's bukid, watching his weathered hands meticulously snap each fat mango off crooked branches, cutting the sweet orange nectar open just for her.

There is a part of her that takes, and takes, forgetting to say “Salamat po.” Forgetting to thank them, as they insist on helping her, while she contends to do everything on her own.


Inside the girl who longs to be carefree and innately happy, the sound of her mother's clear voice tsking her to be careful, “Ingat ka Ethelyn!” A stern look etched in her brow and deep eyes, guilt weighing on her shoulders.

There is a part of her that strives to break away from the responsibility as Ate, the oldest sister, a tangled web of confusion to choose between her dreams or the career expected of her.


Inside the girl who longs to hold her mother's hand while she says her 'hail-Marys', her fingertips on each smooth rosaryo bead, goes to confession, and asks her to marry a respectful, Catholic, Filipino boy.

There is a part of her that has never dated within brown, who grew up in a sea of white, who wants to mix the two like a marble macchiato, a swirl of chocolate and ivory, combining two cultures together.


Inside the girl who longs for constant praise, admiration, and acceptance from her loving Nanay and Tatay, who gave up all they had to create their own little Manila in a country so far away from the actual island.

There is a part of her that promises to remember the fragments of memories, who she is, where she comes from, and what her parents ache to pass down to her.


Inside the girl who longs to feel her feet on the islands she left behind eighteen years ago,
there is a woman with heels planted on American soil, reaching up to the heavens with her fingertips for a space between where the delicate balance of acceptance and two cultures intertwine.


Inside the girl who longs to ask: “Who am I, Filipino or American?”

There is a woman that answers: “You are you. You are both.”


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Unfortunately, I am not tech savvy enough to figure out how to make it look like how it looks on the actual document. The American parts were black font and the Filipino parts were brown, they were all aligned to be symmetrical. This was also a poem that I 'displayed,' where we had to turn it into a 3D object. I have pictures of those if anyone is interested.

SO it's late, hope all is well, and I will come back soon...just after finals! I wanted to let you all know that I did not forget about you. :)

Until next time,
Ethelyn