My homeland

There's an awakening happening right now in the Philippines and the diaspora. We are uniting and coming together to fight against political corruption in the Philippines.

There was a rally this past Sunday at Little Manila to commemorate the 53rd anniversary of the declaration of Martial Law in the Philippines by the former dictator, Ferdinand Marcos. The organizers contacted me a couple of weeks ago and asked if I could make a few remarks at the rally. Initially, I said yes, but only if I could do it as a community member and leader, and not as any one person representing an organization.

Eventually, I wasn't able to make it because I had another event happening at the same time, but it had me reflecting on this question:

What is my responsibility, as a Filipino living outside of the homeland, in working hard to build a Philippines with effective democracy, strong and ethical media, and a thriving economy that provides opportunities for well-paying decent jobs that makes it unnecessary for people to have to leave their families behind to work overseas?

As I find myself in spaces where I am engaging with diplomatic representatives of the Philippine government in Toronto, I wonder how I can bring up these issues to them in a way that will make them listen.

Desk calendar: Sep 21, 2016

 Desk calendar from 2016 that I posted on social media 9 years ago.

Since then, I've realized that, for me, it's really that that I don't want to slow down. Rather, it's because the water I swim in is in a relentless current rushing towards a chasm so deep, unrelenting of its rush for the fall. Ultimately, the system doesn't want me to slow down because doing so would threaten its maniacal existence. And, so, these days, being able to slow down to sip a cup of coffee with my husband in the morning is both a privilege and a radical middle finger to this capitalist rush towards self-destruction. Despite what a capitalist, white supremacist, transphobic, racist system tells us, we deserve rest and care, not because of how productive we've been on any particular day. But, rather, we deserve rest and care simply because we just do. We are love, made material.

Full stop.

One month in

I've been the Executive Director for the Filipino arts org that I volunteer with for a month now. I've had more than 10 meetings with other orgs and community members and gone to five events (one of them lasting over the weekend) - all to continue to raise the org's profile and explore partnerships and collabs. It's been a hectic past month and I'm starting to feel it. I'm missing my husband and family a lot more. I want to start being intentional is blocking time off in my calendar. As much as I love the work, I love my husband and family more.

That being said, I have had some key-takeaways from the past month:

1. I'm learning how to balance the different priorities of the people that I work with. One may be a second-gen Filipino who may feel insecure of whether they're being "Filipino" enough. Another community member may be a first-gen who may not have the financial resources to participate in the arts. What do I do when these are translated in entities or organizations, where one org may be led by second-gens who have a lot of financial and social capital that gives them the means to explore their identity, and another org who is led by newcommers who are very critical of the Philippine government? What to do when the second-gens continue to partner and collab with the Philippine government (of which it's been demonstrated that they are complicit to the Palestinian genocide and continue to oppress the poor in the homeland), and the newcommer org who feel alienated and dismayed by this partnership?

2. Speaking of partnerships, I had a conversation with a fellow community leader, and a friend, last week after I found out that they didn't take the negative feedback they received about partnering with the cops, seriously. At first, yes, they were quite dismissive. I let them know that it's not the partnership that troubles me (because, we all gotta eat, after all). Rather, it's how we respond to community feedback, especially when we're made aware that some community members feel triggered and unsafe by the presence of the cops. Personally, I would've listened to the community members with care and intention, making sure that the org's values of community are actually adhered to. My friend and community leader thanked me for the conversation and invited me for dinner at a later date. I respect him very much. He's done so many good things to the community.

3. Oppressive systems ensure their continuity and replication by making themselves indispensable to the community. Can we, instead of inflating the city budgets of oppressive systems, make direct investments to community organizations? Like, we in the arts have had vast experience making do with almost nothing. And so, transparency, fiscal responsibility, and accountability is imbedded in our organizational DNA. We know how to handle financial resources. So, please, invest in us, instead of filtering $ through oppressive systems down to the community.

Going forward, I will continue to take ownership of my role. Having difficult conversations are hard. And I may be dismayed when people I respect, fail and stumble. But, I'm learning, and so are they.

But, can I just say, just between you and I - I miss having more time to myself. There, I said it. I'm not complaining because I worked hard to be where I am right now. I'm in my element, and at the same time, I'm learning a lot about community development and leadership. But, fuck it's hard.

I love my husband dearly. He's been such a source of strength and wisdom.

He Knew Me as Joey

 It was the summer

of 2004

I met him

Thru Cruiseline

He looked like

David Beckham

And he knew it

I was in my early 20s

He was pushing 30s

For a brief moment

I thought I have found

What I've been looking for

A gemstone

I could show my family

Look! I told you my journey

Would be fruitful!

Finally, I thought,

I could show them

That someone beautiful

Cared for me

But we were too different

I could never really

Get stiff enough to fuck him

He did most of the topping

He also did most of the paying

Once, as we walked past

A clothing store on Church St

I commented that I like

The sleeveless powder blue shirt

On the mannequin

Days later, he handed me a bag

The shirt neatly folded inside

He took note

But I was young

And restless

On the nights we weren't together

I'd go to St. Marc's to play

It was the dead of summer

And Taste of the Danforth rolled in

What are you doing this weekend?

He asked

My friends and are I going

To Greektown

Why didn't you asked me

To come along?

Oh, are you free?

No thanks

I don't want to be your

Afterthought

I guess he felt it

My inexperience

Carelessness

A month after we first met

He said he wanted to break it off

Shortly after, a hookup

Offered me a hit

From a glass pipe

Instantly, I thought I have found

What I've been looking for:

Beautiful crystal

So I took to it

Like a fish

Being thrown back

Into his pond

One day,

I got a text from Beckham

Late at night

Wanna?

Like a fish

Being thrown back

Into his pond

I went over

He was drunk

I was high

We didn't have sex first

We just lay there in bed

In the dark,

He cradled my face

In his hands

And said

I love you

For the rest of the night

I laid in bed

Next to him

Floating

Maybe tina kept

Sleep from me

Or maybe I was genuinely euphoric

But I waited for him to wake up

No sexual partner

Has ever said that to me

When morning came

He turned me over

And slid in from behind

After finishing

Thanks for coming over,

He said

I searched his face

For any hint

Of last night

Nothing

That's ok, Joey

You've got tina

Waiting for you

At your apartment

That was 20 years ago

I seem him sometimes

On Church St

With his life partner

A very attractive guy:

Compact-built

Brown skin

Small waist

My height

I can't help

But imagine

Him bent over

As I plow him

Or on his back

Legs up

Hold lubed

And ready

But fantasies

Are usually borne

Out of

Realities

A Treaty Person's Praxis

 

A Reflection on Labor Day - poem by Kanipawit Maskwa

 

They call it Labor Day,

a day for the working ones,

for those whose hands shaped cities,

whose bodies carried the weight of nations.

But for us, labor was always older,

always gentler, always sacred.

It was the joy of planting seeds in soft earth,

the laugher of paddles striking water,

the ceremony of raising children,

the songs that guided us from fire to fire.

Our work has always been more than survival -

it has been love,

woven into beadwork,

carved into canoes,

sung into prayers that rose with the smoke.

Yes, there were times when labor became heavy -

when mines and mills called our people away,

when our children were forced to toil in schools

that tried to dim their spirits.

But even then, the light endured.

The kokums still stitched the stars into moccasins,

the hunters still rose with the dawn,

the aunties still wrapped little ones in arms of belonging.

Even in hardship, our labor grew gardens of hope.

So when the world rests on Labor Day,

let us remember:

our labor is not only struggle -

it is joy.

It is ceremony.

It is the smile of a child learning their first Cree word.

It is the pride of water protectors standing together.

It is the soft strength of songs that will never die.

We labor for life itself.

For the children not yet born,

for the ancestors who dreamed us into being,

for the land that still cradles us with love.

This is our Labor Day -

a day not just of rest,

but of remembering that our work in holy,

our path is strong,

and our future is full of light.

- Kanipawit Maskwa (John Gonzalez)