Antonette Rocel Delleva

Certified Pinoy

By Antonette Rocel Delleva
Inquirer News Service

I DO not know what bothers me more: being a Filipino or not knowing what being Filipino means. It always horrifies me to think that those Filipino-Americans, with their distinctive nasal twang and distorted values, could possibly be worthy of being called truly Filipino.

Somewhere I read that one is a certified Filipino if he dips his bread in coffee, cuts up the spaghetti, points at something using his mouth, is never on time and offers a lot of excuses whenever he commits a mistake. But surely, being a Filipino means more than that, doesn't it?

The Filipino has spent the past few hundred years trying to be someone other than himself. Most of us grew up believing that anything of Filipino origin is pedestrian and of poor quality. So here we are going around in our Mossimo shirts, Levi's jeans and Nike shoes, strutting around with our Jansport backpacks and Sony Discmans and watching the latest foreign flicks. All the while, our fellow humans in other countries have revised their dictionaries and defined the Filipinos as "domestic helpers." Well, okay, the Oxford Dictionary denied ever having redefined the Filipinos as such. However, the fact that someone out there actually came up with that idea is upsetting enough.

But we have no one to blame but ourselves. If I were to make a list of all our disgusting traits, it would be much longer than the epic of Lam-ang. We spit whenever we feel we like doing it and piss wherever we wish. We take everything personally when attention is called to our errors. We are the masters of procrastination. We are promoters of "crab mentality." When the Japayuki next door buys a late-model Mercedes-Benz, the Hong Kong domestic helper across the street wants to have a Jaguar. We look upon overseas employment as the answer to our economic problems without thinking about the brain drain it is causing. We make a movie about the life of the young actor who passed away, and turn another star's burial into a media circus. We consider the death of a rising young star more relevant than the death of two National Artists. And yes, we made Marcos our president and let every Filipino live through a horrible nightmare.

It is difficult to list down all the things that make the Filipino the world's laughing stock. Parents would rather marry off their daughters to white, straight-nosed foreigners than pass on the dark skin and flat noses of our ancestors.

I have come to realize that defining the Filipino is up to the Filipino himself. Perhaps, it's time for us to start identifying those traits that make us Filipino.

I am Filipino. I use a "kabo" or "tabo" when bathing because, if you really think about it, it saves more water. I dip my bread in juice because it tastes good. I cut up my spaghetti because it's easier to eat it that way. I use my mouth to point at something because I believe it is rude to point with one's finger. I am a Filipino because my hero is Jose Rizal. I am a Filipino because I respect my elders and will never feel comfortable calling them by their first names. I am a Filipino because the bravery of Melchora Aquino and Gabriela Silang runs trough my veins. I am a Filipino because Ninoy Aquino said I was worth dying for. I am a Filipino not because I was destined to be one but because I am proud of being one!