Happy Anniversary - Thirty Years Since Coming To America

I suppose there’s something about thirty, over twenty, that makes it stand out more. Perhaps it’s the simple fact that it’s ten more. Maybe things were different at twenty. Things were less busy, more hopeful, and there was a greater willingness to delude oneself.

I’m talking about years, of course, and I’m doing so because the other day it dawned on me that this year, 2015, marks my thirtieth anniversary of living in the United States and also my thirtieth year as a Taekwondo student. For me, these two things will forever go hand-in-hand. They are and will always be connected; two halves of the same whole, separate yet intrinsically one.

I started martial arts, formal training, back home in Hong Kong when I was sixteen. I studied Shotokan Karate. A month or so later, I was flying to the United States where I was going to live. I knew that was the plan but it was like a dream; surreal that I was actually going to live in the place I’d only visited once before and seen numerous times in film and television. It’s not like I wasn’t excited but I also didn’t – and honestly still don’t – know why we were making the move to begin with. Martial Arts was very much in my mind and heart at the time – and it still is - so it was natural that I wanted to continue my training. I couldn’t find a Shotokan dojo (Japanese martial art school) so I enrolled in a Koeikan Karate school. At the same time, I enrolled in a Taekwondo dojang (Korean martial arts school) and, shortly thereafter, I left the Koeikan dojo and made Taekwondo my main art. (To varying depths, since then,  I’ve gotten my feet wet with Escrima, Judo, Hapkido and Gung Fu.)

My involvement in Taekwondo was partially motivated by the fact that my school In Hong Kong had (might still have) a Taekwondo club and I was supposed to go back to Hong Kong, after securing US citizenship, to finish my secondary education and I would join the school club to continue my training. I never did. So, in some ways, unbeknownst to be at the time, I think martial arts – in particular Taekwondo – has served as a connection to home.

All of this reminiscing –pining for the carefree days of youth even – comes at a time when I say goodbye to the first half of my forties and hello to the part that’s closer to fifty. Tomorrow, on Janury 31^st, I turn forty-six.  Last weekend, on the radio, it was one of those ‘Best of the 80s’ weekends and the 1980s was my generation. I caught song after song that were hits when I left Hong Kong and when I was slowly learning how to live in America. Last Sunday, I came across a YouTube clip of Jim Diamond’s “Should’ve Known Better” which was one of my favourite songs as a kid. Shoot, it may be one of my favourite songs ever. Naturally, the bandwidth of my nostalgia radar has been on high since.

As I look to forty-six, there are definite thoughts that come to mind. I think of how there are likely less years ahead of me than I’ve already left behind. I think of how the time I have to make a success of myself is diminishing and how the energy I have to do so is also waning. The desire is not however but, in some ways, I wish it were too. Then I could just give in to where I am and who I am and not worry about trying to better myself for my sake, my son’s sake and my family’s sake. But that’s me. I can’t. I have to forge on because of the ‘what if’ factor. I’ll never know if I don’t try, right? More importantly, I’m a martial artist. We train for technique and self-defense and competition and discipline but, ultimately, we train to battle the most difficult enemy of all – ourselves. In Taekwondo, in particular, we have ‘Mental Training.’ It’s a kind of Ten Commandments; a code of conduct for our inner and outer lives. Since the first day I took class I’ve tried to live by that code. Number Ten is ‘Always finish what you start.’ So, whatever it is – my dream to be my son’s Taekwondo instructor, my drive to become a working writer, my need to leave some kind of legacy for my son, my attempts to regain my fitness  – I will finish what I start. Whether I get there or not is another matter altogether because it is in the journey that we gather wisdom and as the Zen saying goes, it’s “process, not product” that matters.

My actual Taekwondo anniversary doesn’t happen until October. My anniversary of coming to the United States isn’t until July. But, my birthday is tomorrow and when 7:30am Manila time hits, I will be forty-six and when that happens I will male a vow to leave the best legacy for my son that I can – that I finish what I start and I never give up.

Thanksgiving And The Americanization Of An Immigrant

Thanksgiving And The Americanization Of An Immigrant


Happy Thanksgiving everyone! It's a little early, I know, but what the heck! I'm in a holiday frame of mind and Thanksgiving may be my favourite one.

I don't know whether I'm a patriot or not. I know I'm not a 'rah rah' jingoist.  But I do  live in America and have dual citizenship (US and Philippines) and I have a lot of love for this country. So, last week, when I heard reports of how Black Friday has actually turned into Black Thursday, I was saddened. This is not new, however, with stores opening its doors at midnight for early Christmas shopping deals in recent years. This yearm however,  shops are opening as early as 8pm and, for me, this is just not cool.

Holidays, like Thanksgiving and Christmas, are largely family affairs. It some cases, family from parts near and far, but whom you don't see on a daily basis, come by. It's a great time to spend with these individuals and for one's kids to really get to know their relatives. One can argue that going shopping as a group can be a family outing but, come on, let's get real. And, for the United States, Thanksgiving is such a unique holiday. It's one of THE important national holidays - like July 4th (when the country became its own) and Columbus Day (when it was discovered), which, sadly, seems to have gone by the wayside.

I find it a little funny, then, that I, an immigrant, is blogging about the glory of Thanksgiving. Most immigrants, I think, form a bond with July 4th. That day, after all, is when America became its own nation, independent from Britain, and meshes perfectly with the immigrant ideal of coming to America, breaking away on some level from the immigrant's native land, to form his or her own way in 'the land of the free and the home of the brave.' Thanksgiving, though,  is something I didn't grow up with in Hong Kong. I'd heard about it and studied about The Mayflower and The Pilgrims but that was it. Hong Kong, in my youth, was a British colony and I'm Filipino so Thanksgiving wasn't something we celebrated. (We did, though, take some of Thanksgiving's traditions such as eating a turkey with stuffing, which my mother learnt from her German-American father,  into Christmas).

So, perhaps, since it was something new to me, it became something special.

Every year, going back to when I was single and still living in my parents house in South Orange, I watch The Macy's Parade on TV. It's fun, exciting and helps bring in the holiday season. Now, married and a father, I do that with my wife and son. We're establishing our own traditions and, maybe, my son will continue them. Who knows? After the parade, we watch the dog show and then, as the bird is cooking, we go for a long walk. I think, for me, Thanksgiving became extra special because it was a holiday when my parents and I got to be together. Being the youngest, with two married sisters in other cities and a brother in Manila, a lot of the years before I got married and before my folks moved back to Manila were spent with just the three of us. More often than not, they would be in Manila for Christmas with my brother so Thanksgiving became our time.

I think becoming a father, too, made me appreciate Thanksgiving; not just as a family holiday but as an American holiday. My son, like me, has dual citizenship but he was born and is being raised in the United States (unlike me). He's the first generation of natural-born Americans in my immediate family (one my sister's has three daughters, all born in the US, and while she is part of my immediate family her husband and children are not). Add to this that I am an immigrant who has difficulty in knowing where to call home - Philippines (where I was born, hold citizenship, and I see myself ethnically as a Filipino), Hong Kong (where I was raised from 9 months to 16, where my heart calls home, and a city that tugs on the Chinese blood given to me by my paternal grandmother) or New Jersey, USA (where I've lived the last 28 years, hold citizenship, and experienced many of life's defining moments) - and who has  a strong sense of loss and displacement, I feel it's imperative that I forge a sense of belonging and roots for my son. My son was born in 2008, in America, and I want him to be able to say, unequivocally, where he's from. When I'm asked where I'm from, I'm always uncertain how to respond.

Also, in 2008, the first minority president was elected. Barack Obama, half black and half white, became our president and, yes, I voted for him. I liked what he had to say. I'm not a die-hard Democrat and I'd vote Republican if I thought the candidate would do the best for me and if that would, in turn, be the best for my family. In 2008, Obama made me believe he was that candidate. I felt the same way in 2012. But, more than his goals and policies, I felt a connection to him - as a biracial human being. In a way, I felt there was finally someone who would, on some level, put minorities and multi-ethnics somewhere close to the front of his thoughts. Furthermore, he has a strong Asian connection, having lived in Hawaii and Indonesia and he has Asian relatives. So, again, he was someone I, as an biracial immigrant citizen of this country, could relate to. Lastly, Obama spoke about - and speaks about - Americans taking care of Americans, crossing the aisle from the Democrat side of government to the Republican - and that is the kind of world I want my son to grow up in and, hopefully, influence. No man is an island and we should all watch each others' backs.

So, it is with this view of America - a 'new' America, if you will - and my American-born son and the special quality Thanksgiving has for me that I count down to Thursday and celebrate what I regard as the best of American holidays and usher in the holiday season. Thank you America for all you are and all you've given me and for what you will give my son.

God bless America and Happy Thanksgiving!

Nabeel

I got some great news, which I look at as a brilliant Christmas present, the other day. I was at the grocery store when an email came in, which I was able to check while I was shopping (one reason to love smart phones), that made me giddy with excitement. It was from my best friend, Nabeel, and in it he said that he was in The Hamptons with his sister for the holidays and that he was free after the New Year before flying back home to Stuttgart. Yes, Germany. 

Nabeel and I became fast friends and close friends during my last two years of school in Hong Kong. He's Pakistani, from Bristol, and I think we were in the same English Lit and/or Geography set at Island School. We also lived close to one another. I was at the now leveled 21 Tung Shan Terrace on Stubbs Road and he was at Villa Monte Rosa a couple miles up the road, if you went by car, but only about a half mile or so walk if you cut behind Tung Shan Terrace and across Bowen Road.

After moving to America, before the mass use of email and the internet, Nabeel and I kept in touch with letters. As happens when you get older and busier, the letters slowed down and eventually ceased but we were always in touch via mutual friends who'd travel to the States or when I'd travel to England and visit my sister. When the internet and email exploded, we kept in touch that way but with both of us busy - on the phone today, I just found that he's only home something like three days a week traveling for work to Moscow, Köln, Vienna, you name it - our correspondence is irregular except on our birthdays and holidays. Nonetheless, when we do catch up, it feels like it always has and that no time has passed between us. 

With Facebook, although he's not on it, we manage to keep up with each other through mutual friends who are. And, thanks to all of this social networking and digital communication, Nabeel and I will be getting together tomorrow. Naturally, I am thrilled and counting down the hours. He and I have gone through a lot since we last saw each other in 1997 during the handover of Hong Kong back to China. We've experienced personal and professional ups and downs. I've gotten married and become a father.  We've talked about Jude being the next generation of Hong Konger, at least by blood or association anyway. 

Tomorrow, we'll catch up, reminisce, talk about what's to come and when we part I'll be happy but I'll also be sad. I'll feel emotions for the same reason. Nabeel and I are friends regardless but, as classmates do, he represents some of the best days of my life and reinforces the longing for those days or, at least, the feelings of those days. For those who know me, I've established a life here in America but I've never really felt like America is home. Hong Kong is. Always will be. I know we all have to move on in our lives but for nostalgia, history, not forgetting where I came from, remembering the 'good old times' I will never completely let go of Hong Kong and Nabeel is a huge part of my Hong Kong. I believe that wherever we would've met, Nabeel and I would've become the same fast and close friends that we are. Our friendship is extra special because it was forged in such a special place that Hong Kong is and a place that I call my home.

I have a brother but the way things in our lives developed we never became close. I love him because he's my brother but I don't know if I can call him 'my friend," if that makes any sense. Nabeel, in my heart, mind and soul is both friend and brother. I love him and I cherish our almost thirty year friendship. And I can't wait to see him tomorrow.