Wala Lang

Ever since I started getting numerous comments about my posts in this blog, I started feeling the pressure of putting out witty, incisive, and meaningful things to say.  But can you guys please allow me to let lose for a moment? These are my thoughts on the first night I experienced snow. Please let me be sappy just this once.

It was magical. I had just stepped out of the library that night.  It was 11:30pm and nobody was in the quad.  It was just me.  The snow was falling gently around me, everything was so silent, white, and serene.  I felt as if I was in Chronicles of Narnia.  And I just stood there, for maybe a full five minutes.  It was not just the snow, but it was the whole scene…the gothic spires of the Basilica, the ancient buildings surrounding the quad, the naked trees. Fantastic.

And then, I suddenly felt truly sad because I had nobody to share all this beauty with.

It is early in the morning in Notre Dame and I am listening to UP Concert Chorus songs about the Philippines.  It is amazing how emotional and nationalistic you can get when you are far away from your country.  I listened to their version of UP Naming Mahal and I am so embarassed to admit that I really cried.  Here in Notre Dame, we are taught that our loyalty is to God, country, and Notre Dame.  Well, I think my heart is still for God, country, and UP.  I owe my mind and whatever strength of spirit I have right now to these three entities.

I can honestly say that it was in UP that I decided who I am and who I am going to be. Some of my childhood friends who have only seen me after my 8 years in UP get so surprised.  It is difficult to explain to them what I went through for 8 years.  How do you explain the feeling of marching with fellow students in the middle of the streets of Manila, declaring that as an "iskolar ng bayan" you are now having your say?  How do you explain the rush of drinking beer with your country’s most respected writers and critics and actually engaging in a discussion with them?  How do you explain the intellectual satisfaction of sitting in a classroom arguing Sartre, Marx, and Constantino with people who you would later meet on the other side of the barricade?

UP taught us to live, love, and die for our country.  It does not, however, tell us how to go about it. And that, I believe, is the best part of all. I try to live and love for my country. I find my own ways to do it. And if the time comes for me to die for my country…I pray to God that if ever that happens, I will be doing honor to UP.

I am what I am now because of UP — whether the world likes it or not.

I never thought I would be a big fan of football.  Yesterday, however, I was partying hard at a tailgate and then went to the stadium, along with 80,000 people, with a tattoo of the leprechaun on my face and reeking of that Irish beer, guinness.  I cheered for the Fighting Irish, booed the orange-clad players from Tennessee and sang lustily the Notre Dame fight song.  Yup, I’ve become a Fighting Irish…green and true.

Being Irish is not being too far from being a Filipino.  We actually share similar histories and both peoples love to laugh, sing, get drunk, and eat potatoes. Ireland was under harsh English rule for centuries.  The Philippines was also under harsh Spanish rule for centuries.  Both peoples were kept poor by their colonizers and both peoples fought hard for freedom.  When the Irish migrated to America, they were made to take the dirtiest and hardest jobs…working at kitchens, docks, meatpacking plants, etc.

Why are people from Notre Dame called the Fighting Irish?  Before the university was founded, the only good universities in the Midwest were predominantly Protestant universities which discriminated against the poor Catholic kids from Ireland.  So, when Notre Dame was set up in the late 1800s, these Irish kids from the poor working class went to study here.  Football was their way of waging "war" against the universities who did not take them in because they were too poor.  These kids fought hard to excel in academics and sports. Thus, they were called the Fighting Irish.

I told my professor that Filipinos have somehow replaced the Irish here in America.  And yes, we are fighting hard, aren’t we?  One of these days, maybe our children will be proud to say that they are Fighting Pinoys?  Let us hope so.