An istaytside life

CALIFORNIA-based Bicolano blogger Lorenzo Paran III has compiled over 50 essays capturing the experiences of a Filipino migrant struggling to assimilate into American life.

Entitled “An Isteytsayd Life, Not-so-random thoughts from a Pinoy living in America,” Paran shares situational tales—some amusing, some biting—that are instructive for fresh Pinoys in that part of the world.

LORENZO PARAN III lives in Southern California.

The essays, originally posted in his pinoyinamerica.blogspot.com from 2005 to 2010, make up a 169-page softbound book published by The University of the Philippines Press. They retell daily brushes with a culture and people different in so many ways from where he came from.

No more hotdogsilog

The differences are many but often subtle—the way they say things and celebrate holidays, for example.

Paran, a former English teacher at the University of the Philippines, tells about a Pinay who realized to her embarrassment that hotdogs are not normal breakfast fare in America but a snack usually associated with baseball games or school fairs.

Brainstorming at the office for a breakfast potluck, her coworkers gave her a puzzled look when she suggested bringing hotdogs.

San PEED-row

Paran also shares his encounters with Californians regarding English pronunciation.

“I was at the optical shop not too long ago and the optometrist’s assistant and I got to talking about clothing brands. I told her that I liked the brand Cherokee, which I pronounced as (che-RO-kee). At first the lady didn’t understand what I’d just said and I had to say it again. But still she couldn’t get it. Finally, after the third time, she said, “Oh (CHE-ro-kee),” he retells.

Another example is the word “comfortable,” usually pronounced (com-FORT-a-ble) in the Philippines. Californians pronounce it COM-fort-a-ble or COMF-ta-ble. For broccoli, it’s bro-CO-li there and BROC-co-li here.

San Pedro is pronounced here as san-PED-ro, but there with a long E, as in san-PEED-row.

He wonders if such pronunciation before fellow Pinoys would raise eyebrows.

Call me cargador

He also tells about his sudden change from teaching at the UP to initially working in a US store. “Multitasking,” is his coy description of having to help carry out boxes during his first few months in the United States.

“People were saying that nag-kakargador ako sa bodega. I didn’t mind this bit of tsismis,” he explains.

“I often had to go into the trailer myself hauling and throwing boxes onto the conveyor belt for other team members to empty. That does make me a kargador,” he writes.

“When I resigned from my teaching job at the University of the Philippines, I had fun telling people that I had joined the exodus of ‘brilliant Filipinos’ who have left the Philippines’ premier learning institution ‘for greener pastures.’”

Hey kababayan

Paran also tells about how he related to other Pinoys he met at his new place.
“To break the ice, I usually say something like ‘Ang dami naman (That’s a lot). That always puts the shopper at ease. And you know what happens when a Pinoy is put at ease, right? A kind of floodgate is unlocked. Suddenly you have a kababayan, kapitbahay at kaibigan (compatriot, neighbor and friend) rolled into one right before your eyes, talking too much with the sales associate.”

But he cautions that not all Pinoy-looking are Pinoys, and there are undocumented Pinoys who are wary of meeting Pinoy strangers for fear of being tipped off to immigration officers.

As for Filipinos being “second-class citizens,” which he heard from his balikbayan relatives, Paran writes: “I’m not saying discrimination doesn’t exist. I’m sure it does one way or another, but certainly nothing particularly widespread or out in the open that I’m aware of.”

Are you Pocahontas?

There’s a Pinay living in West Virginia who said she was the only foreign-looking person in town, retells Paran. One day, at the cleaners, this little boy kept staring at her and kept following her around the place, until he finally asked: “Are you Pocahontas?”

Animal arrive, pare

Paran brings in a “zany” dissection of the Pinoy’s penchant—even in America—of “mangling what are perfectly fine Tagalog idiomatic expressions like “pana-panahon lang yan” which becomes “weather-weather lang yan.”

Paran assumes it must be a Pinoy who owns a US taxi cab with these words emblazoned on the vehicle’s door: “Animal Arrive.”

“Hayop ang dating,” he translates.

Converting to pesos

In his first years in the United States, Paran says he couldn’t avoid always converting his expenses into pesos. This passes with time—an indication of finally settling into a new homeland.

“I converted all the time when I first got here. But not anymore… I’ve really begun to get use this life.”

Balikbayan?

Eventually Paran landed a job in the Los Angeles Newspaper Group, where he now writes headlines for a living.

“I’ve been living here for the past five years , and I think, barring cataclysmic events, this is where I’ll be … I guess I’ll be one of those old Pinoys in America, and an occasional visitor in a land he once knew,” he wrote in 2009.

His first homecoming was laden with emotions as he connected to his family and friends, taking note of prices and things that remain the same or had changed.
He muses: “What could be the meaning of being a balikbayan when one realizes his “home” is in another place?”

(The author was born in Daraga, Albay. He and his wife live in Southern California.)