Last night, I received a heartbreaking call from my "birth home" which catapulted me into panic, distress, and depression. I felt my world shattered -
again. As far as I remember, my family is always dealing with one crisis from another, so whenever I hear the word "birth home" I am beginning to associate this word to crisis, dilemma and other words that also pertain to suffocation and drowning. (
I think anyone who has dealt with familial greed and envy knows how it feels. I associate it to drowning because I have a cousin who, was so envious I could swim/float, tried to drown me.)
In this entry, I would like to make it clear that the place I am referring to is
Kalinga, Philippines - my birthplace. So if you'd ask me how I identify my tribal identity. I am Kalinga by birth and Igorot by blood.
I will always acknowledge the Philippines as my "birth home" and Hawaii "my home." I was 17 when I left the Philippines and much of my life now is here. Being of Filipino descent and of American citizenship has its ups and downs. I am sometimes labeled as too American by my Filipino family and too Filipino by my American family. I sometimes feel caught in-between.
These are photos I took the last time I visited "birth home."
This is
Kayni's Tree. My grandpa planted this tree and it was toppled down by a typhoon. It amazes me that it's still alive and thriving to this day.
No matter how many people try to topple me down, I am still here - alive and thriving.
When you sit or lie down on Kayni's Tree, this is the view.
Green gold and sometimes worth dying or killing for.
The house I grew up is surrounded by rice fields.
Rice fields guarded by a lonely scarecrow. Sometimes, "birth home" brings back a lot of lonely memories.
BUT no matter how "birth home" left a bitter distaste in my mouth, it's still worth fighting for.