The Big Aiyah

Mom, Dad, I Actually Like Sex

I know, I know, you're going to give me hell about this title, but the truth is this: the parental units don't need to know about your love life, and sure as hell, they don't want to hear about it. I'm going to step aside from the sexual connotations for a brief moment, and discuss some of the finer points of this argument. My parents have always idealized me dating someone who was Filipino. I suppose this is "keeping it in the family" so to speak. The ranking order of it all goes something like this: I would have to date 1) a Filipino; or 2) a half-Filipino Guy; or 3)a White Guy; or 4) an Asian Guy. They were somewhat particular about this, and wouldn't be overtly racist about it, but every now and then, a chirp from the kitchen would go something like this: "There are lots of nice Filipino boys out there."

Mom, Dad, I'd like you to meet Jamal.

Now, there actually was a Jamal in my life at one point, god bless him, but it wasn't what they initially expected. A 6ft tall black guy dating a short Filipina chick. Oh the visuals! This of course turned into a subtle attack on everything they ever wished or wanted for me. Mom would disinvite him from family parties, Dad did his best, but in the end, it wasn't part of the plan, and that of course messed things up for me. They wanted me to be happy, but why couldn't it be with Floriano Magpansal (stereotypical messed up multisyllabic Filipino last name that every teacher messed up during the 1st day of class)? However, in order to be happy, this meant that I needed to be 1) abstinent; 2) asexual; and 3) locked up in a green cargo container like that White Taliban boy in Afghanistan.

And you know, my pretties, that it ain't going down like that.

Balancing what they wanted for me and what I wanted for myself was a study in how to remain sane in the face of intense pressure to be something I didn't want to be, and something I felt like I couldn't be - uncompromising in my beliefs and values.

Now you know what they feel, you have to understand the slight amount of pressure that I was under to assail and nail the Filipino Man of their Dreams (tall, not so dark, an engineer or doctor, good family, good earning potential). All I wanted was the Man of My Dreams (tall, a darker shade of mestizo, employed, understands what a good family is, but not necessarily in one, got a job that doesn't involve fast food, taking off clothes or a vocabulary that involves only one-syllabled words.). Oh yah, and he has to make me happy, and for all intents and purposes, what made me happy was the fact that he loved me, and that they did, one after another. And the fact that he loved me had nothing to do with color or race or ethnicity, the fact was that he was there when I needed him the most. Breaking the race barrier of my dating career was making me akin to the Jackie Robinson. When I started dating Filipino guys (finally!), they were welcome to sleep over (not in my room, mind you), I could go away with them on vacations, I could do no wrong. So that's what it's like, hm? When your parents accept who you're dating, my brother said, it's all good.

Funny, they don't sweat him dating outside the Family.

And that's another thing...I'll save it for later.

Wrote a song about it, here it goes...

Voodoo

posted by Voodoo Child @ 8:32 PM