Not Filipino enough

Why don’t you write in Filipino?

I’ve been asked that question many times. Often, the question was asked with a chiding tone. It always made me squirm to hear it because I didn’t have an answer. The truth is I never realized it until someone pointed it out. All of my songs are in English.

Why don’t I write in Filipino?

I was raised by an Ilocano father and a Tagalog mother. Though they sometimes conversed in Ilocano when they wanted to keep things private, Filipino, with a sprinkling of English, was the main language in our home. We watched both English and Filipino fare on TV. As a child, I’d learn how to read and spell from Sesame Street, and then lose myself in the classic black and white Sampaguita films they’d show in the afternoons. Switching from English to Filipino and vice versa was as natural as breathing, but only when we spoke it. To read or write in it was a different matter.

In our shelves filled with books, I don’t recall seeing one printed work written in Filipino. That didn’t mean my parents were unpatriotic. They had books on Philippine history and culture, folktales, and legends. A lot of these books were even published and distributed free by the government. But all of them were in English.

So when I started writing, first my poems and stories, then later on, my songs, I wrote them in English.

It seemed more natural to me. I didn’t think anything of it until someone asked me that question, “Why don’t you write in Filipino?” The question was like an arrow pointing at me, labeling me not Filipino enough. It pointed at the way I stuttered when I read Filipino text out loud, or how I take twice as long to finish reading a paragraph written in Filipino. It poked at how I can type 50 English words a minute but probably not even 20 in Filipino. It stabbed at the mestiza complexion I inherited from my Spanish ancestors. It felt more of an accusation than a question.

In college, I was surrounded by some hardcore writers and composers that wrote and conversed in Filipino so deep I felt like drowning in the waves of their words each time they spoke. I wanted so badly to be one of them, but my competency in Filipino trickled rather than flowed.

Then I apprenticed at the theater company known for their Filipino plays. I forced myself to ride the waves instead of drowning in them and started writing songs in Filipino. I wrote one for a children’s play to which the director said, “It’s good but doesn’t it sound like a Joey Ayala song?” He used it anyway but that still didn’t make me feel like I belonged. He was right. It did sound like a Joey Ayala song. It was a fine tribute to a Filipino songwriter that I admired but nothing of me was there.

Musical desert

That was when my songwriting came to a sudden halt. Before I tell you why, let me explain my songwriting process: I usually write the words and music at the same time. I believe that I’m just a channel for my muse and all I need to do is allow her to course through me. Which is why, one day, wanting to prove that, yes, I’m “Filipino enough,” I challenged my muse and translated her words to my mother tongue. That rebellion resulted in 12 long years of exile in a musical desert.

Despite my propensity to write in English, I never wanted to leave the Philippines to live in a land where they spoke it. But, after getting married, my husband accepted work to teach in the US and I had to relocate with him. A year later, we started performing as a musical duo. In the beginning, we performed cover songs. Then, one day, my muse returned. She had finally forgiven me for rejecting her words.

Having learned my lesson of 12 years, I allowed myself to be a channel again. No more rebellion. No more translations.

WATCH He Sang She Sang perform “Steady” here:

But even here, I haven’t escaped the question. I’m still asked why I don’t write in Filipino, but it feels more like a matter of curiosity rather than an accusation.

People here don’t speak my language. It’s of no importance to them unlike back home where it seems to be tied to many things that could define me. Here I feel that I’m different because I’m Filipino – finally. My songs may be in English, but there is no doubt in everyone’s minds that I’m not American. It’s not only because of how I look. It’s in my values and the way I carry myself. It’s in the choices I make, how I love, and in the way I live.

I feel a certain sadness that I had to uproot myself from my country in order to feel more of a Filipino. But, now that I’m removed from the expectations back home, I can see how my insecurity could have only been a consequence of my perception. And the other way around, too. The question was just a question and wasn’t demanding more than what the 6 words of which it was comprised asked. Maybe.

But of this I’m finally sure: I now know who I am and have come to accept it. I’m a Filipino songwriter who simply happens to write her songs in English. – Rappler.com

Alma Cabel Dytoc is a composer, musician, music teacher, and awkward dancer. She is half of the acoustic duo, He Sang She Sang, that is steadily making waves in Georgia where she, her husband, and adopted American daughter-cat live.

#BalikBayan is a project that aims to harness and engage Filipinos all over the world to collectively rediscover and redefine Filipino identity.

Woman with guitar image via Shutterstock