One balmy night in 2007, in between mouthfuls of our favorite Pinoy food in a restaurant called Angelines
, she said and I quote verbatim, ‘The older I get the more it makes sense that I should marry a Filipino’
. That very moment my jaw was semi-paralyzed in disbelief, leaving the rice and bistek hanging tasteless in my mouth.
That can’t be. She was the epitome of the immigrant Ilocano who can no longer claim the Philippine north as home. Western culture has claimed her whole making it unbelievable that she would actually consider such prospect. And from my slightly naive scheme of things during those times, I considered her the guru of crossing racial lines and breaking international borders … the very person who convincingly did a great job of expanding my once unwilling mind to the exciting prospect and reality of interracial connections. How ironic! Just when I started embracing the thought, the guru flakes out on me and suddenly subscribes to the belief I tried so hard to trash before — racial exclusivity especially in matters of the heart.
After having been revived from my shocked state, I laughed so hard that night. It was 2007, the hottest of summer like how it is tonight.
Now, it’s 2011. Really. Yes. She married a Filipino for real. And as planned.
What can I say. I’m again paralyzed in disbelief.
Maybe I will laugh later like before …