I am a sexy Pinay, hear me roar!

Note: Too flared up to proofread. Pardon the mistakes. I am only human, albeit a sexy one.

My blogging Mom, Tita Dine a.k.a. SexyMom was attacked by a so-called “Decent Mom” just because Tita Dine uses the word, “sexy” as part of her blogging handle. The other mom vehemently points out that when foreigner pervs type out, “sexy mom” on their search engine, they get linked to Tita Dine’s blog. And since Tita Dine is a Filipina, she somehow disgraces the entire Filipino race by being listed in pervs’ search engine links.

Huh?

I know.

Read the abomination here.

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I had wanted to write down all my thoughts here as a response to the Filipina and Philippines campaign as mentioned by Tita Dine on her latest post but I couldn’t seem to organize them properly. I guess I would just have to break them down into parts. Please, bear with me. I am not much of an essayist.

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What’s wrong with the word sexy? My frigging gawd, there is actually someone narrow-minded enough to actually condone the use of the word to describe Filipinas!

As if not attaching the word “sexy” to the women of our race can actually change our so-called image overnight. As if like any other word, “sexy’s” meaning is confined to use in the sole context of something that can “only remain in the bedroom.” As if our beauty, our intelligence, our strength and courage, our warmth and kindness, and all things Filipino women are do not warrant the term, “sexy.”

Well, shove it!

I am Flori. I am beautiful. I am intelligent. I am strong and brave. I can still see the bright side of things no matter how bleak the circumstances can be. I care and I love with a passion. I am a Filipina. And damn right, I am sexy!

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I am an advocate of Filipina empowerment. God knows we need it. During my stay in Japan, I had my share of being discriminated against not only because I was/am a woman, but also a Filipina to boot. Trust me, the use of the word “sexy” (or lack there-of) has got nothing to do with it.

Some people wouldn’t sit beside me in trains and buses. One time when I went out to go clubbing in Roponggi with other Filipina students and some Japanese friends, some Africans came on to us thinking we were easy. Old men and boys (as young as middle school!) tried to pick me up with lines such as, “Wanna go for some tea?” or “Hang out with me, why doncha?” just because of my “exotic” looks. There were some prospective part-time work that I could have gotten if not for the fact that I was not white. Never mind that the only other choice for the job is a German who couldn’t speak English that well.

What else to do in these situations but to act with tact and grace.

But the worst probably was when I was treated like an outcast in my Japanese Lit and Culture classes because as one of the only two Asians in the bunch, many of my European classmates thought I couldn’t speak a word of English. I did not participate much in class discussions because I preferred to speak only when I had something good to contribute. I did not know that this would actually result to my lack of invitations to drinking sprees and off-campus parties (not that I was too keen in going anyway). My two French friends, Marie-Line and Eliacin, who had sadistic streaks in them would just snicker in conspiracy as my other classmates talked about me as if I were not present in the room. I did not actually hear anything derogatory. Conversations would go like (especially pertaining to my Thai classmate),

Should we invite the little brown girl?
I don’t think she can speak English.
What do you think?

This continued for months until the 2002 World Cup ended and everyone decided to have a complete attendance in class for once. Old Wyrd has good timing as I was the only one who prepared for the oral report in class. It was my chance to exact revenge. Nyahahahaha!

I walked towards the desk in front of the class where I was supposed to do my presentation. My chin was up and my chest was out. I was prepared and all ready to do battle. I took a deep breath and began…

I put my best English in those 3 pages of impressions and perceptions about the Japanese culture in the eyes of a Filipina. I livened the report by peppering it with anecdotes that would emphasize my various points.

I was too intent in doing my best that their reactions hardly registered until the end of my presentation. Sure, I heard the chuckles and gasps while I was telling my stories but their strong applause and one very audible, “Oh my God, she can speak English!” was more than satisfying indeed. I was just so proud of myself!

Imagine what that little incident did to my social life. Everyone suddenly started talking to me. Invitations started pouring in. I was happy and flattered. But nothing beat the fact that I proved them wrong about ME.

The irony did not escape me though. I appreciated the fact that they accepted me in their circle. But it was only one hurdle I had to face. I was in Japan as a Filipina scholar and I took to heart the fact that I was like an ambassador of some sorts and must behave accordingly. Even the beer-loving girl that I was, I still acted responsibly during our night-outs. I would drink only what I felt I could handle and nothing more. Instead of disgracing myself during an all-nighter karaoke binge, I would merely sing until I got too hoarse to even whisper. And though I would join in some naughty jokes, I would always make it a point that I do it out of wit and not mere crass. Some laughed at my “innocence,” yet they admired my knowledge in everything else as I debated with the Europeans about world issues.

Another thing, I actually joined the university’s annual Japanese speech contest because I was volunteered by another Filipina classmate ( I swear, Weng. I wanted to kill you at that time. You knew I was too busy with work so how dare you volunteer me!). My classmate backed-out and that Pinoy pride refused to succumb to the very powerful urge to back-out myself. Despite the fact that I was the contestant who had the lowest level in Japanese, and that I had to rely on my theater skills of projection to enthrall my audience (with the help of Lenna-chan for the pronunciation and other Nihongo stuff), I still won second place!

Weird, but it was not only personal pride that made me prove myself worthy of being there. I really wanted them to change their views about Filipinos. All they know about us is as how we are depicted in the international news scene (which is a pretty dismal picture). I realized how large the impact of how one presents himself or herself has on other people’s impression of not only the person but of what everything he or she stands for.

Case in point, one Briton exchange student said that he thought most Filipinos were uber-wealthy because the only other Filipino he knew was a friend of a friend who always had a personal butler with him. Talk about generalizations.

So you see, it’s actions and not words that actually do the job. To really empower the Filipina, she must learn to take pride of what she is. She must remember that wherever she goes, she does not only represent herself or her family, but her country as well. If she wants to be treated with respect, then she must earn that respect by respecting herself as well.

And it has nothing to do with being sexy.