Submission by USC Student Dolly Chowdhury
I remember this day like it was yesterday. The hot July sun beamed down on me as the summer breeze echoed through the canyons near my home. Although the streets had an eerie silence, I couldn’t help but feel a buzz – a palpable hue of anticipation throughout the suburban neighborhood. I was just ten years old when I stepped out of the back seat of my mother’s car with muddy cleats, putrid socks, and a first-place soccer trophy clenched in my arms.
Without a care in the world – including my mom’s brand-new truck – I jumped out of the car, running as fast as my little legs could take me to get into the house. My father has always supported me and my aspirations of playing collegiate soccer, and I was ecstatic for the opportunity to show him my trophy and wrap my arms around him. However, as I slammed the door open, I was greeted with something entirely different - and my exuberance quickly morphed into sheer horror…
On the floor, with his hands on his chest, my father was hunched over and in excruciating pain and discomfort. I immediately called for my mom to help me as I went to aid my dad. We all knew that he struggled with cardiovascular health, and it was our worst fear that he would one day succumb to a heart attack. Well, today was that day - one that we knew was likely, but dared not imagine. To fully understand the magnitude of this catastrophic event, it is imperative to understand my father’s background.
My dad, Sam, was born into extreme poverty. His Bangladeshi village grew infamous as one of the country’s most destitute. As such, knowledge was essentially non-existent, and medical care was nothing but a myth. As my father grew up, he was fortunate enough to leave his village and emigrate to the U.S. as a young adult. Although he was physically in a new country, his knowledge of himself, and specifically his own medical conditions remained constant. My father was born with a congenital heart condition that exposed him to a greater risk of heart disease or even a heart attack. For years, my dad was denied appropriate medical care. Yes, even in the greatest country in the history of the universe, my father was discriminated against because of his brown skin and relatively young age. Ultimately, his medical care was sparse, and would be lucky to see a doctor once a year. Oftentimes, he would see doctor’s at clinics who were unfamiliar with his disease or be treated by recent graduates with very limited medical experience. For lack of a better term, his condition was untreated.
As he grew up, and started a family in the states, his condition worsened and yet treatment was still unattainable due to his financial situation. I remember on my fifth birthday thinking to myself that my father looked much older than his 35 years. Although he was not biologically old at the time, we later learned that his conditions cause serious damage to his physical appearance, making him appear older than he was.
Now back to my nightmare…
My mom and I quickly helped him into the car and drove him to the hospital as fast as we could. When we arrived at the ER we were expecting the worst - a young, inexperienced doctor, who couldn’t discern a heart condition from a fractured hand.
Fortunately, my father received excellent care and was even referred to a cardiologist to treat his underlying conditions.That was 14 years ago and my dad has been a regular patient of this cardiologist since. Without the proper care he received that day, I’m sure he would not be here today…And even if he was, he would be a shell of himself.
As I have grown in my field, and studied aging and its effects in humans, one universal truth exists. Marginalized communities - specifically those without proper access to necessary healthcare - are exponentially more likely to develop more serious diseases, compared to those who can afford the best medical care available. We still have tons of work to do as a society to fix these issues, but the first step to solving any problem is recognizing the problem’s existence. Well, I believe it’s safe to say, “Houston, we have a problem!” And until we develop affordable treatments, expand medical care, and increase education, marginalized communities are doomed to leave their chronic conditions untreated, leading to a much more painful and difficult life.
Submission by Alumnus Lois Angelo
As published in the Daily Trojan:
https://dailytrojan.com/2021/10/29/back-in-my-day-fighting-to-stay-in-my-culture/
The buzz of my phone in the morning on my way to my first class of the day is a familiar and endearing feeling. Since high school, I always got the same message from my Mom, who usually worked through the morning and left before I came back from class. Ingat, mahal kita. This common phrase translates to "Stay safe, I love you," but reading it in Tagalog makes it feel so much special.
However, I often fear that I may lose touch with such a beautiful language as I become more and more integrated into American culture.
Tagalog and its many dialects are the cornerstone and pathway to understanding Filipino heritage and culture. With oral tradition being the main form of communication for early indigenous tribes, the inability to simply understand Tagalog can be detrimental in exploring Filipino culture and coming to grips with traditions such as Simbang Gabi, also known as the "Evening Mass." There are also many words and phrases that do not easily translate into English or other widely-known languages. For instance, everyday conversations between Filipinos include words such as kilig and pikon, words that would only bring about more confusion in translation rather than just simply understood in the context of Tagalog.
For many second-generation Filipinos, however, it's easy to garner an appreciation for the food, music and soap operas that are a staple of a Filipino's daily life. But dismissal from Filipino friends or even family members is an unnecessary painful consequence of not knowing Tagalog. The new generation of Filipino-Americans - myself included - should be gatekept from our culture because of certain language barriers. Sure, language connects a person to their self-identity and allows us to participate in civic responsibilities, but it should not hinder us from exploring our family and heritage.
For Filipinos, Tagalog has become a symbol of resilience and survival in the face of oppression and assimilation. For Filipino-Americans, this symbol of overcoming the odds could, in fact, be the odds themselves. Even beyond the Philippines, as many immigrant groups suffer through similar experiences as their language slowly fades away with assimilation and Westernization, an identity crisis for a new generation of immigrant children comes into play.
The growing population of Filipino-Americans, like many immigrant groups who journey to the United States, struggle with balancing the two identities present in the name itself, Filipino heritage and Western culture. The language has certainly grown in American households ranking third in foreign languages spoken in the United States, which has the highest concentration of Filipinos in the world outside of the Philippines. Looking at the state of California alone, only about 50% of the 1.4 million Filipinos speak Tagalog or some dialect of the main language, according to the Asian American Center for Advancing Justice. Whether
born in the Philippines or in the United States, Filipino-Americans share a similar set of beliefs and attitudes towards their newfound home. But an important differentiating factor between the two groups is the curiosity of American-born Filipinos to explore a culture they had essentially missed out on being born in another country altogether.
This identity crisis can divide the household when it comes to familial values, the value of education, and the appreciation of Philippine culture. Picture going to a family gathering or birthday party and not knowing anything going on it's your family, people that you know and respect speaking in a language beyond your knowledge. As mentioned before, one of the most heartbreaking losses that comes with the absence of Tagalog is the alienation from older adults and family members. I experienced stories like this when I was younger and could not completely understand Tagalog, as many relatives would tease me for being "fake" or refer to me as "the American."
For many Filipino-Americans, this confusion and even stigma eventually leads younger generations to distance themselves from family altogether and assimilate with American culture, something within their grasp. Even those Filipino-Americans who deliberately choose to investigate and understand their own culture encounter a new and increasingly relevant roadblock - the lack of education relating to Tagalog and Filipino culture in upper division. American education. The absence of such educational resources is evident even at the high school and middle school levels. We miss out on the true meaning of being Filipino by not learning Tagalog, a shared yet misunderstood sentiment can lead to the loss of Filipino tradition and culture meant to be shared in the melting pot that is the United States.
We can even rationalize why these losses occur. For Filipinos who migrate and live in America, the American Dream must not be lost in vain, even at the expense of culture and tradition. In the business world, it's uncommon for many companies to actively search out a candidate who speaks Tagalog, even with the demographic statistics provided above. It makes sense that Filipino parents would want their children to pursue and learn a language such as German, French, or Japanese that would be economically beneficial to family and personal income.
Filipino-Americans continue to struggle with the balance of melding and defying but have created their own identity. Immigrants, on one hand, should encourage their children to familiarize themselves with their mother tongue; however, these children should also be welcomed to the culture they are surrounded by on a daily basis. The creation of "Taglesh" and the establishment of Filipino-American communities in neighborhoods, parishes and universities are a testament to the success of our community here in the United States for years to come. Immigrant communities in the United States sadly constantly go through the struggle of assimilation versus accommodation, with their language and heritage sacrificed for success in the new world. But it simply does not have to be that way, so long as resources are made available to encourage intergenerational conversation. However, we cannot just rely on others to make these opportunities available for all.
A few decades down the line when I'm celebrating Filipino-American Heritage Month with a new generation of the Filipino-American, I'll look back and say, "Back in my day...