Three-Week Philippine History in my Home

By Marilyn Rayray

APRIL 16, 7 PM, I was behind our door ready to ring the bell when I heard my 10-year old daughter asking her father to help her out on something. She sounded so excited that I heard her repeatedly saying, “Please, Papa…” I decided to eavesdrop for a while and find out what my daughter is up to again this time.

In mixed French-English-Filipino words she said, “Tu peux m’aider, Papa? I have this exposition about Philippines pag “rentree” na but I can’t do it alone. Ce n’est vraiment pas facile. Please, Papa?”

“Lhyanne, hindi nga ako magaling sa history ng Pilipinas. Antayin mo si Mama at sigurado marami siyang alam,” my husband replied.

“Pero Mama is toujours occupée.” Hearing this, I rang the bell. After kissing them, I asked about what was worrying her and assured her that my work schedule would not be so tight for the next two weeks since it’s spring break and I’ll have time to help her out.

“May exposition ako about Philippines, ça veut dire, I have to present the geography, culture, histoire, commerce, paysages, etc., etc.” “J’ai deux semaines, Maman. Il faut bien expliquer que les philippines, peuple de la mer,” she added.

Out of nowhere, my son jokingly said, “Mga syokoy daw mga Pilipino, yun ang alam ng mga Pranse. Manood ka kasi ng TV Patrol.”

That’s it. My daughter flared up as expected. “Tu dis n’emporte quoi, Kuya. Et en plus, hindi totoo yung palabas dun. They’re just scary stories. Fiction!” (We have TFC but we don’t get to watch programs even news whenever my daughter is around. She doesn’t like watching or hearing about the Philippine news.)

It was time to intervene and calm her down before a petty quarrel between them would begin. I promised her that night that we will work on it together and that she will have the best exposition ever presented in her class.

My children weren’t born here in France. I brought them here five years ago, (my daughter was 5 and my son was 9) then. Life is never easy when you’re abroad, but it is not any easier when you are away from your children. So no matter how hard, my husband and I decided to have them with us here in Paris.

They spoke good Pilipino when they arrived.  We made sure that Pilipino will be the language at home as they might forget it if we speak French. Later on, I decided to integrate English as well as it has been a necessity. My son is coping fairly well. My daughter, well, she had all the three languages mixed-up. We don’t worry about it as we hope that she will get by in time just like my son. When discussing sensitive issues, my husband and I would talk in our native dialects (Ilocano and Pangasinan).

For the whole spring break, my daughter and I worked head-to-head to come up with a well-presented exposition about our home country. My tiresome day vanished as she enthusiastically showed her research from Wikipedia.fr, enumerating our country’s pride (I knew them by heart when i was younger). Her eyes glowed as she proudly discussed the history of the Philippines from Magellan to President Arroyo. With our joint research, hers from the French website and mine, from stock knowledge and from informative Philippine tourism websites, we have come up with a beautifully-designed, well-sequenced, and equipped with photos –“Philippine exposition”.

The last few days were spent training her on oral presentation. “Maman, what if they ask me to sing the national hymn?” she suddenly asked in the middle of her presentation. “I surely would not be able to do it. Que s’ils me demandent de le traduire? Oh non, comment faire, alors, Maman?! she exclaimed.

I printed out “Lupang Hinirang” and taught her how to sing it. “This won’t do,” I thought. She barely understood the lyrics, and certainly won’t be able to translate it if asked  I foresaw a disaster. While singing the last lines, a familiar tune came humming over my ears: “Ako ay Pilipino, ang dugo’y maharlika…” I sang it louder as I started moving my hands with the beat and sang it with all my heart. My girl seemed to have been enchanted as she listened closely and was startled to see tears falling from my eyes. I, myself, was surprised. I got carried away, I thought.

“You see, I’ve done this for years, leading the song at the flagpole area where everyone is gathered for flag ceremony in my school every morning.” “That’s how we pay tribute to the Philippine flag and show our love for our country,” I dreamily narrated to her.

“Tu es triste, Maman kasi nami-miss mo ang Philippine, no?”  I answered her with a kiss on her forehead and we both continued to practice singing “Ako Ay Pilipino” until bedtime. She slept with a smile sculpted on her face and it felt so great seeing her that way. When was the last time I put her myself to bed? I just could not recall.

The realization came flooding in front of me. For the past few years, I just realized that I have been so preoccupied with all the how-to-survive-concerns in this part of the world. I work 10 hours a day to keep up with the European pace of living. I barely bonded with my children. I am even surprised to see how big they have grown. This Philippine exposition had wakened me up to the fact that I am a mother of two. That despite the fact that we are living in the western world which is not so family-oriented, we are still a Filipino family bound by love and need. I shook my head and determined to make up for the lost time. I know it’s not too late.

Late afternoon of May 3, I received a SMS from my husband; “Bilisan mo umuwi, may surprise daw si Lhyanne.” I hurried home to find my daughter waving her “cahier de correspondence” before my eyes. In there was a message written by her teacher saying how brilliant she had presented her exposition and congratulating us, her parents for having a smart daughter like Lhyanne. My daughter was so proud that she monopolized the conversation over dinner about how her classmates were amazed by the islands and historical places she presented, how they admired the beaches and culture of the Philippines. She really had delivered it so well that her classmates had voiced out their plans of asking their respective parents about visiting the Philippines on their summer holidays.

Nothing could compare the feeling we feel as parents seeing our child so overjoyed, indeed. We knew it doesn’t end there. Knowing our daughter, we expect series of happy stories about her exposition. And so it goes…

Next day, she spent hours browsing Philippine websites for local animals, pearls and the islands. She had a pile of printed pictures she planned to distribute to her friends the next day. Before bedtime she remarked, “Philippines est vraiment paradis, Maman.” “J’aime bien Philippines!” I nodded in agreement and bade her goodnight.

Thursday night, I came home late from church. I thought my daughter would be sound asleep by then but she waited for me for one statement and a question: “Ma, I told the class mapapalitan na ang President ng Philippines kasi may election na on May 10. Yung gustong maging president, ilan daw sila, tanong ng mâitre ko?”

“9 ang presidential candidates natin, anak. Tulog ka na ha, it’s way past your bedtime.”

On Fridays, I get off from my job earlier and marks the start of my 3-day cooking schedule which ends on Sunday nights. I rang the bell for couple of times, nobody seemed to hear me. This is weird, I thought. Where’s my daughter rushing every night to open the door for me? I kept pressing the ringer button until I got tired and dialed our phone number instead. My son picked it up and I got in complaining what took him so long. Apparently, he was in the bathroom and he expected her sister to open the door. I went in our bedroom looking for my daughter. There she was on our bed lying on her stomach, sobbing.

“What’s the matter, anak? May masakit ba sayo?”

She sat on our bed and looked up to me in disbelief, “Ma, sabi ng mga copins ko, hindi daw totoo yung exposition ko about Philippines. Ayaw ng mga parents nila mag-visit sa Philippines kasi c’est dangereux daw. Maraming crimes at terrorists.  And my teacher said our government is corrupt kaya daw marami gusto maging president. Ca n’est  pas vrai, huh, Maman?” “Je lui déteste!” She burst into tears.

I held her so tight, her face on my bosom. My heart was so broken that I couldn’t say a word. I pacified her somehow because she stopped crying and her shoulders steadied. She rose and asked, “Why are we here, Maman?” She bombarded me with her WHY’s. “Why did we leave our country? Bakit po Ma? Ang Philippines ang pinaka-beautiful country, di ba? Bakit dito tayo nakatira? Can we just go back and doon na lang tayo, forever?”

I bit my lip. I closed my eyes; I didn’t know how to answer. I was so disheartened to see innocence from her questioning eyes. I pulled her back to my chest and kissed her head while caressing her hair gently whispering, “You’ll understand in time, mahal ko.”

(Ms. Marilyn Rayray (formerly Paed) is from Barangay Turac, San Carlos City. Her husband is from Malasiqui. Their family now resides in France)

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