Long road to Delano: A Village in the Fields comes home

No history, no self; know history, know self. – José Rizal, Filipino patriot and national hero, physician, and man of letters

All these past months – a blur to me now – all came down to this Labor Day Weekend, the 50th Anniversary of the Delano Grape Strike. My novel, A Village in the Fields, came out the Friday before – no small feat. My publisher, Eastwind Books of Berkeley, and I worked hard the last five months to get the novel out in time for this historic event, Bold Step: A Celebration of the 50th Anniversary of the Delano Grape Strike. It was worth the sleep deprivation.

The Filipino Community Cultural Center of Delano, home of Bold Step: A Celebration of the 50th Anniversary of the Delano Grape Strike.

The Filipino Community Cultural Center of Delano, home of Bold Step: A Celebration of the 50th Anniversary of the Delano Grape Strike.

I’ll admit that I was a little apprehensive about the weekend because I’d spent most of those five months focused on editing, production, and then marketing and promotion activities. There was no moment of stepping back and enjoying the moment or thinking about the reception in Delano. As we packed up the van, which our friends Raissa and Mike lent us, with 20 boxes of my novel, I told myself I wouldn’t bring any work with me. I needed to decompress, enjoy the moment, and anticipate what I would say or do up on the stage during the open-mike evening and with anyone who came to our table to inquire about the book. As we drove down Interstate 5 in bumper-to-bumper traffic Friday early evening, I wondered whether I should practice reading the chosen excerpt or choose another passage. I was already stressed that we weren’t leaving when I had hoped to leave.

On Filipino time
If there is one overarching theme, it is that we were on Filipino time even before we left for Terra Bella/Porterville/Delano! I was looking forward to a leisurely dinner to celebrate my cousin Janet and her husband Tim’s anniversary. They ended up getting Mexican takeout and having it ready for us when we pulled up at 10:30pm. After dinner, Janet and I stayed up till past 1 in the morning catching up, even though David and I had to be in Delano before 10am on Saturday.

FANHS Delano Chapter president Alex Edillor welcoming everyone to Bold Step.

FANHS Delano Chapter president Alex Edillor welcoming everyone to Bold Step.

The festivities begin
We were late, but so were the festivities. The welcome and keynote address was held at the Filipino Community Center on Glenwood Street, which was a meeting place for Filipinos made historic during the grape strikes. Alex Edillor, president of the newly formed Delano chapter of the Filipino American National Historical Society (FANHS), welcomed the audience who hailed from cities and towns up and down the state. Other dignitaries included Paul Chavez, son of Cesar Chavez and president of the Chavez Foundation, the mayor of Delano, and keynote speaker, Rob Bonta, California State Assemblyman Rob Bonta of Alameda. Bonta is the first Filipino-American elected to the California legislature and author of AB123, which requires California schools to teach Filipino-American contributions to the farm labor movement in social science curriculum, and AB 7, which requires the Governor to proclaim Larry Itliong Day in California on his birthdate of October 25th and encourage public schools to teach about Itliong’s life and contributions to California.

State Assemblyman Rob Bonita giving the keynote address.

State Assemblyman Rob Bonta giving the keynote address.

From the Filipino Community Center, we set up shop at Robert F. Kennedy High School, along with other vendors at the campus food court for the lunch break. The dance troupe Kayamanan Ng Lahi, adorned in beautiful and colorful traditional dress, put on a wonderful performance, which included the tinikling and a dance to the classic Filipino love song, Dahil Sa Iyo.

A fancier tinikling dance than I'm used to seeing.

A fancier tinikling dance than I’m used to seeing.

Tinikling dance gets livelier.

Tinikling dance gets livelier.

During the lunch hour, we cultivated relevant contacts, including an executive committee member of the National Education Association who was a contemporary of the farm labor movement. I talked with Dr. Oliver Rosales, who teaches history at Bakersfield College and the University of California at Santa Barbara. He was part of a terrific panel, which included Dr. Dawn Mabalon of San Francisco State and Dr. Robyn Rodriguez of UC Davis – she read an advance copy of my novel and blurbed me. During that panel, Dr. Rosales emphasized that he wanted to include Filipino-American courses and materials to his teachings because his Filipino-American students were thirsty for more knowledge about their heritage.

Dr. Oliver Rosales.

Dr. Oliver Rosales.

Once the symposium started, everyone moved over to the learning center auditorium, which was across campus. I wanted to watch and listen, so David stayed behind, only to pack up shop in a little while because everyone had gone in. By this time, Janet and Tim and the kids joined us. It was really wonderful for Janet and Tim to be here with me and learn about the part of our Filipino American history that has been obscured for so long. The rest of the panels included a personal film by John Armington – a tribute to his immigrant father Bob Armington, a discussion of what had preceded and paved the way for the grape strikes, and historical legacies and new activism, the latter a necessity because sadly we still see exploitation and discrimination in the labor force.

Dr. Mabalon and Dr. Rodriguez on historical legacies.

Dr. Mabalon and Dr. Rodriguez on historical legacies.

A mom moment
At the evening event, a reception and open-mike, we were treated to young slam poets who impressed me with their mastery of their poems and the passion in their voice and their artistic ability to express their experiences as “other.” I read the first chapter of the novel when it was my turn. In retrospect, David and I agreed that I should have read a section from the strike, and that the first chapter is more in line with any other crowd. I wasn’t nervous, mostly because the event was outdoors and I couldn’t really see anyone’s face. I confess that I didn’t read the Ilocano sentences or phrases for obvious reasons; rather, I read them in English. I was already anxious about incorrectly pronouncing the word “manong” because I’d been pronouncing it a different way. (I want to call out and give thanks to my cousin Annie who explained to me that the accents change when you address someone using the term versus when you are referring to the group as a whole or using the historic reference to them.)

My first public reading from A Village in the Fields, Delano, Calif.

My first public reading from A Village in the Fields, Delano, Calif. Master of ceremonies Herb Delute kindly held the flashlight for me.

The next day, a few people who came up to the table and bought my book told me that they had listened to me at the open-mike event and said they were impressed and that I read very well. My ease is in part from having to do public speaking in my profession, which has been an invaluable experience. Also, through the years of working on this book, late at night, I would often read revised passages in my head or out loud and transform myself into an unabashed thespian. I was a little more restrained Saturday evening, but my heart was in it. The biggest thrill for me, however, was when I walked off the stage and Isabella and then Jacob came up and gave me a hug. Later, I found out that Jacob had posted on Instagram and wrote: “My mom, reading a part of her novel at the Filipino Community Cultural Center of Delano. Her novel came out yesterday. It took her a long time to accomplish her goal, and I’m so happy for her!” That was all the validation I needed at that moment and now.

Selfie with Marissa Aroy.

Selfie with Marissa Aroy.

I was honored to sit with Marissa Aroy during Saturday’s sessions and chat in-between the session breaks selling our respective DVDs and books. I met Professor Allyson Tintiangco-Cubales, who is using my novel in her Filipino/a American literature class this fall. I talked at length with Johnny Itliong, son of labor leader Larry Itliong. I connected with two Filipino-American librarians from San Jose Public Library, who were interested in a reading at the library. I gained more knowledge about the strike and unions of the past and of today from veteran labor leader Al Rojas. And I met wonderful people like Dale, a student from my alma mater UC Davis, who was just as thrilled as I was about the Aggie connection and the enthusiasm for my book. I’ll admit to enjoying my celebrity moments when people asked if they could have their picture taken with me.

Book signing!

Book signing with a smile!

We missed the luncheon at the Terra Bella Veterans Memorial Building for the 60th anniversary of the San Esteban Circle – and I missed catching up with my cousins and seeing other relatives. We were late to the dance, though we were able to see my cousin Annie and her mother, my Auntie Berta, who at age 93 was being honored for her work with the San Esteban Circle. She is not only a pioneer with the club, but she is the only one left of my father’s generation. We stopped by another cousin’s house to catch up with four more cousins, and we stayed up past midnight talking about Ilocano translations and the book.

Agbayani sign.

Agbayani sign.

The interior of Agbayani Village.

The interior of Agbayani Village.

After the Sunday events concluded, since we missed the bus tour of historic sites, we drove to Agbayani Village, which wasn’t that far away from RFK High School. Growth had indeed come to Delano because the last time I was here in 2004, Agbayani Village was isolated from the rest of the town. The village is still operational and clean and tidy; it is being rented out to retired farm workers. The kitchen and recreation room building was locked up, but we could peer inside and see the photographic displays still up for the tours. The garden, line of trees and cacti, goats in their pens, and vacant rabbit hutches, however, were gone. What stood was a vast empty field of cracked earth with a layer of powdery topsoil. I was sad to see that part of the village gone. But I was excited to share the village with Janet and Tim, and especially Jacob and Isabella.

Vineyards across the street from Agbayani Village.

Vineyards across the street from Agbayani Village.

As we walked through the village one last time and headed out through the main entryway, we came upon an elderly Filipino man who sat on a chair facing out. It seemed as if he was waiting for us, so we stopped to talk to him. His name was Edmundo. He told us he came to Agbayani Village in 1982. When we mentioned that Janet and I were related to Fred Abad, his face lit up. Fred was a good friend of his, and he said he was so happy to know that somebody else knew his good friend. He laughed and smiled and walked us out to the parking lot. That meeting touched my heart.

Resident Edmundo at Agbayani Village.

Resident Edmundo at Agbayani Village.

Because the Sunday afternoon sessions ran late, we were late getting back to Porterville. Our anniversary dinner out for Janet and Tim ended up at Super Burgers on Olive Avenue. We hurriedly ate and then David, Tim, and I headed back to the Veterans Memorial Building for the San Esteban Schools Alumni Association event, while Janet took the kids home. I sat with Annie and her mom. While we waited for my introduction, Annie and I surfed through her family photos, which she has been slowly digitizing. What a wonderful walk through nostalgia.

One of Annie's photos from the 1960s: roasting a pig in her family's backyard. I recognize many of my relatives here and recognize my dad's red sweater. He's holding onto me. I'm guessing the terror on my sister Joyce's and my face is from watching a pig being roasted. Vegetarian friends, look away!

One of Annie’s photos from the 1960s: roasting a pig in her family’s backyard. I recognize many of my relatives here and recognize my dad’s red sweater. He’s holding onto me. I’m guessing the terror on my sister Joyce’s and my face is from watching a pig being roasted. Vegetarian friends, look away!

Kudos go to my cousin Leila Eleccion Pereira: During the awards and recognition ceremony for the community’s student scholars, Leila presented my book to the top scholar, who was attending UC San Diego and wanted to become a pediatrician. She gave a brief introduction and had me come up to address the audience. I talked about my mom and dad, the backstory to the novel, and how I wanted to learn more about our history and contributions to the farm labor movement and share that not only with our community but the global community. When I told everyone that our young generation needs to learn about and embrace their history, I was heartened to see some of the students nodding their heads – such a satisfying moment for me. We sold many books, and I give Leila all the credit for her introduction, her enthusiasm, her pride.

My cousin Leila and me.

My cousin Leila and me.

Addressing the audience: telling them about the book's origins, dedicating the novel to my parents and our community, and waxing poetic about remembering and honoring our history.

Addressing the audience: telling them about the book’s origins, dedicating the novel to my parents and our community, and waxing poetic about remembering and honoring our history.

I was touched by the request by two moms who wanted to take a picture of me with her sons, who were holding up my book. Two college students, one a recent graduate from UCLA, the other still at Loma Linda University, bought a book. We chatted for a bit, and they understood the need to remember our history, which made me hopeful for the next generation’s convictions. We left as the evening concluded and retired to Porterville, the last of our Delano activities for the weekend. Wanting to capture more cousin time, Janet and I stayed up again.

Author hawking my book at RFK High School.

Author hawking my book at RFK High School.

The best way to cap the long weekend, which seemed to zoom by, was to have a leisurely breakfast with Janet and Tim and our cousin Debi, who played her guitar and entertained us with all of these wonderful stories from our childhood and from her incredibly rich and complex life. As we left, knowing that we left late and will encounter bumper-to-bumper traffic when we hit the Bay area, I made a note that we’d connect again so I could write down her stories. We made plans to get the cousins together to compare photographs, share stories, and talk about a San Esteban Circle archiving project. So much to do. So much history back home. And overall, so much to be grateful for.

Towering cypress trees at Agbayani Village.

Towering cypress trees at Agbayani Village.

Sunset over Agbayani Village.

Sunset over Agbayani Village. Most of these photos courtesy of David Rossi.

They are here, I am here

Some books leave us free and some books make us free.
– Ralph Waldo Emerson, American essayist, lecturer, poet, and leader of the Transcendentalist movement in the mid-19th century

Late this afternoon I was at Eastwind Books of Berkeley because my books had arrived. I was in a fog as I held the book in my hands and then opened to the title page to sign the pre-ordered books. The book had some weight to it, which surprised me. The galleys, of course, were in paperback, and light in the hand, but I was still amazed by the book’s heft. Maybe I was just in a daze period. After 18 years, after a grueling eight-month editing/production process, after never imagining I would be in this position when 2015 arrived, and after feeling as if I was going to miss the 50th Anniversary of the Delano Grape Strike altogether, I am finally here.

And tomorrow late afternoon, we journey to Delano for reading, signing, communing, and meeting new friends.

Fresh out of the box.

Fresh out of the box.

Finished signing the pre-ordered books for good friends, translators, family friends, relatives, and even Oregon State University's Ethnic Studies Program - #GoBeavers!

Finished signing the pre-ordered books for good friends, translators, family friends, relatives, and even Oregon State University’s Ethnic Studies Program – #GoBeavers!

My author website is live – www.pattyenrado.com

Books are the plane, and the train, and the road. They are the destination, and the journey. They are home.
– Anna Quindlen, from How Reading Changed My Life

My author photo for my book jacket. My mom's group moms have joked that it is a "fierce" look. Photo credit to the fabulously gifted Robert Milton. Thank you, Robert!

My author photo for my book jacket. The moms in my mom’s group have joked that it is a “fierce” look, which is punctuated by my black leather jacket. Yup. Photo credit to the fabulously gifted Robert Milton. Thank you, Robert!

My last post was from our last day of our Italian holiday – more than a month ago. So much has happened since then. I still haven’t caught my breath, but it’s time to get up to speed on what’s been happening with my novel.

When we came back from Italy, I hit the ground running with endless edits and proofing. I’m still not done yet, but Monday, August 10th, is my day of reckoning. The bound galley comes in and it’s my last chance to make any changes. I think I’ve read my novel about eight times in the span of five weeks.

At any rate, all the while, I had been working with a web designer to build my author website. I’m excited to say that I launched it this past week and announced it on Facebook to some great accolades from my FB friends. I created my Facebook author page, although I haven’t had time to build it out beyond creating it.

So, without further ado, I present my author website – www.pattyenrado.com. Let me know what you think of it!

My novel ships from the printer August 28th, with arrival to Eastwind Books of Berkeley on September 2nd, just in time to bring with me to Bold Step: the 50th Anniversary of the Delano Grape Strike event over Labor Day Weekend. I’ll be doing a reading that Saturday evening, September 5th, at the Filipino Community Hall in Delano, and I’ll also be manning a table for my book. Check out my website for more information and events.

A Village in the Fields: August publication, pre-order now

Sleep peacefully, for your labors are done, your pains
Are turned into tales and songs  – Carlos Bulosan, Filipino-American writer, from “Now That You Are Still”

My novel A Village in the Fields is coming out in August. So much has happened since March when my manuscript was accepted. Thus began the frenetic pace of wanting to get the book out in time for the 50th anniversary of the Great Delano Grape Strikes of the 1960s and 1970s. I am indeed cramming an eight-month process into three months, but thus far everything has fortuitously fallen into place, and that has everything to do with the people who have helped with this last leg of my novel’s journey.

My beautiful book cover, designed by Melody Shah. Archival photograph from the Lorraine Agtang Collection, courtesy of Welga! Filipino American Labor Archives, University of California at Davis Library.

My beautiful book cover, designed by Melody Shah. Archival photograph from the Lorraine Agtang Collection, courtesy of Welga! Filipino American Labor Archives, University of California at Davis Library.

The editing and revision process is near done. Laurel Kallenbach, fellow Syracuse University Creative Writing Program classmate and friend for more than 25 years, did a stupendous job of making the story much clearer and tighter, and for that, I am eternally grateful. The finished book cover is exactly as I’d imagined it to be from my original concept. Kudos to Melody Shah, lead teacher for the Information Technology Academy at El Cerrito High School, graphic designer, and my fellow committee member with the Lunafest East Bay. She created a beautiful wrapping for my novel and was incredibly patient with my false promises of this or that tweak to the design being the final change. Another friend, Robert Milton, claims that I did him a favor by becoming his sample model for portraits for him to experiment. But Robert let loose and I learned so much from him about photography, which deepened my appreciation for the art form. And he managed to make me look like a serious author.

Each step of the process of getting published brings me closer to the thrilling moment of holding something in your hand that you’ve spent many years writing bad sentences, making wrong turns, coming to the pitch-perfect word or phrase in the middle of the night that makes that sentence sing, and finally stepping back and saying, the story should go out into the world now. I’m grateful to my publisher Harvey Dong of Eastwind Books of Berkeley for his appreciation of my writing and my story.

You can read about the novel here and then go to the pre-order page on Eastwind Books of Berkeley’s website to reserve your copy of the hardback version.

A Village in the Fields: a synopsis
Fausto Empleo is the last manong—one of the first wave of Filipinos immigrating to the United States in the 1920s and 1930s— at the home for retired farm workers in the agricultural town of Delano, California. Battling illness and feeling isolated in the retirement village built by the United Farm Workers Union, Fausto senses it’s time to die. But he cannot reconcile his boyhood dream of coming to the “land of opportunity” with the years of bigotry and backbreaking work in California’s fields. Then, his estranged cousin Benny comes with a peace offering and tells Fausto that Benny’s son will soon visit—with news that could change Fausto’s life.

In preparation for the impending visit, Fausto forces himself to confront his past. Just as he was carving out a modest version of the American Dream, he walked out of the vineyards in 1965, in what became known as the Great Delano Grape Strikes. He threw himself headlong into the long, bitter, and violent fight for farm workers’ civil rights—but at the expense of his house and worldly possessions, his wife and child, and his tightknit Filipino community, including Benny.

In her debut novel, Patty Enrado highlights a compelling but buried piece of American history: the Filipino-American contribution to the farm labor movement. This intricately detailed story of love, loss, and human dignity spans more than eight decades and sweeps from the Philippines to the United States. In the vein of The Grapes of Wrath, A Village in the Fields pays tribute to the sacrifices that Filipino immigrant farm workers made to bring justice to the fields.

My author photograph by Robert Milton, portrait photographer extraordinaire.

My author photograph by Robert Milton, portrait photographer extraordinaire.

About Patty Enrado: my bio
Patty Enrado was born in Los Angeles and raised in Terra Bella, California. She has a bachelor’s degree in English from the University of California at Davis and a master’s degree from Syracuse University’s Creative Writing Program. She writes about healthcare information technology and lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her husband and two children.

A Village in the Fields: my backstory
In 1994, I attended a local poetry reading by Filipino-American poets from the San Francisco Bay Area. One of the poets talked about a retirement village built in Delano in the early 1970s for retired Filipino farm workers who participated in the Great Delano Grape Strikes. My family moved to Terra Bella, California, in 1965, the year of the Great Delano Grape Strike. I had grown up not far from Delano and remembered the grape boycotts but not the strikes. My mother packed oranges in the winter and spring, and picked grapes in the summer and fall. My father, who immigrated to the U.S. in the late 1920s, spent most of his career as a cook, although he spent time farming when he arrived in California. Most of my father’s relatives who settled in Terra Bella also picked grapes and/or packed citrus fruit. That summer of 1994, while visiting my father and mother, I went in search of Agbayani Village. I interviewed an elderly resident, thinking that one day this information would become a story. At the time, I was looking to expand my MA thesis, a collection of stories about the Filipino community in Terra Bella that I had written while under the Creative Writing Program at Syracuse University.

In the spring of 1997, I watched the PBS documentary on César Chávez—The Fight in the Fields—and read the companion book of the same name. After seeing the documentary, I wanted to know more about the Filipino involvement in the strike. The Filipino farm workers, led by labor leader Larry Itliong, initiated the strike; however, very little was said of their contribution. I learned from my relatives that I was related to Fred Abad, the last manong at Agbayani Village, who passed away in 1997 at the age of 87, a few months before I began my research. I interviewed another distant relative who was one of the original Filipino farm workers who struck with Itliong. I spent many a weekend at the Delano Record, searching for articles on the strikes and boycotts. In January 1998, I interviewed the late grower Jack Pandol at his farm. My mother accompanied me to the interview, and as we drove by Pandol’s camp, she casually remarked that my father had once worked as a cook here, which was news to me.

After stacks of research notes and books on the subject had been amassed, A Village in the Fields began to take shape and my protagonist Fausto Empleo emerged. My novel’s journey has taken 18 years and its release comes at a most fitting time—the 50th anniversary of when the Filipino farm workers walked out of the vineyards in Delano on that 8th morning of September.

Belated birthday musings: on turning 53

It is impossible for me to remember how many days or weeks went by in this way. Time is round, and it rolls quickly.
– Nikos Kazantzakis, Greek writer

I know we're in spring now, but I think this photo was taken in February, my birthday month. We've got the fog and it's chilly, so faux fur and leather seem appropriate.

I know we’re in spring now, but I think this photo was taken in February, my birthday month. We’ve got the fog and it’s chilly, so faux fur from Zara and faux leather from H&M seem appropriate in early May.

Easter has come and gone, May Day has passed, and Mother’s Day is looming ahead of me. When my birthday in February was approaching, I knew my family and I wouldn’t be able to partake in our traditional birthday dinner. I was on deadline and would be until my company’s annual conference passed in mid April. Usually, the conference is in late February, but with the event being held in Chicago, we had to push it back to hopefully catch good weather, which we did. What squeezed me because of the late conference date was working simultaneously on the LUNAFEST film festival. Just as LUNAFEST closed, new projects required my immediate attention – fundraising drive for Jacob’s high school’s Investing in Academic Excellence and preparing my three readers for the 10 applications that were completed and submitted for a scholarship that my family and I established at the high school. We still haven’t celebrated my birthday with a dinner, and while at a certain point it seems pointless, I feel like I need that milestone acknowledged. Call it a continuation of my existential angst. I am still here, I am 53, etc.

At any rate, I feel that we’ll have that dinner sometime this month, when I don’t feel like cooking during the week. For now, I am forcing myself to slow down for a moment and reflect on what is almost half a year into being 53. The first thing that came to my mind was that I don’t remember much of January through April. So many work deadlines, so many stressful days and nights and weekends. If I just had that in my life, I would be very sad and not happy with myself. But thankfully that was not the case, even if it meant less hours of sleep to be able to do the things that make me happy.

Necklace by Gretchen Schields (Book Passage, Corte Madera, CA), ring (Lava 9, Berkeley, CA), Alkemie scarab cuff, and Anthropologie feather earrings.

Necklace made of antique kimono fabric by Gretchen Schields (Book Passage, Corte Madera, CA), ring (Lava 9, Berkeley, CA), Alkemie scarab cuff, and Anthropologie feather earrings.

For one thing, the East Bay LUNAFEST committee put on a really remarkable film festival this year. It was my second year. As was my responsibility last year, I handled the dessert circle. But this time around, I was able to contribute with my writing – interviewing and profiling our private chef who cheffed our VIP event, two of the filmmakers whose film was selected, two of our committee members, and the president and CEO of the Breast Cancer Fund, and adding two more blog posts. We also had a larger crowd this year, and I had the honor of interviewing on-stage the two filmmakers. So I was very proud of our effort. Though I spent many weekends on these profiles, the outcome was worth it all.

Secondly, a good friend’s introduction to her father-in-law, a retired McClatchy journalist, and his retirement home neighbor, who is a local well-known Filipina writer, led to my novel finally finding a home in Eastwind Books of Berkeley (2066 University Avenue, Berkeley, CA 94704, 510.548.2350). Eastwind is a bookseller, but owner Harvey Dong also publishes books that are aligned with the Asian-American themes that its shop carries. I’m overwhelmed with having to do a lot of the work, with Eastwind being an independent small press. I am learning a lot, which I’m grateful for, but we’ve also introduced added stress by condensing the publishing process in order to meet the early September date commemorating the 50th anniversary of when the mostly Filipino farm workers walked out of the vineyards in what became the Great Delano Grape Strikes.

Add a vintage purse (Feathers, Austin, TX) and bronze pumps.

Add a vintage purse (Feathers, Austin, TX) and bronze pumps.

Thirdly, I offered to help the Stockton chapter of the Filipino American National Historical Society with the opening of the National FANHS Museum this summer and help the East Bay chapter with reading events in the summer and fall. I don’t have time to really do it all, but these are things that I am passionate about, and being passionate about a few things keeps one youthful and exuberant inside.

Giving up sleep and multitasking – things that are not healthy habits – are enabling me to keep pace with what I need to do not just in time to send everything to the printer but beyond my novel’s publication, when I need to do a full-court marketing press. Despite the stress of work deadlines, I had an enjoyable annual conference, getting together with colleagues and having a lot of fun moderating a really smart group of panelists for one of our clients. But I’m glad that event is done for the year.

So as I look back at the quarter mark of 2015, I see a lot of productivity and passion. I see exhaustion, but I see work to be proud of and work that will carry me through to the end of the year and beyond. I have a business trip to Orlando coming up. I asked David if we could have that birthday dinner the following week – and throw in Jacob getting his braces off and my novel getting accepted for publication as additional reasons to celebrate – three months late. I’ll take it. My 53rd year is promising, indeed. Why not continue the celebration.

I wore sweats most of the time these last four months, but every once in a while I threw something together and felt like I was back in civilization.

I wore sweats most of the time these last four months, but every once in a while I threw something together and felt like I was back in civilization.

National Filipino-American History Month: exploring our diaspora

Men who had poetry in their soul come silently into the world and live quietly down the years, and yet when they are gone no moon in the sky is lucid enough to compare with the light they shed when they are among the living. – Carlos Bulosan, Filipino-American novelist and poet, Charlie Chan is Dead: An Anthology of Contemporary Asian American Fiction

I just finished watching a video celebrating the Asian American and Asian Diaspora Studies Program at the University of California at Berkeley, which I found while exploring the meaning of Asian and Pacific Islander diasporas. I’ve always been intrigued with the word “diaspora,” which I’d first come across many years ago in a flyer describing an independent film about displaced Africans. For me, what it boils down to is a search for identity when you are no longer home – whether you were forced out or felt you had to leave your homeland – but with the circumstances of your flight greatly informing the process of identification and the identity or identities you take on.

Diaspora literally means “Jews living outside Israel, the dispersion of Jews beyond Israel, the dispersion of any people from their original homeland.” It’s a state of disruptive being and one that is, of course, constantly evolving. I’ve been refining my query letter for my novel, A Village in the Fields, adding or deleting historical facts or descriptions of my novel as I personalize each query for the intended literary agent. But one description that I have kept throughout all of the queries is this:

“This novel encompasses more than the Filipino farm workers’ struggles in the fields. It also chronicles the Filipino community that my father and his cousins built in the farming town of Terra Bella in the Central Valley. Upon examining their lives, I found that as immigrants my father and his cousins were trying to determine what home is and who encompassed their concept of family when they were far away from home. I sought to answer those questions through my characters, in particular my protagonist, Fausto Empleo, whose story is at the heart of A Village in the Fields.”

Filipino immigrants leaving the ship that brought them to America (photo credit: everyculture.com).

Filipino immigrants leaving the ship that brought them to America (photo credit: everyculture.com).

October is National Filipino American month, and this year I’m celebrating it with yet another excerpt from my novel, with an eye toward diaspora. In this scene Fausto recounts to his nurse, Arturo, the boat ride that took him from Manila to Seattle in 1929:

Fausto took comfort in his cabin mates—four others besides Benny. Three had cousins or uncles waiting for them in America. Vermil Bienvenido spoke good English. He had worked in hotels in Manila and was counting on making more money in the American hotels. Ambo Ayson’s uncle had a restaurant job waiting for him in New York City. Arsenio Magsaysay hailed from Santa Maria, ten kilometers north of San Esteban. As he rolled cigarettes made from his family-grown tobacco for his cabin mates, he told them he expected his work in the fields would serve him well on American farms. Vermil and Arsenio were going to return home rich. Ambo wanted to remain in the States but visit his hometown, bringing gifts for his nine sisters, his parents, and grandparents. Everyone’s heart was still in the Philippines, except for Jun Villanueva.

Jun didn’t talk much, but one evening when Arsenio spoke longingly of his family’s land, Jun cut him off, blurting out that there was no future in his hometown of San Fernando. When Jun declared he would never return because he hated his country, his cabin mates wanted to fight him—even Fausto. It was as if he had spit on their mothers! Fausto calmed down and convinced the others to go up deck to cool their heads so he could talk to Jun. With just the two of them in the cabin, Jun complained that the rice they served on the ship had too much grit. His mother milled rice with a mortar and pestle, which made it taste more fragrant. Fausto told him the rice would be better once they got off the ship, but Jun said it would always taste bitter in his mouth. His family had lost their fields to harsh weather, which ruined their crops, and cheating agents who made it impossible to make a living off of the harvests. The new landlords overcharged, but his parents conceded just so they could stay on his lelong’s land.

“I told him he did not hate his country,” Fausto said to Arturo. “The people in power were dishonest. I told him he would realize that—maybe not now, but later—when he is in America and he grows homesick. I admitted I was already homesick.”

Fausto massaged his eyelids, bringing up an image of the teenaged boy who sat rigid in the bunk opposite him. Jun’s face and body were angular and hard. His eyes, mere slits, told everybody he trusted no one. The part in his hair was severe, a white streak. But when Fausto told him his homesickness was their secret, the hardness melted away. Jun yanked the bunk’s wool blanket over his head and began wailing.

“There is no shame in being scared or angry.” Fausto pulled the blanket down and locked his hand on Jun’s knee, which Jun had pulled up and tucked under his chin.

“If they had not taken our land, I would not be here!”

Astun, astun,” Fausto said softly. “You will get it back. You put your anger to hard work in America, eh? Then you return. But you are tired, you need to rest.”

“I cannot stay here. They all hate me.” Jun sat up, amid the empty bunks.

Fausto promised to talk to them; they would understand his family’s hardships. Jun lay down, crossing his arms, but when Fausto patted his hand, Jun grabbed it and held tight. Neither of them moved. As Fausto watched Jun sleep, he thought of what they had left behind. His life in San Esteban was not so bad after all. Homesickness gnawed a hole in his stomach, but he wove his fingers with Jun’s until they were entwined.

Benny and the others offered Jun extra bread and fruit that they had smuggled out of the kitchen, but Jun wouldn’t accept them. Fausto didn’t know what happened to him when they landed in Seattle and parted ways. When he was working near Stockton years later, a pinoy on his asparagus crew told him about a pinoy named Jun Villanueva. The two Villanuevas shared similar stories from back home. At the time he heard this story, the American government had passed a law giving pinoys free passage to return to the Philippines. Not many took it. Fausto later found out that if a pinoy accepted the offer, he could never return to America. This Villanueva had gotten into trouble up and down California, fighting with whites and pinoys alike and landing in jail. He took the free passage, bragging to anyone who would listen that he was glad to be leaving.

“You think it was the Jun from your ship?” Arturo was on his second cup of coffee.

“When I heard the story, I hoped it was not him,” Fausto said. “I did not want to think he had no place to call home. When we landed, he said he wanted to keep in touch. I gave him the address in Los Angeles where my cousins lived, but I never heard from him again.” Fausto stared into his cup, his watery black reflection now cold. “Last time I saw him he was walking off the pier. But he looked like any of us leaving the ship. He was all of us leaving the ship.”

Farm workers in an asparagus delta farm in California, circa early 1930s (photo credit: Frank Mancao).

Farm workers in an asparagus delta farm in California, circa early 1930s (photo credit: Frank Mancao).