In a spellbinding deleted scene from Wong Kar-wai’s “In the Mood for Love,” Tony Leung and Maggie Cheung dance the hand jive together, a small detail that calls to mind the popularity of Filipino jazz musicians and their lasting impact on Hong Kong’s postwar music scene, as scholar Neferti Tadiar has pointed out. Plucked from the bars and lounges of Roxas Boulevard in Manila, Filipino musicians were recruited by talent scouts to play jazz across Taiwan, Singapore, Japan, and Hong Kong, helping popularize the genre throughout much of East Asia. As a member of the Filipino diaspora in the United States myself, sensing Filipino presence in places where our influence seems invisible to others has become routine.
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Seeing the world differently means remembering the world differently, which is something that the Filipino diaspora teaches us how to do. We might conceive of this task of seeing and remembering differently as one of pagsasalin, or translation. The protagonist of Jose Rizal’s “Noli,” after all, is named Juan Crisostomo Ibarra y Magsalin, as is one of the main characters of Gina Apostol’s more recent 2019 novel “Insurrecto.” For both Rizal and Apostol, there is a close relationship between Filipino immigration and translation. Where Rizal’s Ibarra struggles to reconcile experiences from when he had being educated in Spain with the comparatively backward social conditions of the friar-controlled Philippines, Apostol’s Magsalin rewrites an American filmmaker’s script about the 1901 Balangiga Massacre to center a Filipino perspective on the event. At once laborers and translators, Filipino immigrants have worked hard to adapt to foreign circumstances and histories. Translating ourselves into different histories and different places has changed us and the way we look, rendering the term Filipino even more capacious.
Expanding the capacity of a word lends translation its quiet beauty, as do the changing faces of Filipino identity and expression. Being of mixed Mexican and Filipino descent myself, it’s exciting to visually and verbally defy the limitations we choose to place on nations, on words, and on lives.
If we choose to see differently — to remember differently — pieces of our history and influence that have been forgotten, we also have to challenge our own assumptions about who we are and what we look like. Today we are more diverse than ever. \t
We often translate our experience and history for others through the ways we dress. With such a large Filipino-American community in Los Angeles, overlaps in Chicano and Filipino fashion were maybe inevitable: Ben Davis khakis sagging over a pair of Nike Cortezes, the uniform of Southern California. And who could forget Dante Basco’s turn as the Lost Boy, Rufio, in “Hook” , with his dyed red and black hair and cropped t-shirt later inspiring years of queer expression?
“If we choose to see differently — to remember differently — pieces of our history and influence that have been forgotten, we also have to challenge our own assumptions about who we are and what we look like.”
The mid-2010s would see the rise of Filipino-American designer Andrew Buenaflor (pseudonym Neek Lurk) and his brainchild, Anti Social Social Club (ASSC) a Los Angeles-based streetwear brand superimposing statements on melancholy and pop culture onto hoodies and dad caps sold, initially, in small, independent batches. After only three weeks into ASSC’s launch, the brand’s cozy-chic apparel would be donned by the likes of Kim Kardashian and Rita Ora, and brand-on-brand collaborations from Hello Kitty to BTS would follow after.
In “Beauty and The Beast: A 30th Celebration,” Filipina-American musician H.E.R. was cast to play the starring role of Belle. Performing the classic song “Beauty and the Beast,” H.E.R. would descend on a flight of stairs, clad in a lavish canary yellow gown similar to that of Belle’s in the film, shredding a solo on a stained-glass Fender stratocaster. Another stand-out in the musical would be Belle’s opening costume, where H.E.R. would specifically request Belle’s iconic apron pay homage to her Filipino roots. Reporters, theater geeks, and audiences all over would thereafter witness the ancient Filipino script of Baybayin painted onto her costume, ornately spelling out the character’s name.
Fashion and its historical basis in different ethnic communities throughout the world is currently one of the most effective ways to re-envision solidarity across raced, classed, and gendered divides, strengthening different diasporic communities.
Our expansiveness and adaptability are how we have defied a national history repeatedly written by others.
As Philippine literary critic and national artist Resil Mojares argues, this dynamism endemic to being Filipino is rooted in our linguistic conceptualizations of selfhood. “Like the cardinal notion of loob (or the Bisayan buot),” Mojares writes, “the soul is formed in the human activity of focusing and expanding, centering and decentering, in a constant dialectic of past and present, actuality and possibility, between what is in us and what lies outside and beyond.”


