I, Ortega--Filipina

The musings and actions of children that are trying to become aware of their differences in the world... Specifically, a Renata Ortega who tries to focus on what she is, regardless of misunderstandings between her and other children. A story piece I've

            Many young girls giggled and chatted in the backrooms of Rowan High’s gymnasium.  Some girls glittered with pink sequins while others floated to and fro with tutus that shivered with every step they took. Other girls had feet topped with bows, their tap shoes clicking as they shuffled out of another dressing room. As for me, I flashed with gold along with my group—the Morning Stars—while we awaited the arrival of our dance instructor. During that November morning, we shivered in a line regardless of the coats we had over our costumes.

            “I’m so nervous,” Kinney muttered. Her hands cupped before her mouth. “I don’t think I remember the dance good enough.”

            “You’ll be fine.” My eyes flicked to the side as they settled on a dark head. It was Mel, ever the nice one of our bunch to reassure Kinney, the not so graceful girl of our troupe. “Just follow the rest of us, no prob.”

Kinney jerked forward, her ponytail whipping behind her head as she sneezed. “Okay...if you say so...”

            “I’m...sleepy,” another voice added.

 I didn’t bother seeking its owner. Instead, I tore my eyes away from the other girls and squared my jaw. Fingers interlaced before me as I tried to keep my legs straight, feet together. Honestly, I was just as nervous as Kinney. Though I wasn’t one to lose my balance during a spinning step...anything was possible at this point. Before I could imagine myself blinded from spotlights or tripping off the stage, a tanned face swam before my eyes.

            “Pop!” I cried out, waving. He strode over, hands jutted into the pockets of his black coat.

His eyes swept at my side as squeaks of “Hello Mister Ortega” floated around me. He gave a brisk nod before he flashed a smile.

            “Hello girls...” Brown eyes focused on me as a large hand plopped onto the top of my head.

            “Just wanted to check on you. You all right?”

            “I’m...okay, Papa.” I grinned as he ruffled my hair.

            “Good, good...that’s my girl. Well then, I’ll be off now. You’ll see us somewhere.” With that he dipped his head once more, his clean-shaven head reflecting the lights above us before he turned away. Broad shoulders disappeared into a crowd of parents trekking towards seats. Once he left, I noticed the silence.

            “...That was your father?” Myra Le Fleur whispered as she leaned into my ear.

            “Yeah... That was my father. Something wrong?” The smile I had earlier began to slip off as dread and anxiety mixed in the pit of my stomach. The other Morning Star girls kept their mouths shut, their eyes glued to Myra and me. 

            “Well, no, but... Renata. Is your father black?”

The crowds of people began to fade from view as the other girls scooted closer, waiting and curious. Myra continued to stare back at me with an eyebrow quirked up. I felt my own brows furrow as I began to chew on my lower lip. I had no idea what to say. Vaguely I felt someone brush by me—probably a late comer rushing to get dressed for her rehearsal.

            “I don’t... No, I don’t think so.” My chin sank to my chest, embarrassment and frustration pulling down my shoulders. “I don’t think so,” I repeated, assuring them, assuring myself.

            “You don’t even know?” Helena Huerst rounded on me, cutting in between the two of us. Hazel eyes stared down a pinched nose as a mouth quirked at the side, the head cocked.

            “He’s not black,” I stated again, my voice low. My throat began to close as my fingers curled, nails biting into skin.

            “He is,” Helena nodded as she sneered, her nose wrinkling as she tittered. “I’m telling you, he is. You don’t know it, but we do.” Before I could bark out a retort or shove her head back with my fingers up her nose, our dance instructor appeared.

            “It’s time, girls! Big smile, big smile... That’s right! Renata, you too! There we go, very pretty. Now scoot! Go Morning Stars!”

 

I was bouncing in the back seat of the van, sulking and quiet. The knapsack with my gold leotard, tights, and ballet shoes squashed on my lap as I laid my arms on top. Beside me Vethea was watching other cars and trees fly by her window. My parents were talking before us—Pop was at the wheel, laughing with Mom as she said something. Some time ago Vethea and I couldn’t make sense of the guttural sounds or the clicks of tongues that passed between our parents. When we asked what they were talking in, our mother would answer, “Tagalog, our home tongue.” When we stared back, she added, “Don’t worry about it.”

            I continued to fume as I watched them talk, my mom’s head bobbing as she laughed. Pop had a smile on his face as he’d say a couple of “tagalog words” when my face flashed on the rearview mirror.

            “Rena, what’s wrong? You’re not feeling okay?”

            “I’m fine. Really.” There was no way I could say, “No—Helena was being a meanie and I wanted to rip her tights.” Instead I opted for nonchalance, my lower lip jutted out. I could tell that my father wanted to ask more, but he kept quiet. My mother, on the other hand...

            “Oooooye, what’s wrong with you! I told you already that you did well! You were more graceful than your friends. Why are you pouting?”

            “Not pouting.”

My mother turned in her seat as she looked back at me, but I was staring out my window, my face settled on my palm. Mom turned away, and the roar of the engines took over. Several minutes passed, and when I got tired of the parade of pine trees outside, I finally spoke.

            “Pop...?”

            “Yes, Rena?”

            “Are you black?”

My mom sucked in breath as her head whipped to the side. My father tilted his head back against his seat as he tried to look at me through the rearview mirror, eyes wide.

            “What?”

That was when my mother busted out laughing, her head flying back as dark curls swayed along her neck. My father’s mouth spread into a thin line.

            “Who... Rena, why did you say that?” He snorted before disbelief pulled his mouth back from a weak laugh.

            “I... One of the girls asked me about Papa being black.”

            “And what did you say?” Mom interrupted, fingers brushing at the corners of her eyes. Red splattered across her usually pale face as she hiccupped.

            “I...I told them I didn’t know.” My mom nearly had another laughing fit when she coughed, righting herself.

            “Renata Ortega, you should know better!” My mother exclaimed.

            “That’s right. We’re pinoy, Rena.” Pop shook his head.

            “Pineapple!” Vethea shouted as she kicked her legs out.

            “No, no. Pinoy. Filipino.” Mom reached back and patted Vethea’s short, chubby legs. She giggled when Vethea began to squirm.

            “How was I supposed to know?” I muttered, sliding down in my seat. Already I was regretting everything—my answer to the girls, and then telling my parents about it. How dumb I was! “I don’t even know about Pi...Pi... Whatever.”

            “Don’t worry about it. Now you know. When we get home I’ll show you where we come from,” Pop promised me.

Throughout the rest of the ride home, I repeated “Pinoy” and “Filipino” in my head. I had to remember them.

            Once we arrived home, Pop took me to the kitchen table and opened up a large sheet of paper. The world map spilled across the table top, and with a long finger, my father pointed at America.

            “This is where we are now...” His finger trailed down until it began to circle North Carolina. “Right here.” He tapped for emphasis, and I nodded to him.

            “This is where mama and I came from.” His finger cut across blue and green as it crossed through oceans and Europe until it stilled. I leaned over the table, my face leveled with my father’s finger until I saw what looked like Florida...except longer and bent at the center.  Lumpy spots gathered around the island.

            “The Philippines.”

That night, Pop gave me a brief geography lesson, and I learned new words like Cavite and Dumaguete, the cities and/or islands my parents hailed from. Throughout the lesson I kept silent as I chewed on my lower lip. Finally, I knew better, but still...

            “You don’t even know?”

Helena’s words were on repeat in my head, and for each time, I felt myself curl more into myself. It went to a point when I felt my eyes burn, tears flowing past the rims as I hiccupped.

            “Rena?”

            An arm rubbed at my eyes, rough and fast. I tried to look up at my father, but his face was blurred.

            “How come I didn’t know until now?” I wailed. “Why didn’t you tell me before?” My father kept his peace as I continued to blubber. Soon my throat began to feel scratchy, and my vision cleared. When I finally stopped, my father stared back at me, his face a mix of worry and panic.

            “Rena...baby, I’m sorry,” he soothed me. He got up from his seat and gathered me in his arms, a hand cradling my head against his shoulder. “We didn’t think you or your sister was old enough to understand...”

            I frowned at him, still pouting. He sighed as he settled into his seat once more with me on his lap.

            “Mama and I thought it was better...”

            “How so?” I huffed.

            “We didn’t want to stick closely to our heritage, especially since we’re here.” My father paused as his eyes glazed over. “It’ll be easier for you guys in the long run...” I didn’t say anything afterwards, but hugged him.

 

I stalked through my first grade class at Rowan Elementary. Once I found Helena, I went up to her desk and stood, my arms crossed over my chest.

“Did you ask your dad about it? Found the truth?”

“Yeah, I did.” I smiled, my tone of voice matching her own—deceptively pleasant. “He’s not black.”

“Oh really? Then where’s he from, then?” I continued to smile

“Actually, both my parents are from the same place—the Philippines.”

I rocked back and forth from my heels to my toes as I watched her smile transformed into a frown.

            “Go look at a map or globe or something. You’ll see it.” I waved to her, turned, and walked away humming. I was victorious at that point, but I wasn’t satisfied. My father’s words made me uneasy. What did Pop mean? How was it easier to not know much about our background?

            Days passed, and the tiff between Helena and I were settled. Unfortunately, other kids couldn’t look over our obvious differences.There were times when Vethea and I walked towards the car pool area, and when we’d pass a group of kids, there was always that one kid that would do what we call the Chinese Chime song.

            “Ching-chong-ching!”

My sister froze beside me as I felt my hand grip the straps of my backpack, knuckles white. My jaw tightened as I narrowed my eyes before I whirled around. Amongst a ring of boys a kid with a red baseball cap danced out front, fingers stretching the ends of his eyes into slits. As he hopped around, his upper lip curled over his top teeth.

            “Ching-chong-ching! Rook-ah-me, I Chinese!” Laughter burbled from the group as the others joined in.

            “Duck sauce, egg rolls, Egg foo yong!”

            “Naw man, you forgot dogs and cats—they eat those.”

            “Oh gross! You girls eat them?!”

Vethea harrumphed as she stuck her tongue out at them. I grabbed her shoulder and steered her before me.

            “Just ignore them, they’re idiots.”

            “Fine...”

I continued to walk as Vethea stomped off. When she started to swing her lunch pail at her side, I felt my shoulders relax. Still...it would’ve been awesome to kick their faces in.

            One day some kids jumped in our path, fists flailing as they hollered and hooted. One guy tried to balance on one foot as he tried some high kicks.

            “Huwaaah! Oh yeah, like Bruce Lee!”

My backpack slammed into his stomach while my sister swung her lunch pail into another guy’s shins. Around us voices chorused as other faces swarmed around us. Chants rose in the air as schoolmates jeered each other, encouraging a fight. That was when a classmate shouted.

            “Teacher! Run!”

Immediately the throngs of students dispersed. Vethea and I continued to swing at air when our adversaries stumbled back, sneakers smacking down the concrete walkways towards the carpool.

            “We’re not Chinese!” Vethea shrieked at their backs.

            “We’re Filipinos! Either way, we can still kick your butts!” I huffed.

            “What’s going on here?” a voice boomed. It didn’t take long for my sister and me to gather our bearings and take off. Both of us easily zipped through bodies as students zigzagged to other places, anywhere else so long as an authoritative hand didn’t yank them to the principal’s office. Breathless we clambered into the van when Mom pulled up.

            “Girls...? Are you okay? What happened?” Vethea sagged against the passenger’s seat beside mom, her backpack settled at her feet.

            “Nothing... We were just playing,” I interjected, gulping air. Mom peered at my reflection.

            “Playing what? Not too rough, right? You know how Pop doesn’t like you girls playing rough...”

There was a pause as Vethea tried to keep her face away, and she watched as cars and trees rushed by. I kept silent, my fingers playing with the end of my sleeves before I sighed.

            “We were playing... Kung-Fu fighters.”

            “Ha...how?” My mom asked. The question was more for her self than for us.

The engine whirred beneath us, and my younger sister began to hum to herself. Mom continued to gaze ahead, eyes on the street. As for me I pressed my forehead onto the glass as my eyes flicked to her.

            “Mom?”

            “Hm?”

            “Can’t anybody tell that we’re not just Chinese, Asian? It’s not so hard to understand...”

            I watched as Mom pursed her mouth, her eyes narrowing like my own whenever Vethea and I would hear the Chinese Chime song.

            “No... Some people can’t. To most, we’re all the same. Some people can’t tell between our accents, our cultures, or our traditions.”

            “Bad...” Vethea muttered.

Again, another bout of engine whirs and wheels turning before Mom continued.

            “It’s okay, girls. At least you know who you are, where you come from. And unlike some of your peers, at least you were able to speak their language, adapt their cultures. Don’t worry... One day, they’ll learn. “

            “Sino’ka?” Mom asked us then. Vethea answered with her name.

            “Ako se Vethea. Ako ang pinay.”

I gazed at my reflection on the glass before I looked farther, farther out as I watched houses zoom by. The houses in some neighborhoods all looked the same to me—most were in the same block of lawn, with the same white paneling, the same windows, the same black roof tiles, and the same brick chimneys poking out. Though that much was true at first glance, I noticed differences. One lawn had a small party outside, and there was a couple lifted on chairs. One house had a crucifix on the door while another house had the Indian flag flapping from a post of a porch.

            “Sino’ka[1]?” Mom repeated, warm brown eyes seeking my own pair of brown. The corner of my mouth tilted as I tore my sight away from the houses.

            “Ako se Renata. Ako ay filipina. Mabuhay ang Filipinas[2]!”

---

[1] Sino’ka? (See-noh Kah): Who are you?

[2] Mabuhay ang Filipinas! (Mah-boo-hi Ahng Phil-eh-pee-nahs): Long live the Philippines!

Author's Note

As my professor pointed out, there could be ways for the ending to have more of an impact...but I wasn't sure on how to emphasize the differences on houses (at least, without being painfully stereotypical/obvious).

Also, is it odd for a young child of, say, seven years old to fret over herself? It was argued that the key time for fitting in with peers would be high school.

Any other feedback is always appreciated :>