wherever i go in this country even in my hometown, the local people will always think of me as a foreigner. taxi drivers struggle with their english language to get me to a destination.
in america, i always get the question or the airport check on my being 'arabic.'
one time in a hotel in subic, i got a vip welcome for being mistaken as among their visitors from morocco.
i was a mexican during a guitar festival in San Antonio, Texas.
two students from jordan approached me for they were hoping i come from the same origin.
one lady from new york stopped while having her morning jog to check if am jewish.
while being a ninong in a baptism in batangas, the old folks were asking if i belong to Senator Recto's family.
in palawan, a lady doctor mistook me as a son of her spanish family friend.
in davao, an indian store owner asked me about my father's business in bombay.
a doctor in an optical clinic informed me that i got blue pigments in my eyeballs but i insisted they are all grayish dark brown.
so, what's the real score?
it's all because of my great grandfather: Rev. Father Pedro Garcia, a mooric-looking Spanish priest from Barcelona plus the tribal Manobo lineage of my grandmother Juana Beray Noja.
And my mother's father Gabriel Rañua Badajos from Camiguin Island had spanish and chinese lineage on both sides.
Thanks to all of them, I seem to naturally belong to an international arena, at least visually.
No comments:
Post a Comment