Kasarinlan, Separation
Or of how removal can be celebration
Today happens to be the Philippines’ Independence Day. And in Filipino, as was reminded by a friend’s post on Twitter, it’s actually Araw ng Kasarinlan and not Kalayaan and two very different words. Kasarinlan, derived from pagsasarili, pagkakabukod, paghihiwalay, all terms that feel more vibrant descriptions of what independence might be. That it is an actual separation. Removal. Compared to kalayaan which is more closely related to laya, freedom. We don’t often use Araw ng Kasarinlan but if we really study the long and violent struggle our forefathers and mothers undertook to achieve it, maybe we should reconsider. I sometimes think how much we would have benefitted if more of our ancestral identities survived, for example. Instead of this bastardised mishmash of Spanish and American color over everything we are and do.. but I digress.
Here I am at 6 or 7, forced to parade in an itchy ruffly gown in the annual traditional Santacruzan, celebrated in towns and cities and barrios across our islands, posting today to commemorate in my own little way. The Santacruzan has everything I love in a Filipino celebration — the pomp, the religious pageantry, the coming together and busyness of it, the food that comes at the end. And when I think of home how can I not I think of our food. Garlicky, oniony, oily, salty, sweet. In umami combinations that sometimes make no sense to anyone else. I remember how (because I struggled to finish the portions given to me), my mum thought to add condensed milk to my rice to make it more palatable and how I loved it so much that I did it well into my teen years and was though a bit strange by friends. I also think of our other traditions like how we celebrate Christmas and start playing carols at the beginning of September (it is a particular kind of tragicomedy to hear Jose Mari Chan in the malls while you’re getting groceries). I also think of my favorite, familiar places. The ones even whose smells give a comfort like no other. The streets and sights I can get around in with my eyes closed. The sounds of chaotic energy that frustrate and fascinate at once. And I think of people, the ones I miss every day and who I sometimes miss so much it physically hurts. The ones who through social media still permit me a window into their lives. The ones I can pester with video calls in the middle of the day. The ones I dream about often like my mom. And I think of words like home and kasarinlan and what they mean now for me that I’m not there.
The funny thing about leaving is no one really considers the gravity of what is being left behind. You think you’re just packing your bags to live elsewhere. But what does it mean when you actually extricate yourself from everything you’ve ever known? Maybe now’s the time I tell you my first few weeks here were tearful and sad.. and that even before my mom passed away, I was already in a state of grief for everything I had given up and left behind. My friends and family. My dogs. My car. My lovely lovely home that I had built around me with all my comforts. My bed that was so difficult to get out of in the morning. The village where I lived and loved walking around in. The habits and expectations formed over decades. All of my familiar.
But a few weeks ago, things started to change. I can’t explain why or why now. I can only think of my recent history… how the events of last year snowballed into this decision to come to Singapore. How choices were made of what gets taken and what gets left. How I finally had to say goodbye to my mum after her long painful illness. And how the sadness and grief of all of that resulted into an untethering from the pull home had for me.
I’m grateful now that when I mull the word kasarinlan, it isn’t tragic or sad. It now, even as I say it with an exhausted sigh, feels a triumph. To be free from the definitions of what I thought home could look like and where home could be. And it now feels hopeful here, within this new freedom. Because in the redefining of what home can be, the separation has afforded me the freedom to rethink the rules I thought I needed to subscribe to, to shed the weight of expectations I thought were unavoidable. It feels like there is electricity in the air around me, that every moment is charged with the excitement of possibility.
If there’s anything my mum’s passing has taught me it’s that life is much too short and precious to not grab every opportunity to encounter joy. And today, this is what makes me happy: my pride in being Filipino and all that it comes with.
