Birth of a Nomad

I came out screaming from my mom's womb at the year when the Rooster wore a Dog's mask, an ominous year that would profoundly shape the course of my fate. At age eight, my parents cut off our roots from the Philippines, buried my identity, and compelled me to wear a mask as we fled from Manila bound for the Land of Opportunity. Materially we prospered and culturally we adopted to our new home; but I never felt secure about my identity and by the time I reached high-school, the mask that I wore started to itch. "This was not me," I repeatedly thought, "not me at all." I kept itching and pulling on the mask until it finally came off. I publicly continued to wear the mask. for many years but, privately, I held the mask in my hands, contemplating on what to do. Without it, I was nothing. For years people have known me as this facade. To discard the mask was to destroy the identity that I had created since my family left Manila and to unearth my former identity no longer was a viable option. The former was just as strange and fake as the mask that I then held in my hands. I had two choices: continue to hide behind the mask or discard the mask and face the unknown truth that lay beneath it? In the end, I put the mask away, packed my bags, and set off to find who I am.

I am a nomad by destiny, not by choice. Culturally, people like myself have been uprooted several generations ago. Imperial and spiritual conquests, war, carnage, treachery, betrayal, social and economic upheavals, misfortunes and so on all contributed to the destruction of my sense of self and belonging. I am roaming the earth in search of culture and values that I would like to create and built upon and call my own. It is within this nomadic jihad for culture where I hope to become who I am.