Not-Erased
Today, Vogue Philippines released its new issue, and on the cover is Apo Whang-Od. Take it in, bay-bee! Take it in.
Image taken from Vogue Philippines Instagram page. Doesn’t belong to me.
I saw the social media post while on the bus and my eyes widened. The tattoos on her body – ancient symbols of power, storytelling, and mysticism – made me audibly gasp, and then hold my breath.
Her dark skin and flat misshapen nose on a beauty magazine were the catalyst for a few tears. And by the time I clocked the carnelian stones draped around her body, I was fully crying on the (thankfully) empty bus.
The Philippines is a nation that has been repeatedly colonized so it’s hard to pinpoint exactly what the culture is. It’s like this gastronomic dish that’s a little Spanish, a hint of Japanese, and far too American – so much so that when you order this in a restaurant, it comes served with a free gun (Ooh. Sick burn!). The goal of every invading culture was erasure. Even anthropologists have a tough time classifying and understanding pre-colonized Philippines because elements of indigenous Filipinos have literally been ground into dust and burnt into the ether. I’ve read a number of documents where the reports end in ambiguity because there’s quite literally, nothing left to examine.
Even the word “Filipino” makes no sense. Tagalog – a primary language spoken in the Philippines – does not contain the letter “F” yet it has somehow invaded its way to how we self-identify. That’s due to the Spanish calling the archipelago “Las Islas Filipinas” when they overtook the islands.
A quick Google search of my family name – Borile – will reveal that it is actually of Italian descent. The story goes that in the 1940s, during the Japanese invasion, someone in my lineage changed our Filipino last name in legal documents in order to protect our businesses and to escape death. This is a common narrative within the community. I once asked my dad what our “original” last name was, and he averted his gaze, mumbled it in a hushed tone, and then quickly changed the subject. The same thing happens each time that I’ve subsequently asked.
As for America – well, once upon a time, someone so NOT me had an ingrown pubic hair that they had to repeatedly pluck because it just kept coming back. Even though it’s not being problematic at the moment, this person so NOT me will be unsurprised if a familiar pain in the groin returns. This is the closest illustration I can think of, based on my lived experiences, with regard to American culture in the Philippines.
Aside from that disgusting pubic hair story from someone so NOT me, it baffles me how significantly America has woven itself into the culture. The Philippines has 19 official languages, yet American English is the one that is widely spoken. Ancient Filipinos were storytellers, performers, and artists, yet so many of us in the diaspora can only envision professional success in a capitalist framework of “working in an office”. As for beauty standards, it’s the same story from different cultures globally: skin lighteners, nose contouring, you know the rest.
That’s why the image of Apo Whang-Od on the cover for Vogue Philippines put a halt in my scrolling. It’s the first time, I think, I’ve seen Filipino aesthetic so celebrated in Western-style media. It wasn’t through a beauty pageant (shout out to beauty pageants though!), and it wasn’t Nicole Sherzinger talking about how she’s one-quarter Filipino for some kind of exotic clout (shout out to Nicole though!) – it was unabashedly Pilipino, and it made me cry.
I don’t know how else to say this, but the tears that I shed didn’t belong entirely to me. The release felt generational, as if from an ancestral pool that has been gathering for eons before my feet began to kick up dust on the trail. Erasure is an epigenetic trauma; it resides in our bones, and our cells, and our DNA. For a few seconds today, some of that trauma was released.
It’s been a few hours since I first saw that image and I’m still in awe. As for the accompanying article, I don’t think I’m going to read it for fear that the narrative might have had to be watered down or edited to suit a Western construct. The picture’s impact and the moment on the bus was more than enough.
I thought that processing the experience through writing would help me articulate my sentiments. Saying that it made me feel seen sounds incomplete. Declaring that it made me feel validated is fragmentary. Neither of those fully resonate.
If hard-pressed to describe the feeling at this point in time, the most accurate thing I can come up with is:
It makes me feel not-erased.
TJ Borile is a freelance writer, small business owner, and areola model. He has a certification in Disregarding Patriarchal Bullshit, a PhD in the 1994 Miss Universe Pageant, and once, he fell down the stairs and accidentally got certified in Zumba. In his spare time, he likes to sit, breathe, and be a referee for a pillow fighting wrestling league.