Cleo Driessler’s last day at the Club Cal Neva in Reno where she had worked for 18 years.

By Randy Gener

Eventually times got harder. It became more difficult to find work in the Philippines. Cleo had no choice but to disappear for longer periods of time. One reason she felt compelled to come to America was that in the late 1970s, she had conducted a long search for her U.S. father via her correspondences with his friends at the Veteran Administration office. When she first came to New York City, she did in fact locate her father in New Jersey — except that he spurned her again. He denied that he fathered any child in Bacolod City.

Prior to coming to America, Cleo had lived many lives. She had known pain, poverty, heartbreak, abandonment and love. She had become ferocious about rescuing her children from dire straits. Fighting for legitimacy, she demanded that all of her children become naturalized U.S. citizens. She married a decorated Vietnam War veteran and worked as a cocktail waitress for 18 years at the Club Cal Neva. By the time she settled in Reno, Cleo was about 38 years old, proving that anyone can reinvent his or her life at any age. Through the force of will, beauty, wit, courage and personality, Cleo created a new family in America.

On March 2009, the Philippine Consulate General in New York hosted a huge celebration. My Mom was the secret guest of honor. The heads of the English and theater departments of Cornell, Princeton and Yale Universities had chosen me to be that year’s winner of the George Jean Nathan Award for Dramatic Criticism. The party was supposed to be an award presentation.

I had a different agenda. That beautiful evening needed to be a tribute to Mom. I asked my dear musical performer/friends to sing an uplifting musical medley that would in effect serenade my Mom.

She arrived at the Philippine Center wearing a shiny gold suit and a dazzling smile. She led a small entourage of relatives and close friends who live in New York. For a week she stayed at my apartment and saw our daily preparations for the event, but we offered no clue that I had planned to specifically call her out from the audience and ask that she make her presence known.

In my speech I confessed that for decades Mom had hectored me about becoming a U.S. citizen. I resisted. Growing up I was exposed to an intense Philippine nationalism buoyed by anti-Marcos sentiment. “My greatest fear was that I would become a citizen of our former colonial master,” I said. I eventually changed my mind when Mom convinced me that the U.S. government had become more restrictive to immigrants after the Sept. 11 tragedy.

Now, a specific condition of winning the Nathan Award is that the recipient must be a U.S. citizen. A few months before I received a phone call from the Princeton University judge who sought for verification. “I don’t want to seem like Homeland Security, but I need to know if you are indeed a U.S. citizen because you are a finalist,” he said.

Looking directly at Mom in the front row, I reminded her that she was the first person I phoned when I had officially been named the winner.

Her last visit to New York in 2012

“Yes!” Mom shouted in affirmation. “Tama ka! You speak the truth!” The audience laughed. Mom stood up and took a bow. Of course I had to make it up for it later by taking her to a Broadway musical that left her happy and giddy, but on that memorable night she could not stop crying.

Randy Gener is the Nathan Award–winning editor, writer and artist in New York City. He is the dramaturge of “Noli Me Tangere: The Opera” and the organizer/curator of Filipino Mundo-NYC, a MeetUp group of young professionals and visual/performing artists.

The author and his mother, Cleo Driessler, celebrate her birthday at Calistoga winery in Napa Valley.

It was 5 o’clock in the afternoon. Sitting in my studio, my mom, Cleo, asked me to hold out my palm. Suddenly interested in my lifeline, she wanted to tell me something good about my future. “You will have a long life,” Mama said, “but you have to be careful about money. See these two long lines that form a bag and join at the bottom here? Triangles in the hand mean luck.”

A churchgoing Roman Catholic, Mom was not given to superstitious fears or behaviors, but she did believe in the reinforcing effects of lucky charms on a positive mind and a hopeful attitude. She might present a dear friend with the gift of a gold-karat necklace or a hand-carved green jade lavaliere, because they connoted to her wealth and prosperity. In her homesteaded house in Nevada, which face the boulder-strewn dunes of sagebrush country, Mom collected a menagerie of lucky elephant figures with upraised trunks. She replaced my four-leaf clover pendant with a diamond ring, because the change might bring about better luck. “You never know,” Mom said, with a big wide smile.

I did not think very much of it — her desire to play fortuneteller; she dabbled in hand analysis in Manila — but looking back I realize now that she had seen that I had drifted into a quiet pessimism and melancholic self-pity about my writing career. Her trip to New York City in May 1994 was her first visit to my apartment since I had moved away after college. It was her birthday month, and I was glad she wanted to spend it with me, but the most I could give her were to show her the city, take her to some nice New York restaurants and bring her to a few Broadway musicals. There was no extra room in the small East Side Manhattan studio I was renting.

Without admonishing me that I had taken the wrong road, without becoming cloying either, Mom was countering my darkest fears with her own brand of sympathetic magic. She saw how dismal my life was but said nothing about it. She wanted a pick-me-up. “I want to see a show like the one we saw in San Francisco,” she requested, referring to the Fats Waller revue, “Ain’t Misbehavin’.” Mom preferred shows that allowed her mind to escape from her problems. Unfortunately, at 8 o’clock in the evening of that same day, I made the grave mistake of taking her to “Miss Saigon,” a Broadway musical about a Vietnamese bar girl abandoned by her American G.I. boyfriend. I was horrified to see my mom crying beside me. Although the show’s backdrop was Vietnam during the war, “It is my mother’s story,” she said.

I resolved that one day my mother will return to New York, and she will be able to sleep in her own bed in my apartment. There will be a big party in which my friends and colleagues in New York will meet her. Someday she will no longer bemoan that I had pursued “a difficult life.” And I will take her to a Broadway musical that will not reduce her to tears.

On April 12, 2013, my mom Columbia Gonzales Driessler passed away at 7:32 p.m. in an acute care hospital in Reno, Nevada. A month later, it would have been Mother’s Day. On May 24, she would have been 67 years old.

Everyone called her Cleo. A Visayan, she was born in Bacolod City, the City of Smiles and capital of Negros Occidental. Growing up on the next island over (the capital city of Cebu), Cleo was the only child of Adela, a public school teacher in Cebu City, and a U.S. serviceman from New Jersey of Italian-American descent. He was stationed in Bacolod City near the tail end of that city’s liberation during the Japanese American War of World War II. He fought with U.S. allied forces and Filipino guerillas to free Bacolod City from Japanese occupation on May 1945. He resided there until the early 1950s.

A mestiza beauty, a Filipino of mixed ancestry, Cleo had fair skin in a country where the natural color tends to be dark brown. She was so ethnically different from other Filipinos girls, even her own kin on the mother’s side, that growing up she had faced identity conflicts. She was not an American, and she did not come from a well-off family (a common stereotype of Spanish or American mestizos among Filipinos), but she did not look indigenous either. Her childhood alienation was made worse by a profound sense of abandonment. Her Italian American father, who signed her birth certificate, deserted her mother, who in turn (because of those repressive religious times and social mores) felt she had no choice but to leave Mom in the care of her sisters. For years Cleo assumed that her own mother was a benevolent aunt.

Vivacious, strong-willed, blessed with a cariñosa smile, Cleo was a gutsy and unconventional Filipina. Raising four children as a single mother, as well as taking care of her own mother who lived with us in Manila, she was our family’s breadwinner. She sold jewelry. She ran a garment-making business. Her beauty queen looks led to modeling gigs for hotels and fashion designers. She appeared in television and radio commercials. She played small parts in Philippine movies, usually directed by Emmanuel H. Borlaza Jr. and starring Vilma Santos. At one point we enjoyed the spectacle of sitting in front of the TV at 6:30 every night and looking out for Mom in her a recurring role in a fantasy TV series. Dressed like Wonder Woman in a skimpy red outfit and a gold crown on her head, Cleo played the part of an Amazon princess, the sister of Queen Sheba.

NEXT: How Mama reinvented herself in America

Randy Gener is the Nathan Award–winning editor, writer and artist in New York City. He is the dramaturge of “Noli Me Tangere: The Opera” and the organizer/curator of Filipino Mundo-NYC, a MeetUp group of young professionals and visual/performing artists.

Mark Carson was harassed with homophobic taunts before he was shot in the face.

On Thursday, May 16th, I attended a protest, in front of Madison Square Garden, right before a Knicks game. With the theme of “Queers Take Back the Night, ”over a hundred LGBTQ people and allies stood silently with signs as Knicks fans entered the arena. Some passers-by respectfully walked by, while many snickered or scoffed at our presence.

A few LGBTQ leaders spoke passionately on a megaphone, and the nonviolent group walked with their signs and flyers down 8th Avenue. For some, it was important to educate people about the string of anti-LGBT hate crimes and for others, the purpose was to reclaim the streets they once viewed as safe.

Apparently, the peaceful protest didn’t work.

On May 18th, shortly after midnight, Mark Carson, a 32-year old, gay African American man was walking with a friend in the West Village, when a group of men began to verbally harass them with homophobic taunts. One of the men followed the pair and shot Mark Carson in the face; he died shortly after.

Less than 24 hours later, I attended a candlelight vigil in honor of Mr. Carson, located right where he was killed. Several hundred people were in attendance, and I heard the phrase “It could have been any of us” throughout the night. On Monday night, a more organized rally was held to honor Mr. Carson. While I personally could not attend, I was there in spirit with the thousands of people who marched in the West Village and held signs that read “Stop the Hate!” and “Marriage means nothing if we are being gunned down.” Leaders of the LGBTQ community, politicians, and even members of Mr. Carson’s family spoke.

Sadly, this protest didn’t work either.

A few hours later in the East Village, a gay man was attacked after disclosing to an acquaintance that he was gay. A few more hours later in Soho, a gay Latino couple was the verbal target of anti-gay slurs, right before they were physically assaulted. These last two incidents bring the total number to seven anti-gay hate crimes in a span of 20 days. Perhaps we need to do more than just protest and rally.

Some members of the LGBTQ community want to fight back, by taking self-defense classes or arming themselves. Others want more police presence in LGBTQ neighborhoods, and others want to organize “safety by numbers” programs. While I can see some merit in some of these responses, my recommendation is simple: 1) Talk about these issues, 2) Don’t assume, and 3) Take a stand.

We have to start talking to our family members, friends, and acquaintances about what is happening. Post on your Facebook and Twitter pages. Send emails to listserves across the country, but also to your personal networks. While there is some coverage on mainstream news sources, most people are unaware of what is happening. Tell people about what happened to Mark Carson, so that his death is not in vain. It is way too common for LGBTQ people (particularly transgender people and LGBTQ people of color) to be victims of heinous crimes and for their names to be forgotten. I will not forget Sakia Gunn, Stephen Lopez Mercado, or Lorena Escalera, and we cannot forget Mark Carson either.

Secondly, don’t assume anything. In the past couple of weeks, I have had lots of conversations with friends who say things like “Things like this don’t happen in New York.” But, they do. It is quite common for my boyfriend and I to hear homophobic slurs as we walk down the streets of Manhattan. It wasn’t too long ago that a man in Hells Kitchen shoved me and called me a “faggot” as I walked by holding my boyfriend’s hand. Luckily nothing else happened, and after these past few weeks’ events, I am thankful that nothing did.

I’ve also had a lot of conversations with friends who say things like “I don’t think I know any homophobic people.” When I ask if they’ve talked about homophobia with their brothers, cousins, or friends directly, the common response is “No.” Of course we don’t want to believe that anyone in our lives is homophobic (or racist, sexist, etc.), but unless we talk about their views directly, we really don’t know.

When perpetrators of school shootings or serial killings are arrested, most people claim that they didn’t know the person was hateful, sociopathic, or mentally ill. When a person commits suicide, a lot of people will say they didn’t know the person was depressed or suicidal. And this is why we need to ask.

Finally, take a stand. Tell people that homophobia and transphobia is unacceptable. When people use biased language like “That’s So Gay” or “No Homo,” point out how those words are wrong and hurtful. When we allow these microaggressive, anti-LGBTQ behaviors to continue, we create an environment where people believe it is acceptable to hate or discriminate against LGBTQ people. And if these hateful environments persist, the violence will continue.

I share all of this with you because I don’t want to be afraid to hold my boyfriend’s hand in public. I don’t want to feel unsafe again. I don’t want to live my life in fear. And I don’t want to go back into the closet.

But I need your help.

Dr. Kevin Nadal is an associate professor at John Jay College of Criminal Justice. His second book, “That’s So Gay: Microaggressions and the LGBT Community,” was published in February.

The author (left) and boyfriend RJ Mendoza of the APICHA Community Health Center with a message for all: ‘No Hate’

I first moved to New York when I was 24 years old and I was accepted into a doctoral program in psychology at Columbia University. Some college friends from my undergraduate university in Southern California were already living in New York and invited me to move in with them in a small two-bedroom apartment in the West Village.

I was a naïve Californian, who had just completed a two-year tenure in Michigan, and I didn’t really know much about my neighborhood. When I told people where I was moving, I usually said that it was where the “Friends” characters lived or where the tenth season of the “Real World” was filmed.

However, when I actually moved to the Big Apple a month later, I quickly learned that the neighborhood where I would spend the first three years of my New York life was the home of the Stonewall Inn and the mecca of the LGBTQ (lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer) Rights Movement.

Perhaps I didn’t know much about Stonewall because I was still in the closet. While I had been living a “secret” life as a gay man for most of my life, the lingering pressures of coming from a Catholic, Filipino family prevented me from ever coming to terms with my sexual identity.

I didn’t tell many people that I was gay — not my family in California, not my family that lived off the last stop of the F-Train in Jamaica, Queens, and not even my roommates who I shared a wall with. I wasn’t ready. I was afraid I wouldn’t be accepted. I was scared that I would lose everything (and everyone) in my life.

But somehow, everything changed.

I started exploring my neighborhood and began to frequent some of the local gay bars. I began to meet all kinds of LGBTQ people -– particularly gay men, transgender women, and even a few drag queens. At least once a week, I would go to the Stonewall Inn on Christopher Street, the same place where the LGBTQ movement began over 30 years prior when a bunch of brave transgender women and gay men fought back against a police raid.

My favorite nights at Stonewall circa 2002 were the “Hip Hop Nights;” I would enter a room where a bunch of gay and queer men of color were bobbing their heads to the sounds of Biggie Smalls and Jay-Z. For the first time in my life, I felt like I belonged. I could be a person of color and gay at the same time, and it was okay.

I made several friends in the West Village, and I even met a few lovers. It felt so free and invigorating to hold another man’s hand in public for the first time in my life. I felt safe. I felt proud. It was time for me to come out of the closet.

Eleven years later, a few things have changed. First, over time, I had lived in two other LGBTQ-friendly neighborhoods in Manhattan: Hell’s Kitchen (which is adjacent to Times Square) and Chelsea (where I currently live). I graduated from my Ph.D. program, wrote a few books, and eventually became a tenured professor. And most importantly, I finally met the love of my life, and we have been unofficially living together for the past nine months. I plan on marrying him someday and I am proud to be a resident of a state where that would be legal.

However, lately, I haven’t been so proud of my state or my city.

In the past three weeks, there have been a string of hate crimes against gay men in Manhattan, and one resulted in death. On May 5th, a gay couple was attacked in broad daylight outside of Madison Square Garden, right after a New York Knicks game, while a different gay couple was assaulted a few days later, a few blocks away. A gay man was attacked while leaving a bar in the West Village, and another gay man in Union Square was punched in the face and robbed. With all of these incidents, the assailants were heard yelling homophobic slurs, right before — and while — they assaulted their victims.

Next: ‘I don’t want to feel unsafe again…and go back into the closet’

Dr. Kevin Nadal is an associate professor at John Jay College of Criminal Justice. His second book, “That’s So Gay: Microaggressions and the LGBT Community,” was published in February.

John Liu came late. Photos by Edward Charrette

Welcome to the Mayoral Candidates Forum organized by a coalition of about 50 Asian American organizations where the empty seats at the auditorium quickly became the news more than why the candidates wanted to head America’s biggest city.

The forum, “Growing Numbers, Growing Impact: Mayoral Candidates Forum on Asian Pacific Americans.” was held at the LaGuardia Community College on May 20.

“Many groups/organizations from the Asian Pacific American community put a great deal of effort into organizing an informative event for the community members to hear from various mayoral candidates of their plans on how they will improve New York City,” said Linda Lee, executive director of the Korean Community Services of Metropolitan New York, Inc. “However, last night, our community members were robbed of the opportunity to have their voices and concerns heard.”

Likewise disappointed with the dismal turnout was Luna Ranjit, executive director of Adhikaar.

“We are disappointed that many of the candidates who confirmed did not show up,” she said. “If our Nepali-speaking members can take time out after a long day of work, why can’t the front runner candidates make it a priority to come talk to them and ask for their votes?”

Ryan Natividad, a Filipino American community organizer, voiced his dismay.

“Too bad, John Catsimatidis didn’t show up,” he said. “He would’ve been the only Republican candidate to show up in a non-partisan event, and I would’ve respected him for that. As it stands, he’s a typical, craven Republican, doing only what suits him or is advantageous on his terms.”
As for Quinn, he said “she has a habit of ignoring communities.”

Although Liu was present, Natividad thought he appeared cocky by being tardy and not following protocol. “He’s so full of himself that he’s already taking the APA community for granted,” he said.

In a statement, the organizers said all the candidates committed to attending the forum. However, on the morning of May 20, Quinn and Thompson notified them they would not be able to attend because of a rally or a prior appointment. Quinn was at a hastily-called rally honoring Mark Carson, the latest victim of hate crime attacks. Catsimatidis confirmed but did not attend without explaining his absence.

The lack of attendance by these candidates “says a lot of their lack of commitment to the Asian Pacific American community,” said Nyasha Griffith, deputy director of the Arab-American Family Support Center. “This is particularly disappointing in light of the fact that our community is typically undeserved and under-recognized.”

The Asian Pacific American population is the fastest growing over the last 10 years, and that “our votes and voices need to be taken seriously,” said Lee. The community makes up nearly 14 percent of the population with 1.3 million New Yorkers throughout all five boroughs. “Anyone who ignores this population does it at his or her own peril,” said Joyce Moy, executive director of the Asian American/Asian Research Institute at City University of New York.

Warned Lois Lee, director of the Chinese-American Planning Council: “I heard many audience members say that they will not vote for anyone who will not prioritize our needs.”

The four candidates who spoke at the forum hailed the Asian community for contributing to the city’s growth and enrichment.

“Asian Pacific Americans are an integral part of the fabric of the city,” said candidate and former council member Sal Albanese.

Echoed Public Advocate Bill de Blasio: “Asian Pacific Americans are a growing and critical piece of New York City’s fabric.”

Erick Salgado, whose parents are Puerto Rican- born, said he is honored to participate in the forum. “As a part of a minority group myself, I understand how important it is to have all communities well represented in our government.”

City Comptroller John Liu, the son of Chinese immigrants, clearly felt comfortable being in a so-called ‘hometown’ audience. He said the participation of this year’s major democratic candidates for mayor is a “testament to the sheer growth and the potential of the NYC APIA community’s political relevance and influence.”

Young Asian American student: Asians are the fastest growing population in the last 10 years

NobelCom.com is setting the standard for prepaid international calling.

Las Vegas resident Lionel Silva, 58, a retired IT professional, was faced with the same question, but the solution he found was more surprising than even he expected.

“I found a great service and I used it to call my wife in Aklan,” he said. “They have everything I need. I pay less than 10 cents a minute to call the Philippines. Before this I would pay anywhere from 15 cents a minute with a regular landline to 20 cents or even more.”

Almost one year ago, Lionel found his best fit with Nobel’s calling services, EnjoyPrepaid.com and NobelCom.com.

But it’s not just low costs and rates per minute that convinced him.

“The connection is great, very clear, I get 20 percent off on my minutes for my birthday and it’s easy to use because it has speed dial. I used to talk to my wife in the Philippines a lot. Now that she’s here with me, I taught her how to use it as well. She calls her relatives back home and said she enjoys this product too.”

“Our policy has always been to deliver more than is expected of an ordinary calling card,” said Bogdan Sandu, supervisor of Quality Assurance with Nobel. “People have different needs and different priorities. So, we can’t just focus on a cheap rate; that alone does not cut it. You need to make an efficient and useful product. For instance, we’ve invested a lot in getting top quality connection to most destinations around the world while we adapted our service for PCs and smartphones and even introduced the option of sending free text messages.”

Nobel services have set the standard for prepaid international calling in the last few years and managed to keep up with the ever-changing market trends and technologies.

“We try to be as open as possible and listen to our customers and their feedback,” Sandu added. “Our $20 Emerald plan on EnjoyPrepaid.com for instance may seem like any other online calling card, but the truth is it’s anything but that. It’s a versatile, effective and affordable communication tool with 24/7 customer support. It only got this way because our customers have high standards and we intend to keep meeting them for a long time.”

As more and more competitors line up to take a share of the international calling market one idea should be the starting point of any offer: “Always ask for the best!” Nobel’s Enjoy Prepaid seems determined to deliver on this expectation every time.

Fighting from a Distance: How Filipino Exiles Helped Topple a Dictator
By Jose V. Fuentecilla
University of Illinois Press
2013

By Cristina DC Pastor

It is a book that triggers memories – some good and some not so bracing.

That is how the book “Fighting from a Distance: How Filipino Exiles helped Topple a Dictator” by Jose V. Fuentecilla struck me as I read the 162-page softcover published by the University of Illinois Press.

They were then pejoratively called “steak commandos” by minions of Ferdinand Marcos, dismissed by the dictator for living it up in the plush comfort of the United States. The book writes of Manglapus, as a “hunted” man, subleasing a meager apartment from a Filipino couple in New York City and “learning to steam rice and cook… nilaga and sinigang.”

The book narrated how the Movement for a Free Philippines (MFP), led by Raul Manglapus and Bonifacio Gillego, were hounded by the FBI at the instigation of the U.S. government – chummy friends of the Marcoses — who seized sole power in 1972 and jailed his critics.

This struggle by exiles who were shunned by large parts of the Filipino community and harassed by a Republican government, led by Marcos pal Ronald Reagan, speaks to the power of persistence in fighting a cause.

As one who intimately witnessed the birth of the MFP, Fuentecilla writes of how this grassroots organization inspired the overthrow of the Marcos dictatorship which destroyed the democratic framework of the Philippines, and what the MFP endured in the hands of the pro-Marcos White House.

A month after Manglapus was joined by his family in the U.S., followed by retired Army intelligence officer Bonifacio Gillego, lawyer Charito Planas, dean Gaston Ortigas, and others, MFP was organized in Manhattan in September 1973. It was a full year after martial law was proclaimed by Marcos in 1972.

Raul Manglapus

The stressful life of an exile claimed the young life of Raoul Beloso, who committed suicide by hanging himself in his Broadway apartment. He was then a ranking official of the Department of Agriculture who fired off an angry anti-Marcos opinion piece for The New York Times. He felt homesick, missed his wife and was broke, the book alleges.

The Filipino community greeted the movement with “apathy and fear” especially among newer immigrants, says Fuentecilla.

“Their first order of business was to get settled – employment, housing, education for their children – there was no room to indulge in politics,” he writes.

Eventually, known activists and supporters of MFP were blacklisted. The environment then was rife with reports of a plot to assassinate Manglapus. There would splits within the ranks, and break-away groups being formed denouncing the MFP as too “moderate” or “centrist.” Through it all, the movement grew and chapters were formed across the United States. Leaders turned to lobbying members of Congress, especially those investigating human rights abuses in countries that benefitted from American foreign assistance.

“How they persevered provides a lesson in organizing and sustaining efforts to overthrow a well-entrenched enemy,” says the author, an MFP stalwart.

While the main fight was spearheaded by Manila-based activists, the opponents of Marcos in the U.S. were no less ardent in their feelings for the country, he says. He acknowledges that these U.S.-based activists were “small in numbers and splintered in their solidarity” but their narrative has hardly been told until now. The reason for this book being published 27 years after the EDSA revolution that sealed the fall of the dictatorship.

The book explains to a huge degree how the coddling by the U.S. of Marcos stoked the anger of Filipinos and how this led to the eventual closure of U.S. military bases in the country, the biggest outside North America. It pounded home to readers how the U.S. harangues about democracy and freedom took a poor second or even third place to its abiding desire to keep its military bases at Clark in Pampanga province and Subic Bay in Olongapo.

Fuentecilla puts it well when he says, “The United States lost its Philippine bases, and a generation of Filipinos who lived through the agony of the martial law regime are deeply aware that the U.S. government sided with a dictator.”

When Cory Aquino became president, Manglapus came home to become a senator and later joined her government as foreign secretary. Gillego became a congressman who led the campaign for land reform.

The author with escort Brandon Nguyen

By Megan Villarin

My name is Megan Villarin and I am a member of St. Raphael Holy Angel’s Filipino Community in Hamilton, New Jersey.

Here at our parish, we had our second annual Santacruzan on May 5th. I am this year’s Reyna Elena and am also a member of the Filipino choir at St. Raphael. I am the lead pianist as well as a soprano singer. Our choir sings at many occasions such as our Filipino masses, Simbang Gabi, and our annual caroling fundraisers during the Christmas season.

Although I am an American-born teenager, being a part of this community has allowed me to connect with my heritage and strengthen my Catholic faith.

The Santacruzan is a spectacular and wonderful religious and culture tradition in the Philippines and our community wanted to keep this tradition alive. Last year was our first Santacruzan in which I also participated as a ‘sagala.’ I was Reyna de las Estrellas. It was a joyous and grand event which brought over 300 Filipinos in our area together.

The Reyna Elena last year was Renee Nathalie Janolo. She crowned me this year as the 2013 Reyna Elena. It felt amazing to be part of the Santacruzan yet again! I never expected to be Reyna Elena and for me it was such an honor!

As well as being Reyna Elena, I am also the pianist and a singer in the Filipino Choir, so we were busy getting ready for the mass. It was quite an interesting experience having to play the piano in my big, poofy gown. I also sang the Responsorial Psalm for the mass that day which made it all the more memorable.

We then headed to the procession where we walked around the block with our Arches and the statue of the Virgin Mary. This is one of the most enjoyable parts of the program! Although walking in our heels and long dresses wasn’t comfortable, it’s great to see all the people coming out of their houses to see and take part in the tradition!

The evening program is where the reynas and ‘sagalas’ were introduced. This is the most prominent moment for me as I was crowned by last year’s Reyna Elena, Renee Janolo. I’ve never been a part of a pageant before in my life, but something about being a part of the Santacruzan makes everything more special. It did not feel like a regular pageant with all the formalities and extravagance, but sharing that moment with everyone and being crowned Reyna Elena really made me feel blessed and feel honored to be a part of the Filipino culture and this tradition. It was a once in a lifetime experience that I will never forget.

I felt a sense of gratitude because if it weren’t for God, the community, my family, friends, and all those who supported me through their love and donations, none of it would have been possible. We then proceeded to do the waltz with our escorts and as for a modern twist, our coronation song was “Gangnam Style.”

One thing I should probably say is that the Reyna Emperatriz, Karla Dimatulac is one of my closest friends. She is like a sister to me so being able to share the Santacruzan experience with her made it even more amazing. “Gangnam Style” is a song we both love and we dance to it often so having it as our coronation song was really fun and hilarious.

The rest of the night was just as awesome, there was a lot more dancing (especially line dancing) and there were some performances as well. Two children did an awesome martial arts routine and my brother, Kyle, and I played a few pieces on the violin and piano, respectively. I loved seeing all the mix of people who took part or came to see the Santacruzan. Everyone from young to old, from various ethnicities — my escort was actually Vietnamese — came out for the event. It made me happy to see that the Santacruzan is not only a religious and cultural event, but a tradition that unifies everyone.

The religious tradition honors the Virgin Mary.

Father Gene Daguplo delivers a Marian message while thanking the ‘sagalas’ and their families.

The Santacruzan cast:
Reyna Elena: Megan Villarin, Escort: Brandon Nguyen, Constantino: Adrian Buensalida
Reyna Emperatriz: Karla Dimatulac, Escort: Kyle Villarin
Reyna de las Flores: Francesca Parayno
Reyna de las Virgines: Nicole Jimenez
Reyna de las Profetas: Rita Obed
Reyna del Cielo: Calysta Laurente
Reyna del Santo Rosario: Allysa Valencia
Reyna de las Estrellas: Jamaica Edralin
Reyna de los Angeles: Liliya Suayan

Trust our award-winning law firm with your immigration case.

A C cup finds its way on stage. Photos by Elton Lugay

A woman in the packed Enrique Iglesias concert was having her own screechfest. In an agitated state, she unhooked her bra and threw it at the singer well into his “I Like How it Feels” number.

The Latino-Filipino singer appeared flustered but gamely played along, holding the C cup while feigning surprise.

This is what Enrique Iglesias does to women. They would go to extremes just to be noticed by this seductive son of Spanish balladeer Julio Iglesias and Filipina socialite Isabel Preysler.

It’s exhilarating to watch the certified heartthrob on stage. My first time. He sang in that melodious Latin voice — with matching accent — which make his fans go wild.

Univision Radio produced the May 14 private concert at Terminal 5 in Manhattan for its advertisers and loyal radio listeners. “American Idol” finalist Jessica Sanchez, herself of Latino and Filipino descent, gave the opening number.

Jessica Sanchez

By comparison, Enrique had the audience hanging on to his every word. They were reacting and singing with him. The girls were screaming. Just pure pandemonium each time he appeared on stage.

Enrique began with his titillating hit “Tonight, I’m Loving You.” He was full of energy, moving and dancing from one corner of the stage to another. Wearing a red crew shirt over blue jeans, he had no problem engaging his Latino fans. The baseball cap stayed on throughout the concert.

In between performances, he would deliver bits of stories about his life in both Spanish and English. He got more applause when he spoke in Spanish. As a young boy visiting the U.S. for the first time, he recalled telling his father he wanted to be a famous singer like him.

Enrique would handpick a couple from the crowd. He serenaded them with a Spanish love song and also shared a bottle of tequila. The crowd loved the romantic gesture.

My friend Erno Hormillosa, who watched the show with me, said it’s a shame that Enrique is not being marketed to Filipino fans. “He’s truly a total performer!”

Enrique performed about a dozen songs in both English and Spanish, all the while as the crowd of more than 500 didn’t mind being on their feet for several hours.

Unlike most concerts where the sound system blares too loudly, in this concert the ear-blasters were the screaming fans.

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