Ever since I was little I was fascinated by the world of transportation; bus depots, train stations, or airport terminals. Growing up in San Francisco, I heavily relied on Muni to get me everywhere and anywhere in the city. Occasionally Bart would also be a helpful resource outside of San Francisco. But what I particularly admired the most was airports. Airports.

I rarely ever went on an airplane but when I did, the atmosphere was always magical. It’s the large glass windows to visually see what you are about to embark on. It’s the plane itself, flying high into the sky, not knowing where you really are but that you trust that you will arrive at your destination. It’s the amalgamation of people in an endless terminal of gates and that you are in a crowd of strangers not knowing their background but sharing a commonality of flying.

I think the mutual attraction between airports and I is the idea of leaving a place. It’s the fact that you can hop on a plane and fly to a destination, wherever you want, and leave everything behind. The concept of escape and that an airport is the best place to be if you want to get far away knowing someone can’t automatically chase after you. It’s the intention of running away and having that resource at the tip of your fingers. It’s entering a gate and exiting another where no one knows you and you can start over fresh.

It’s the notion of going away essentially. Away from everything you know, everything that people perceive you to be, every problem that arises in that place, and everything that’s familiar. With just one boarding ticket, all that can be demolished to the point of extinction. Airports. I really like airports. Or maybe I just like the idea of throwing everything away and starting over.

On Sunday night I rode the Amtrak to Emeryville. It was 9:20pm, 5 minutes before the last Davis departure heading westward. As I sat in the station, anxiously awaiting my train, I could not but help look around at my soon to be passenger-mates. For a Sunday evening there were more people than I expected. I pondered on their final destinations and the various missions they had there or in Davis.

I gazed around, thinking, thinking, thinking, finding possible scenarios, Carlos Bulosan, Southeast Asians, Sunday night, the Niners just lost, walking, walking, I haven’t finished, lecture 5 on Monday, just something, something to keep my mind busy from what I actually didn’t really want to think about. Digress. Digress into oblivion so that I wouldn’t have to cry the tears that haven’t existed since the day my childhood was taken away. Stumbling, stumbling my way back into the station, finding answers, acknowledging responsibility, attempting to give comfort, determining what’s appropriate for the situation.

I looked around again, thinking what all these other soon to be passengers had just experienced. I don’t know their stories. I don’t know their reasons. I don’t know their struggles. For I could know, they could be running away from an abusive relationship, running away from a life of crime, leaving their loved one for the weekend, or simply just going home.

For me it’s returning to a life I didn’t want anymore. A life of finally leaving adulthood and returning to the childhood I never had. But now those years have passed, everything is seen in a different light. I have to go back. I can’t run away forever. I have to go back. I have to remember. I have to acknowledge the truth. He’s not there and now he’s gone. I have to live with it. It’s only been 3 weeks.

Memories. Memories flood into my head like a swirl of different flavors. Your room under the stairs. The day we ran around the house through every room including yours. The day that I saw you on tv and accidentally busted you out. The day you rode your bike. The day you got high. The day you drank with us. The day I realized you spoke another language. The day when Pandora was too much for you and you needed to escape.

Pictures. Endless pictures. Pictures with her and the one you stayed with for 66 years. Pictures with your children and your grandchildren. Pictures of your golden chain on Mission Street. Henn. Henn with no chase. BOSS.

Your voice. The way you talked. Tagalog so fluently. English with an accent but yet you were right. Spanish. Spanish like I’ve never heard it before. Forgetful. Names, familiar faces of our father, of our mother. A confusion. Which one are you? The first born, the third born. He can’t remember so I have to correct.

The history. The growth. The street names. Mission. Capp. I realize that you’ve been here for a while. Why haven’t I thought about the events of the past? The choices you made and the reasons for them?

Word salads. Symptoms of schizophrenia. So I stop. Take a deep breath and realize it’s only been less than a minute. My train isn’t here yet so I reflect and reminisce again. I think and I remember those eyes. Your eyes that have seen so much but yet keep it within. Your secrets and your stories, they can’t be ever told from first-hand experience again. The eyes of a man that I’ve never seen vulnerability until that day. A vulnerability that I never knew existed till when your heart was broken that very sad day.

It’s apparent now. It’s apparent. I can see the evidence of our relation. Not just the physical characteristics but the similar defining mannerisms. I hide it, you hide it. We both keep it inside. I can’t really explain it but I can understand. I can visualize it. We were strong. We had to be strong. I just know it’s there.

So here we are again, here I am in a room full of strangers. I don’t know your story but I do know mine. I’m going, going, going, back to where it all began. Back to the one who started it all. The one who gave all of us reasons. The one who gave us all purpose. It won’t be the same but it might be better this way. We were resilient once and we will be resilient again. The memories. The life. The struggle. The tears that haven’t come yet. The feelings that could destroy a world and drown it in seconds.

The train arrives and I’m grabbing my things. This is it. Shift just got real. Shift just got real. I’m going back. We need each other. A text and several calls. I’m on my way family, I’m on my way. I can imagine your faces, your pain, the questions, and the answers. Just hold on. We can get through this together. Just believe. Mga kapatid. Love. Love and love. In solidarity my family. In solidarity.

If someone really likes you, they would start doing the same activities as you do, even if they might not necessarily like that activity themselves. This is because that person really wants to find a commonality and enter your world. They want to be able to engage in something you really like to partake in and enjoy doing. Although there are some activities that they may not particularly enjoy, they would rather bite their tongue and see you happy than sit around and be boring. It’s another conversation starter that they can have with you. It’s the fact that they would immerse themselves in your everyday life so that the two of you could potentially share something, anything, that could make the relationship closer.

Example. True story bro.

I remember I really, really liked someone. Everything seemed to magically feel and be better. Everything would distract me about them and everything would make me focus on them. It was just truly bliss. So one day we were talking and he said he liked to dance hip hop. He’d been to a couple of dance workshops in the city and he said it was posted on youtube. Once I heard this, I secretly began a mission to get better at modern dance. Now if you know me well, you know I can’t dance or just won’t dance. Everytime I go to an MK Modern workshop, I never learn the whole routine because dance contains two of my biggest insecurities; being self-conscious about my body and looking in mirrors. But regardless of not being a hip hop dancer, I continued the mission. So what I did was choose a routine I really liked. I picked MK Modern’s Here (In Your Arms) Remix by Hellogoodbye in their DDR 09 set because I felt it was appropriate of what I was feeling at the time, a love story. I remember going on youtube and playing that video like a million times. I started it exactly when that song came on and mimicked every move. I played it over and over and remember being in my room for hours on end mastering it. My final goal was to have fluidity, rhythm, and most of all swag. I really wanted to show him all that I did and hopefully impress him to the point where dance could probably be something we could share together.

*sigh*

So this morning at the Coho I finished Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. I was seriously tearing up during Dumbledore’s speech to the Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students at the end of the year feast. Dumbledore just knows exactly what to say at exactly the right time. He speaks so eloquently and his words have influential meaning to both the wizardry world and our world. He spoke with such intelligence for what was currently happening with Lord Voldemort rising and what needed to be done, but also for Cedric Diggory and what his existence signifies in this world of “human sacrifices.” When I first read this book I didn’t fully see the hidden messages that Harry Potter had, but now I can see it in a different light.

Two things really got to me in Dumbledore’s speech. One was the true significance of the Triwizard Tournament.

“The Triwizard Tournament’s aim was to further and promote magical understanding. In light of what has happened - of Lord Voldemort’s return - such ties are more important than ever before.”

I just thought that this was truly beautiful. It showed that in times of hardship, destruction and worry, we can always look to each other for help. And not only of people of our kind that we are familiar with or like us, but with people from outside of our boundaries. I felt that this can be seen on a diplomatic level withe countries uniting with one another

Another one was Dumbledore’s meaningful words was his extension of Hogwarts as a safe haven for anyone who wished to seek refuge. I found this ironic because Hogwarts is a school. It is interesting that a school or education would become a safe haven for anyone who wished to find it. I just found it touching because I can relate to this message. Education can be home for anyone willing to search for it. For me, education was got me through tough times. There’s just so much I can’t put into words about this.

So lately I’ve been watching a lot of old cartoons or shows that used to be on TV when I was younger. I’d occasionally go on youtube, insert Hey Arnold 1080 into the search bar and scroll through endless pages of Hey Arnold episodes. Now I’ve exhausted all that youtube can offer and seen every single episode. “I saw, I saw, your face…and WOW!” Then I also took great effort of looking up older Are You Afraid Of The Dark episodes. I even went on Wikipedia and thoroughly read each synopsis of the episodes to make sure I wasn’t missing one I haven’t seen. Now I’m watching Doug, before it became a part of Disney. And look at the time, it’s 1:30am!

I’m not sure what’s come over me in behaving in this manner. I feel like I’m taking a lot of my free time and effort to watch these TV shows. Lately I haven’t been feeling so good. It’s not that I feel physically sick but that my confidence level has been shot way down. I’ve constantly been looking back on my life and I think, “Wow, what the hell have I been doing with my life?” I feel like in my 20 years of living I haven’t been as productive as I should be. Maybe I’m just comparing myself to everyone else’s triumphs and accomplishments, which isn’t good. But I can’t help my method of thinking sometimes. I just feel useless and unfit for this world of responsibility

So why am I taking drastic efforts to watch these old shows that haven’t been on TV in over 10 years? I mean I’ve seen them all before, it’s not like they’re no longer in my head. I dunno, maybe it’s some kind of defense mechanism I’m using on myself. I’m growing up too fast and rapidly approaching this world called adulthood. Maybe I can’t handle it and am releasing this stress and tension by watching these cartoons. Maybe I’m telling myself that I’m not ready and that I need more time. I want to grow down. Relive those childhood memories because I’m afraid of what the future memories will hold.

To Mom: I am inspired and dedicated to do what I do because of you. To April Cristal: Thank you for allowing me this opportunity and your belief in my abilities to do this. To Dara Del Rosario:Thank you for all the random talks we had to relieve our stress with PCN. To Rommel Conclara:Thank you for your dedication, we as a cast wouldn’t have accomplished it together without you. To Jasmine Musni:Thank you for being my right-hand woman for Chip Chop. I appreciate all your input and the endless hours of practice.To Ed Dizon: Thanks for making a dope mix for Chip Chop. To Justine Norombaba and Ryan Nebre: Thank you for saving our butts in Chip Chop. It truly brought life to the dance. To Fast Pace Movement:Thank you for being my first family at SFSU. To DDR: Thank you for being Down, Dirty and Rude. Need I say more?To Katherine Emperador:Thank you for allowing me to tell you everything I’ve wanted to get off my chest. To Kenneth Flores and Patrice Martin: Thank you for teaching me Chip Chop. You gave me a dance that encouraged me in learning modern dance moves.To Scott Espinoza and Liane Tongol:Thank you for taking a chance on me in Tinikling three years ago. You gave me something to continuously look forward to during difficult times. Your expertise has taught me to raise sixteen incredible dancers of my own. To Chip Chop:Thank you for learning Yeah 3x over and over. To T90x:Thank you for enduring practices and performing my dream routine.

This isn’t something you can bullshift. If you do, then what is gonna appear on stage is uncontrollable chaos. I just wanna say that I believe what happened with everything is because of you. Your lack of commitment and dedication for it is what fucked everyone over. I constantly gave you the benefit of the doubt every time you said you had something to do. You didn’t have the nerve to tell me about it, but I let it go. I chose you not because you were good, not because you were skillful, but because you were dedicated and showed interest and desire. I believe in giving people chances. Skill is not a factor because I know skill can be improved. What can’t be improved is heart and dedication. So I gave it to you because you wanted to be here. But then you’re jerk ass took your place on the team for granted. And what kills me is that there were other people buying for your spot. I told them no because I wanted you on the team. I like to look at the good side of people, but that is hard to do when you give me bullshift. It’s not fair that other people are going to work extra hard while you are just sitting there looking pretty. We’ve all taken sacrifices and I just don’t get why you continue to do what you do. Now we’re so close and we’re no where near ready. I’m sorry but you need to prioritize before you start claiming what you claim.

Hello, my name is Julian and I have an unhealthy obsession with Tinikling. Whether it be performing Tinikling or thinking about formations and moves in my head, I never cease to control myself. I listen to Tinikling music on my way to class and imagine different scenarios in my head. I constantly look up Tinikling videos on youtube. It’s ridiculous!

People tell me that things happen for a reason. The events that occur, the people you meet and when they happen are all part of some bigger plan that we are all unaware about at that specific time. Things will slowly fall into place and it will all make sense.

But yet, curiosity has always been a factor when I begin to think about these beliefs. When someone new comes into my life, I can’t help but wonder what they will teach me or better yet, what I might offer them. Of course all of this is subconscious a majority of the time, not noticing the beautiful phenomenon that is going to happen. It’s just a part of what we call life.

These rush of thoughts came to me today because I saw someone I once knew. After bartending school this afternoon, walking to the bus stop, I saw the Berkeley Boy. I haven’t seen the Berkeley Boy since my senior year of high school. So when we saw each other it kinda startled the both of us due to the rush of confused emotions, excitement since we haven’t one another in a long time or perhaps embarrassment because of how we went our separate ways. I’m not really sure.

Our sudden realization of each other’s presence was very Hollywood. As I was walking pass a crowd of people on 4th Street, he was turning around to walk onto the platform. I know we were both surprised because we weren’t expecting to see each other. When I acknowledged his presence, for a quick moment I was frozen. I didn’t know what to say or what to do.

But this encounter is what makes me curious about the bigger plan with everything. Why was I so shocked and surprised to see a person that I haven’t seen in a long time? I knew he lived in San Francisco and shouldn’t be so startled to see someone I know that lives in the city.

Perhaps it was the timing. I guess my head had solidified itself that I will never see this person again in my life. And it’s not like the Berkeley Boy and I had a falling out or we were once infatuated with each other, it was a simple friendship that just drifted apart. Kinda like the friends you had in elementary, middle or high school that just go their separate ways when you graduate.

I don’t really know where I’m going with these details, I was trying to flow my thoughts out hoping I’d find some explanation or organization. No luck. Haha. It just intrigues me why would I see the Berkeley Boy today at the corner of 4th and Market Streets at exactly 3:34pm? What is this encounter supposed to signify in the long run? Am I supposed to begin thinking about something that I haven’t been allowing much time for? Does it relate on the topics of homosexuality, love, friendships or academics? I may never know. For now, I will recollect my thoughts of what life was like when I was with the Berkeley Boy and how things have changed since then. That’s always a good starting point.

So when you gave me your number, I was intrigued, I was interested, I was happy. As the summer progressed, I memorized your number. I would text you random things that came up in my head during the day. I’d joke about what you would wear to work and how you’re allergic to shrimp. I couldn’t wait till I got home from a long day to call you up and listen to what you had to say. And then for you to call me back up and tell me you were at my front door.

Then I don’t know what happened. I still memorized your number but somehow, it seemed like you didn’t reciprocate in the same fashion. Over time we talked less and less and I was perplexed. But yet I memorized your number. I still texted you even though I knew it was inappropriate in our “situation.” I even drunk dialed you a couple of times. Not once having to scroll down to your name and pressing the green button to get your attention. My mind and fingers already knew what to do. Everytime I got a new phone, yours would be the first one I entered into its memory.

Today, while going home on the bus, something triggered a memory of you. I laughed to myself while passing the Popeyes. Then I did the first thing that I always do when I think about you. Repeat your number in my head.

But this time, I couldn’t remember it.

January 28, 2003 was the day I became homeless.

Today marks the 8 year anniversary when my life officially changed for both the bad and the good. Exactly 8 years ago, January 28, 2003, I was in the 7th grade at Everett Middle School in San Francisco. My life was below than average, living with handicapped, low-incomed parents that only got by on a monthly social security check. I already knew of my father’s history in drugs and alcohol, and his violent temper, but I didn’t know how bad it would get later on.

My father then got arrested for battery and assault against my mother. It was already the new year and things already weren’t looking that well. It was only my mother and I, since I have no siblings, who had each other. Only receiving one source of income, we became a destitute and dysfunctional family. And by January 28, 2003, I became officially homeless, not able to afford rent where we were staying.

My mother and I then relocated to a battered women’s shelter in San Francisco called Rosalie House. I found living in a shelter very gratifying because the person I feared the most, my dad, was no longer around. However, little did I know that I would have to transfer schools and live in hiding in the possible scenario my father was released from jail and harm us.

On top of that, I became the sole care taker of my mother, who suffered from schizophrenia. In our small, crammed room in the shelter, my mother began to stop taking her medication. She would then have hallucinations in our room, claiming that she could see my father’s face from jail. At only 12 years old, I was the one who had to be the pillar of strength within the both of us. No one knew of my mother’s illness in the shelter and it was difficult to explain her fragile state to our so called “social workers.”

My mother then began making very bad decisions to which we were kicked out of the shelter. We moved to the only place we could, back with my dad. Afraid of what seemed to be the never ending abuse and the emotional negativity, I believed that everything would repeat in an endless cycle.

In school, my english teacher knew something was wrong at home and alerted child protective services. More social workers came into my life that I knew would never stick around. I got the whole speech from them which I felt was redundant from every other so called social worker in my life.

Long story short, I just want to commemorate the person I was then to the person I am now. Although times were rough, I would have never thought to see myself where I am today. Things happen for a reason and looking back on it, I can see what I was supposed to get out of that time of my life. I would have never been acquainted with the homeless community if things went the way I pictured it then. I wouldn’t have dedicated my high school years in inspiring and empowering the homeless youth to strive for excellence and make something for themselves. I would have not been knowledgeable about the different kinds of homelessness that exists and who it effects the most. I wouldn’t have known the names of all these shelters within our city and the resources it can give us. 

The average age of a homeless person in the United States is 9 years old, due to instances of domestic violence. Women fleeing from their abuser, are left on their own to take care of their children, which ranges from 1 to 5 children.  I once was that statistic, but I’ve made it my objective to give back to the community I was once a part of, at-risk youth. This extends to homeless youth, students of color, especially those that are Filipino. I didn’t like the way my life had turned out then and I didn’t want any child to experience what I went through in their futures. I feel that since my experiences with the Davis Fil-Am for the past 3 years, it has further solidified what I’ve always wanted to get involved with.

Thank you to Bridge Board 2008-2009 for introducing me to such a wonderful organization. You already know wassup. Shout outs to PYC coordinators GMae and Lauren for picking me as a Kuya this year. I finally got to do what I haven’t done since high school, which was to inspire and motivate at-risk youth directly.

Well here’s another musical entry based on my musical structured memory. I remember being a senior in high school when Leona Lewis’s hit Bleeding Love was released. Everyone was on that premature musically talented hype, watching youtube videos of covers or singing competitions from other countries. Then her song came to America and it changed up the game.

There are two moments that I can recall when Bleeding Love comes up on my itunes or ipod. One of them being lonely late nights during my senior year. It would be around 11:00 pm, disregarding homework after getting of from work. My grandparents would be asleep and I would be in my room with my laptop sitting on a pillow next to my head. I would be lying down in the dark, the only source of light coming from my laptop screen or my phone. The song would be pulled up on youtube and I’d repeat it 20 times in a row or so. As that eerie but yet soothing ringing noise played through the speakers and Leona Lewis’s voice echo through my room, I couldn’t help but think. Think about the love that I deeply desired. I remember laying there and hoping that I’d find that one special person soon. One who would be able to suck in all my worries and insecurities and spit back at me encouragement, trust and words of wisdom to make me feel better. Whenever the chorus started, I’d check my phone, for a call or a text from anyone. I think I needed the feeling that someone was thinking of me and cared enough to hit me up. I lay there waiting for that burst of excitement that came from a simple hello. Maybe all I wanted was someone to just tell me that everything was going to be alright.

Another moment that comes to mind with Bleeding Love is my senior prom. I remember being on the dance floor at the Miyako Hotel in Japantown with the lights dimmed and everyone just dancing away. By then, it was that slow jam session and everyone was paired up. I was of course with my date Jaye Evans, a good friend of mine, but only friends. We danced together but I still couldn’t help but look around the dance floor. I’d look around and see couples and not pairs. I’d see love and not just friendships. I remember growing sad because I knew that this moment comes only once in a lifetime. You’re only at your senior prom once and that one special dance doesn’t come again. I just thought that the moment should be cherished and treated with appreciation. What better way with the one you love? But because I didn’t have anyone of that nature, I continued to dance without any passion. During that part of the night, I continuously thought how it would be great to have someone experience life at the same time. It would be amazing to know that someone else would also know what happened, your emotions and feelings that happened up to that point in your life. 

But a guy can dream can’t he?

Christmas isn’t what it used to be when I was kid. I don’t know if it’s because I’m older and all my expectations of what Christmas is had become tainted by the loss of my innocence. Or maybe even because the loss of family value. All I know is that Christmas was the definite holiday that brought family reunification for us no matter what the circumstances. It’s like that family hype and morale deteriorated somewhere. But it has deteriorated in a good way if those that have been affected by it want to take it that way. Uncles, aunties and cousins get divorced, some stay the same, others move in a land far, far away and in rare cases just dissolve from existence.

This season just brought up some very morbid thoughts in my head. Our grandmother, the point person, the head honcho, the giver of all our lives is sick. Her health has been slowly getting worse since her stroke some years ago. It hurts to see her in her condition, unable to speak and walk on her own. What makes me tear up is that she constantly reaches out for a hand or an arm to hold onto. Yet the hands that come are the same ones, the same people. It’s Christmas, couldn’t we all be in one place at one time, even for Grandma’s sake? I just feel like the next time that the entire family will be together is during her passing. I don’t even want to give that a thought but it feels true.

Our family is not dysfunctional. I don’t like that word because it assumes that there is a norm among families. Whatever happens, happens. Cousins get married and they have to cater to the new members of that side of the family. There is financial issues in traveling expenses to just get to the Bay. Every family is different and unique. I know what I’m asking for is a long shot since Grandma has 10 children and all of them have multiplied themselves into more children. And in this last decade alone, my generation has even multiplied into even more babies. But I just want one day where we all come together for one happy, positive event. We have been very close in attempting this but we’ve never been complete. Its better than nothing tho!

So I guess my expectations are to high for people. It’s understandable and it’s ok. I can’t blame it on anyone or anything. I guess I just want our family to see through the eyes of each other family member’s eyes. Especially through Grandma. We always look through the photos of our parents together when they were little and living in that house in the Mission. The sense of unity, right and tight. Let’s revive it before it expires through the generations. And this goes for all of us. Replace family for whatever community you belong to and apply it to whatever y’all do. But yeah. I don’t like being a Debbie Downer but just I know I love all y’all tho! And thanks for reading if you got all the way here. Haha.

So whenever any of you text me, I read it and then make one of two decisions with it. Either save it or delete it right away. By keeping it, it is a text that has somehow grabbed my intellectual or emotional attention. Or maybe it’s an address and I won’t be able to memorize it. Here are a couple that I have saved this year. Can you guess who sent them?

• “DDR biitxh! I hope camp is going well. Sorrry… I’m sooo drunk.” -July 3, 1:49am
• “OMG sorry! I didn’t even know I drunk texted you! Ahhahaa. I was in the city for Marlon’s birthday. Dammit!”- July 3, 11:11am
• “Happy bday julian!!!! i tried calling u but ur phones off. hope all is well. enjoy ur bday!!!”- July 30, 5:11pm
• “Sacramento State is now Kappa Psi Epsilons ..EPSILON COLONY!!!!”- August 15, 10:28am
• “With time, they grow closer”- August 16, 5:04pm
• “Lol… It was soo good to c u cousin! I got ur # saved.. Keep in touch…loves!”- August 29, 2:40am
• “LoOoooooookkkk I’m screaming ahhhhhhhh <333”- Spetember 22,12:28pm
• “I want someone who I can talk to, someone who will be there for me when I need them, someone who will support my decisions, someone who will argue with me if they think I’m wrong, someone who I can cry on, someone I can hold, someone who I can depend on because nowadays I can only rely on myself, because I’m the only one supporting myself.”- October 19, 10:21pm
• “I’m drunk I love you”- October 24, 1:27am
• “You know I don’t ask anyone but you”- November 9, 10:54pm
• “Hey Julian, it’s _____. Thanks for sharing in internship today. Stay strong my brotha and if you ever need anything, I got you! Have a good day off tmrw”- November 10, 10:59pm

It’s 3:37am Friday morning and I’m watching the South Park episode entitled “It’s A Jersey Thing.” Amazing how such a comedic show can be an analogy of the world we once lived in. As I watched the Jersey people begin to move towards South Park, it dawned onto me the similarities between this and the migration of immigrants. Whenever someone from Jersey behaved differently, a resident of South park began to retaliate. Pretty soon, the community took it upon themselves to stop the “Jersey Problem” and keep people from Jersey out of South Park. They built a large metal barrier, blocking of any person that showed signs of being from Jersey.

It’s like the harsh racism Filipinos got coming to America. Feeling threatened by their alien demeanor and possessing a social-sexual jealousy, Caucasian counterparts reacted in a violent manner. They felt that white purity would be debased by bringing Filipinos into the country. The barrier resembled the 1934 Tydings-McDuffy Act in which Filipinos could then be excluded. It’s just so interesting how the human race can think and act. Makes you question if what the next “ism” could or will be.