I felt this when the colorful Muslim clothing and architecture felt ironically more familiar and natural to me than the T-shirts and jeans worn in the film. When I visited Jakarta recently, I felt greater similarities between our cultures and languages than differences. Both these experiences have made me realize that somewhere in me, in all of us, is a knowledge of our past, buried in our collective subconscious and longing to surface.
When the Spaniards arrived in 1556, they found over 100 different idioms, some in written form, but generally related through their Indian roots that must have likely reached the Philippines through Sulawesi or Borneo. The Jesuits and other missionaries considered it their duty not only to envangelize but to "civilize" with the use of writing and language as the primary indicator of the level of cultural development. Missionary activities had the tendency to Christianize the languages. The concept of sin, for example, was unknown in the pre-colonial era. In this "civilizing mission," the Jesuits became important partners of the authorities, entrusted with the mental assimilation of the populace to the colonial system. The indigenous words and concepts were altered, and preserved through an effort to reform, to Hispanize and to stabilize Spanish power.
Unlike Indonesia, with Borobodur, or Cambodia, with Ankor Wat, we did not have monumental manifestations of our culture to embolden us to resist such profound assimilation away from our indigenous culture. That Spain was in the midst of the inquisition, rejecting all that was not Christian, further worked towards the eradication of our indigenous belief systems. On the contrary, the colonial powers that ruled over colonies like Indonesia, Hong Kong, and India were more interested in trade and in establishing order through a civil service, than they were in influencing thinking and concepts through religion. When the American school system was introduced in the early 1900s, the veil cast over our identity became so opaque, it has become difficult to know who we truly are.
My friend, Ching Uranza, says the story of the Filipino people is like a book made up of many short stories each with an ending but lacking a transition that is woven with the thread of our roots. I believe that our history has caused us to forget that we are actually made up of many parts and that we should honor our diversity rather than become drowned in it. We could see ourselves as an ocean made up of many different river sources: a Malay source, a Muslim source, a Chinese source, a Spanish source, an American source, an Indian source, all merging into a great ocean of diversity – the Filipino. Another way of looking at our diversity and how we deal with it is a study on how we eat the halo-halo. The halo-halo starts with many different preservatives, crushed ice and ice cream, placed one scoop at a time into a glass dessert dish. The halo-halo seen through the glass looks very colorful and festive. We then take a spoon and smash everything together until the halo-halo turns into a gray-purple slop. Instead of destroying each wonderful element, what if we were to savor every part of this delectable dish, appreciating the flavor, the appearance, and the richness of each preservative, one by one? In the same way, we could perhaps view our complex cultural mix as our greatest asset, and take the time to know and appreciate each part of ourselves. With that knowledge we would learn to love and respect each element of who we are, and celebrate and honor our unique and charming diversity.