We’d always hover on the line between doubt and complete faith when it came to Dad’s stories.
Growing up, the Philippines sounded very magical and mysterious to us, his Filipino American children, who were more familiar with baseball and barbecues, than the tikbalang or aswang. How much of it was it true? How much was hearsay?
Read MoreI only knew my grandfather as a quiet, kind man, so it was a nice surprise to learn that he had the heart of a hero as well.
Read MoreOur origins couldn’t have a more of a surprising twist, beginning with this tale of how we got our last name. This might just be barrio folklore, but it is one I’d like to believe and am choosing to pass on to my children.
Read MoreThe hotel warned him about how brazen the thieves were in Romania, so he tucked his wallet into his right front pocket, hung his DSLR around his neck, and slipped his backup camera into his left front pocket.
He opened the doors and stepped out into the street. He was immediately greeted by a rush of crisp morning air, and the first rays of sunshine.
In the 1940s, my Abuelito, Francisco Bayot Zaldarriaga, went to New York. He was a journalist representing the Philippines.
My Abuelito was a very Spanish-looking dude who was about 6'2" with blue eyes and owned his own little paper.
In those days, racism was in full force.
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