My Audacious Filipino Journey
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Arboleda Family in 1944
I was born in the US to a Filipino father and an American mother and, until the age of 14, knew very little about my father’s birth country. In December 1947, when I was 13, my father and mother shocked me and my siblings when they told us we would be moving to the Philippines after my elementary school graduation for our high school and college education.
Up to then, I had spent my boyhood in Staten Island, a secluded section of New York City. My best friend was Ronald “Ronnie” Rode. When Ronnie asked me why I looked different from everyone else in our all-white neighborhood and school and why I had a name like “Amadio.” I didn’t know how to answer, but said maybe because I got my skin color from my father who came from the Philippines and my mixed-race mother who was from South Carolina. I told him my father gave me the Filipino name. Nodding knowingly, Ronnie told me his parents were both from Montana but, originally, their families came from England and that’s why they named him “Ronald.” I didn’t understand why this made him white, but nodded in agreement. We let it go at that because the difference didn’t matter, we were far more interested in being friends and playing together.
Amadio and Ronnie at elementary school graduation in Staten Island in 1948.
In the white neighborhood milieu, I suppose I did what anyone does to fit into a group, I adapted. In fact, I adapted so well I forgot that I was not white. The images of my friends merged with mine so that I became them in the way I acted. I was simply being a chameleon to fit in with my surroundings. Many years later, I sometimes wondered how I would have developed if there had been Filipinos around me, or even other Asians, like Filipino kids growing up in California or Hawaii. I also wondered if I would have adapted growing up in an environment of African Americans or Native Americans from that part of my mother’s side of the family.
My adapting on Staten Island did not prepare me for the tectonic shift I would face going to the Philippines. The sudden unknown I faced there appeared bleak, as only a 14-year-old can envision bleakness. The postwar destruction still evident in some places added to my discomfort. I resolved that I must cling to my Staten Island images, real and imagined, including my transmutation-whiteness, to sustain me until I reached manhood and return to the US, still some years away.
Encountering the Philippines for the first time in 1948, I looked at it with doubt and scorn through the naïve, inexperienced eyes of a typical know-it-all 14-year-old American. So, for the next year and a half, I half-heartedly struggled without much enthusiasm trying to grasp torrents of an unfamiliar culture with vastly different social mores I had to learn. On top of that, learning Tagalog was torture for my American mind. Adding learning Spanish was unnecessary cruelty. The most difficult for me was understanding and mastering the complex and complicated social system of hierarchy, strict decorum and obligations. My progress was hindered by my stubborn resistance. Then, in 1950, my defiance began to wither in the face of generous, unwavering understanding of relatives, especially, two warm and caring aunts who lived nearby, friends, and neighbors, and I began to accept my surroundings and made my declaration. The remaining six-and-a-half years flew by quickly as I was drawn into daily life of high school and then college and the welcoming San Juan neighborhood. I made friends, got to better know my relatives and neighbors and was eagerly learning Tagalog and Spanish. When 1956 rolled around, all too soon, and I felt unwilling to leave for graduate school in New York, I realized I had come to fervently embrace my father’s culture.
I never returned to live again in the Philippines, but even though I lived there only eight years, 64 years later, it takes more time for me to adjust to life in other countries where I have lived, including the US, my birth country, Germany, and Japan, the country where I have lived for the past 50 years and recently acquired citizenship. I don’t know specifically what it is in Philippine culture that constantly tugs at my heart, but I am aware that because of my parents’ momentous decision in 1948 to give me a Filipino education, socially and academically, has played a key role in shaping my life and my career.
I published a memoir of sorts in 2015 titled “Amadio’s Box: How I Became Filipino.”[1] In it, I arbitrarily identified four traits that I think epitomize the ideal Filipino: ambidextrous language ability; hybrid cultural thinking; passion for education, and enduring ties. In my mind, every Filipino can be seen as the sum total of all these characteristics, plus, the traditions that make us unique – love of people, love of family, strong beliefs, a willingness to strive in the face of insurmountable adversity, the instinct to always see the bright side of life, and sharing, caring, and reciprocating. Of course, Filipinos may not be alone in having these traits, but the way they are brought together make the Filipino.
Countries
By the time I was 39, I had already lived in four countries. The first country I lived in was the United States. This is where I was born and grew up until I was 14 years old. This is where I developed my greatest passions, a love of books that would become the cornerstone of my main career as an editor and publisher, my appreciation of music from my mother, and my love of art from my father.
The second country I lived in was the Philippines. The country became very special for me because it was there that I found an emotionally satisfying social footing mainly because everyone looked like me and perhaps more importantly, I looked like them. While I did not appreciate going to an all-boys institution, Far Eastern University Boys High School, and, following that, an all-men institution, Ateneo de Manila College, I enjoyed my Philippine education and found some of my lifelong friends. I was transformed from a monolingual, monocultural American, speaking only English, to a multilingual, multicultural Filipino, speaking improved English, Tagalog, and basic Spanish. My Philippine-learned English would become the foundation supporting all of my career endeavors.
Far Eastern University Boys High School student in 1951.
Graduation from Ateneo de Manila College in 1956
I lived in the United States again, briefly, for a second and third time. The first time was after returning after graduating from college to go to graduate school at Fordham University and get my first salaried job. I lived here for the third and last time after returning from living in Germany.
The third country, Germany, was where I learned to speak German and, where, quite unexpectedly, I found happiness with my first girlfriend. I also got married in Germany and became a father for the first time. As part of my graduate studies in chemistry, I got a position as a laboratory assistant in a pharmaceutical research laboratory. At the same time, I started my first formal art studies after winning a scholarship to the Werkkunstschule Hannover. It was also in Hannover that I became friends with the well-known Filipina opera singer Conchita Gaston, whose younger cousin, Antonio Ma. “Choly” Gaston, had been an upperclassman schoolmate at Ateneo.
Doing practical laboratory work at Kali Chemie AG in Germany in 1959.
The fourth and last country where I have lived is Japan. My move to Japan was both unexpected and controversial because of the negative image most Filipinos still held of the country at the time. So, when I made the decision to go, my parents and some of my family and friends in the Philippines, as well as many in other Asian countries, wrote to me, expressing great dismay and disappointment. Nevertheless, I decided to bear the criticism and grab the opportunity to move up in my career and go. The move was not without difficulties. Nevertheless, I learned to speak, read and write Japanese and have now lived here for 50 years. Recently, I acquired Japanese citizenship, and Japan has become home for me.
Careers
In the 64 years since I began my working life, I have had four distinct careers, first, as chemist, second as book editor and publisher, third as a United Nations official, and fourth, as a university professor. As I made my way through these various callings, my informal and formal Philippine education, particularly my language ability, helped me greatly.
I started my first career while studying for my master’s degree. My undergraduate chemistry studies, together with my graduate studies, gave me enough qualifications to obtain a part-time position as a research assistant at Columbia University Medical Center’s biochemistry laboratory and, later, a similar position at the Albert Einstein College of Medicine’s biochemistry laboratory, both in New York City. Later, as part of my studies, I got a position in a well-known pharmaceutical company in Germany as a laboratory assistant to get practical experience. When I returned to New York to complete my graduate studies several years later, my experience allowed me to land a job as a clinical chemist in a hospital.
My second career as an editor and, eventually, book publisher, came about because of a bit of serendipity (for me). When the Soviet Union launched the world’s first satellite, Sputnik, in 1957, it stunned and shocked an unprepared American scientific community. As a result, in 1958, determined to overtake the USSR, the US government poured millions of dollars into science programs, research and development, and education. This required new information that would be published in books and new journals. My science background and the rigorous English education provided me with unique skills and an appropriate aptitude for editorial work, but I needed formal training to enter the book publishing world. In those days, there were only three recognized courses in book publishing and editing, one at Radcliff College, a second at Stanford University, and the third at Barnard College of the City University of New York. Fortunately, I was already enrolled at Barnard College because I had started evening classes there for a PhD in English literature; so, I quickly registered for the course. By the time I completed it, book publishers’ search for science editors was in full swing, but qualified candidates were lacking. So, with considerable ease, I landed a job as a junior editor for a major science book publisher, Academic Press Inc. in New York City. In 1964, now an experienced editor, I was hired by the American Heritage Publishing Company’s dictionary project, American Heritage Dictionary, to become a definitions editor. This earned me the distinction, at the time, of being the only Filipino to take part in writing a major English dictionary.
Defining editor at American Heritage Dictionary 1968.
As the dictionary project moved toward publication and the downsizing of the staff, my editorial career took a major turn. In 1969 I was recruited by the University of Tokyo Press, an academic publisher in Japan, to become the chief editor, English Editions. The Press wanted an experienced editor who also had an Asian background or experience in Asia and exceptional English skills. I was given the mandate to build the department into an international force by overseeing the English language title acquisitions process, approving new titles for publication, and managing the editorial, production and promotional activities. I was also responsible for all the Press’ international activities, such as organizing international conferences and conducting training courses for young staff of Asian scholarly and academic publishers. For my personal interest, I joined a local book publishing culture studies group and began to study Japanese woodblock printmaking. I was also invited to become a member the Tokyo Book Development Center (TBDC), a Japan Book Publishers Association organization providing international support activities for publishers and book specialists in developing countries in Asia. The center would later become the Asian Cultural Centre for UNESCO (ACCU) and I would remain on its advisory board for 30 years. Before leaving the Press, I published my first book “Evolving Techniques in Japanese Woodblock Printmaking”[2] together with a Dominican priest friend Fr. Gaston Petit.
At University of Tokyo Press conference I organized in 1972.
In 1977, I moved to the United Nations University (UNU), also located in Tokyo, where I would remain for 21 years until my retirement at the age of 61. Here, I became a United Nations official but, at the same time, was able to further develop my experience as an editor and book publisher. I first worked as Publications Control Officer and then became Assistant Secretary of the Council when the Secretary of the University, Dr. Jose V. Abueva (who would later become the President of the University of the Philippines), asked me to join his office to help in his other function as Secretary of the UNU governing council. After he left UNU, I became the Executive Office in the Office of the Rector and, simultaneously, Secretary of the Council and Chief of Academic Publications. A few years later, I established the United Nations University Press (UNUP), to replace Academic Publications, and I became the UNUP director. During my time at UNU, I published a second book “Publishing in the Third World: Knowledge and Development”[3] together with two other authors and “Publishing in Japan”[4], a long encyclopedic article in International Book Publishing: An Encyclopedia.
As Secretary of the UNU Council at its 1986 meeting.
When I “retired” at age 61 from the United Nations in 1996, I was offered a position at Josai International University (JIU) as professor of book publishing culture and intercultural understanding and communication. I looked at the opportunity to teach as a time for some much needed rest after twenty years of hectic work at the United Nations University. My reverie was short lived. Two years after joining JIU, I was “requested” (in the strongest sense of the word) to take over as chair of my department on top of my already heavy teaching load and two other responsibilities, Director of the Center for Foreign Students Support and Director of the NGO NPO Support Center. Six years later, the post of Vice-Dean of the Faculty of Humanities was added to the other three. After I reached 75, I was relieved of my administrative duties and my undergraduate courses, leaving only my two graduate school courses, which I taught until I was 83 and decided to resign. All in all, I spent 22 years at JIU.
Meeting then Crown Prince Naruhito (now Emperor) as UNU Press director in 1992.
The above four careers took me to over 30 countries. Adding these to my personal travel, I had visited 47 countries by the time I reached age 75. They also provided opportunities to build on the multilingual ability I had acquired, beginning when I was young in the Philippines, to learn and use six languages, English, Japanese, German, Tagalog, French and Spanish.
I began my fifth career after reading an article about an American master violinmaker Louis Caporale in The Japan Times in 2012. Caporale was also a buyer and seller of violins. It was the ending of the article that caught my eye, “Caporale also teaches violin making.”
Violins
I had been searching for a place to accept me as a student of violin making for 16 years since retiring from my UN job. I dreamed of making a violin since 1946 when my father took me to Yehudi Menuhin concert at Carnegie Hall and I heard him play a Brahms violin concerto. After that, I got to examine the instrument of a violinist who was invited by the music teacher at our school to play for us. At that time, I resolved that one day I would make a violin.
However, the realities of life, with work and having to raise a family, intervened for many years. Upon retiring from the UN, finally, I could try for an apprenticeship place, so, I wrote to a violin maker in Tokyo asking to be accepted as an apprentice. He refused because of my age.
Next, I visited Cremona, Italy, the birthplace of the Stradivarius and Guarneri violins, to find a teacher to accept me but left disappointed. I unsuccessfully tried another violin maker in Tokyo. Once more, I put the dream on hold as I started my university work. By 2012, I was ready for my second “retirement” but rated my chances of finding someone to accept me very low since I was now in my late 70s.
I went to the Caprorale and Ochando website to get details for applying for the lessons and saw a notice, “Pupils wanted for violin school.” I composed a letter and posted it that evening. Two days later, an e-mail came from Louis Caporale inviting me to come speak with him. I visited him, and he wholeheartedly approved my apprenticeship.
And so, I began to make a violin in late 2012. In 2016, four years later, I completed my first violin, a Garimberti 1947 copy. The work of making a violin was far more arduous than I had imagined. It required not only the developed skills of a craftsman, or craftswoman (the majority of my fellow students in the violin school were young women), but also a sense of esthetics and an acquired ability to judge the materials used in making these exquisite instruments. My progress was slow (taking lessons only twice a week) but, gradually, my instrument took shape. It was my first attempt to make a violin, therefore, I don’t expect it will ever produce a very good sound, but it is the instrument I made myself so I am satisfied. In April 2016, The Japan Times published a half-page story about my quest to make a violin (“Violin maker’s apprentice fulfils lifetime dream at 81”).[5]
I am almost finished with my second violin, also the same Garimberti 1947 model. I think it will produce a better sound than the first one. I am also halfway through my third violin.
Engaging in the making of a violin for the first time at 78 was somewhat like entering a foreign culture. One needs the language and skills of that culture to survive. It helped somewhat that I was familiar with the rigors and demands of adjusting to a new culture. It also helped that I had developed a Filipino sense of adaptation in a world that is often oblivious to us.
Adaptations
I learned quite early in my life that Filipinos are often invisible even when they have significant roles or make important contributions. We do not immediately evoke praise as the Japanese do, even if they do nothing particularly notable. Often, the praise for Japanese comes solely from the fact that they are Japanese.
To overcome being unnoticeable, Filipinos have to adapt; Japanese seldom adapt. One way Filipinos do this is by using the ability to pick up another language. I mentioned “ambidextrous language ability,” or the ability to speak and think in more than one language as a Filipino trait. This is common to almost all Filipinos. And, it is a key element in the process of adaptation. Research at the University of Toronto and University of Cambridge has shown that being able to speak another language provides the user with an expanded ability to comprehend complex ideas and solve problems. This ability increases with the addition of another language or more. Using English and Tagalog when I was young helped me to develop competency in isolating key ideas in information being transmitted to me orally or in writing and quickly comprehend what was being conveyed. Eventually, I developed virtuosity in six languages.
Meeting Pope John Paul II at the Vatican as UNU executive officer in 1993.
Learning languages was a key aspect of my becoming Filipino. When I moved to the Philippines in 1948 I was required to learn Tagalog and Spanish in accordance with the educational system at the time. It was not like learning Spanish or French as an elective in high school in the United States. One had no choice and the learning extended all the way to college. It was different from the United States and many other countries where basically only one language is spoken. Tagalog, English and Spanish were the languages used in daily life. Although not widely spoken, Spanish was a necessity because it was used mainly through the extensive vocabulary that makes up a large part of Tagalog.
At first, learning two languages simultaneously was an intimidating task, but, eventually, I managed to do it because not only was I learning in the classroom, I was also immersed in the milieu and culture around me. As I learned to eat and appreciate Philippine food, I learned the names, gained understanding of the tastes. In mastering the daily social practices, I learned their implications by using them. I absorbed the centuries long customs by actually using them and remembering them with my body and my movements. While learning Tagalog and Spanish, I also reinforced knowledge of my own native English.
I relearned English under my high school English teacher, Mrs. Amelia Kison. After hearing me speak, she told me, “Amadio, as you have noticed, all of us in the class, including me, speak English with a Filipino accent. So, we sound different from the way you speak. However, we speak precisely, carefully pronouncing each word in proper grammatical order. English is a language we must learn if we want to communicate with people outside the Philippines.” Then, she paused and said, “Just as we have to learn to speak English properly, you must also learn to speak properly. You must unlearn your New York English and learn English as it is presented in textbooks.” I was crestfallen and humiliated but, I accepted Mrs. Kison’s judgement. Her teaching approach was severe, but it helped me to recognize the deeper significance of words and the need to see the beauty inherent in grammatical formats. In this way, I grew to appreciate grammar and writing as a way to express my feeling and emotions, but also to precisely express my thoughts.
This brings me back to the beginning and my parents. I think back and, in hindsight, marvel at the wisdom and foresight of my father and mother 72 years ago to take me on that audacious adventure halfway around the world to the Philippines at a young age to prepare me for the opportunity to journey through my life as a Filipino.
[1] Published by Anvil Publishing, Inc. 2015.
2 Published in 1977 by Kodansha International Ltd., Tokyo.
3 Published in 1985 by Heinemann, Inc., Portsmouth, New Hampshire/Mansell Ltd., London.
4 Published in 1995 by Garland Publishing, Inc., New York & London.
5 The Japan Times, 7 April 2016.
Amadio Arboleda is a writer based in Tokyo.
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