Thats Not the Proper State of a Wonton!

On Asian Biculturalism and The Filipinas in My Life by Heath Hines I cant remember the exact words preceding the statement but Ive since ordained it one of the best things Ive ever heard said in a single sentence: Thats not the proper state of a wonton! It is, at once, so jocular, so filled with charm, so intriguingly worded as to possibly be filled with even more! Thats not the proper state of a wonton! In all of its apparent simplicity and charm who couldnt love it? Indeed who doesnt love a good wonton? It was uttered by my friend Cy, and whenever she and I talked, we talked about everything in a single conversation movies, music, pop culture, art everything. And raucous laughter could break even the most despondent of tears when, in conversation, we would pull exboyfriends down off of their plaster pedestals, or talked basically about the complexities of relationships love relationships, and even friendships and family. I guess what wed do is go over life in such a way that we were never over it. And thats a great thing. It was like a good solid cleansing and celebration at the same time. But one day, as we talked about our week, our day, and so on, in one conversation, she told me about a recent dinner at a restaurant and expressed the disappointment that she felt at some of the appetizers on the restaurants menu a plate of wontons. Mind you, she is a Filipina a Filipino American, a Filipina American, an Asian American, Filipino, Asian, Pacific Islander whatever (there are many things you can call it but its all the same thing) - and in the Philippines, or at least in its peoples enclaves here in San Diego there is only one kind of wonton. And its simple and its easy and its, oh, so delicious. A Filipino myself, all during my childhood, my mother prepared her wontons with the same perfect simplicity as she does today. She seasons ground beef with salt, pepper, garlic powder (from a bottle!), onion powder (again, from a bottle!), and a definite dash of Accent. Or should I say, as my mother does, Andenn ah hebby dose of dee Accent! You then take a heaping tablespoon of the seasoned ground beef and place them on one or two wonton wrappers, purchased, of course, from Family Loompya the real, one true pride of Paradise Hills, San Jhego, Calipornia. Next, seal the wonton, by dipping your finger into a 1970s clear glass Corningware bowl of water which was your cereal bowl since you were an adorable five year old and then moisten all four edges of the wrapper with your moistened finger tip onetwothreeand done. Then, fold the wrapper over the ground beef, one corner onto the corner furthest from it, into a perfect, squat, isosceles triangle with a proud belly full of tasty ground beef. Seal the wonton by pressing along the two sides where the wonton wrapper edges meet firmly, until it is a single, seamless edge. Finally, deep-fry it until the wonton is crisp and golden brown (or a deep tan color, if you will). Either way, you now have the yummy, MSG-laden, arteries-be-damned, deep-fried goodness of a genuine Filipino wonton. But as my friend Cy had recounted her story, she told me that what appeared on the menu were cream cheese wontons. What?! you ask, after screaming in horror. Personally, I had already heard of the existence of these strange creatures. But apparently my friend Cy had not. She was indignant! What?! Cream cheese, what? Wontons dont have cream cheese! Thats not a wonton! She was in disbelief. Me? I was charmed. Cream cheese! Cream cheese! Thats gross! Actually we were both laughing through it all until it was finally

and firmly concluded by her, Thats not the proper state of a wonton! Indeed, there is only one thing to call it but there are many types of wontons. Especially here in the states. Sometimes, though, some things cant be so easily declared. At the time we had spoken, she was a single, 36 year old Filipina living with her mother, but still possessed exuded, even an identity and independence quite separate from her family a career, a social life with many friends, many exciting interests, and a wonderfully vivacious and outgoing personality. She was, and is, quite an independent and strong, intelligent individual. But living in the family home until one is married is quite common in the Filipino culture and this is where sometimes some things cant be so easily declared, as Cy had begun to experience a tighter pull in two different directions that of her own her own will, her own identity, and the choices she preferred to make and that of her mother, who, recently widowed, began to hold more tightly to her native Filipino culture than before. And this pull exerted itself on Cy to the point of family conflict, I believe as a remnant to the life Cys mother once had a nuclear Filipino family that was still intact, close and loving, and with her daughter still present, dutifully going to Catholic church, as had been the family tradition. These are the dreams of many Filipino immigrants in the states. But with a husband and head of household to keep things in place who had recently passed, her daughter Cy had become, to her mother, the last artifact of a life that seemed fast becoming lost, adrift in an American sea a sea of different values, different appearances, histories unlike her own, and with currents she had not mastered. Indeed currents she had yet no need to master. So this recasting of her life and role, after the passing of her husband, left only herself to guide the family and Cy. In fact, many of the young, first-born Filipina American women that I know experience these disparate and conflicting pulls of a bicultural identity, reminiscent of some of Amy Tans writing, such as Two Kinds, or, The Joy Luck Club, both of which are works centering on the opposing ends of the Asian-American daughter and the Asian immigrant parent. It seems parents always want their child to grow free, but only within the world that the parent has conceived. The child, though, is often compelled to roam past those borders, into a larger world, if not another country. But in each of the cases that I know in each of the friends that I know while their mothers may say, in protest, Daht ees not our way! Daht is not dee Pilipino way daht is dee American way! and see that their Filipina American daughter has somehow become an American and not a Filipina when I look at Cy, I dont see simply only one or the other. I see very clearly the presence of two distinct identities, delicately, yet nearly effortlessly, balanced, woven like a seamless fabric, merged like the edges of a wonton wrapper, traveling with utmost grace like a commuter bullet train from the parts of her that are loyal to her family heritage but also back to the part of her that possesses the youthful earnestness to know and become the new and the good, here in America. Not just plopping down a mini-mass of Filipino culture and expectations in a little corner of America, segregated and dissociated in a Chinatown or a marginalized or marginalizing Little Manila but bringing that super-identity with her, wherever she is, everywhere she goes. When I think of her, and all of the other Filipina Americans that I know, I may see blackhaired Filipinas dressed in American fashions, going to fancy downtown nightclubs instead of karaoke restaurants south of the 94 freeway, and truly being Americans in spirit but I can still solidly feel at their otherwise unseen center a grounded, down-to-earth, ground beef wonton,

Filipino in all its wonderfully greasy glory. And who doesnt love a good wonton? So I would love to say to Cys mother, You need not worry, Untie. She is so clearly a Filipina, but even more she is American, too, Untie. And that makes her even stronger. And that is the proper state of a wonton. Its interesting that racial and cultural assimilation does indeed occur but what occurs is two-fold, if not four-fold an origami wonton?! No Asians are assimilated into American society, and the mores of American society are assimilated into the persons values and culture, in reciprocal current. But also, Filipino customs trickle outward, slowly, to the world around us, and we, all of us in turn, learn more about all the world. It is but change in constant exchange, in the spirit of the American melting pot. Or, should I say, the American deep fryer, now. As for my friend Cy and the improper cream cheese wonton she has since confessed to me that she now really enjoys them. Really, really enjoys them. And so it goes, for past protests and change to enjoyment, for your dining pleasure.