Having participated in FASO’s signature event, Fiestang Filipino (see this interview from my freshman year ), the entire time that I’ve been an undergrad, it was a bittersweet experience taking my final bow at the Stepan Center this past Saturday. I look back at the last four iterations and manifestations of the annual dinner-dance/culture show/party, and remember the great effort and exposure it means for both Filipinos and lovers of Filipino culture at the University. The themes have changed (2011  and 2012 , for example) and the particular personalities and challenges of the organizers, performers, and audience members have changed and will continue to change. But, seeing how the devotion of each welcoming individual – and how a true love for what the event represents- are what continue to emerge as the lasting impressions for all who are affected by Fiestang, I know that in that way this has all “been worth it”.

Fiestang at Notre Dame has become an event much anticipated on campus and in surrounding Michiana communities. It owes a lot to the advisers and officers that have guided its development, as well as to its longtime caterer Tito Nane and to unwavering support from MSPS and FAAM. Throughout its existence, one thing has remained clear: Fiestang is a labor of love for a club that navigates major fluctuations in budget, facility availability, audience size, and many other parameters. It is a powerful testament that 18 graduating classes and counting of busy Notre Dame students have found the energy to put on such a show, and to bond in such a unique way. But beyond that, what I will remember from it most is how Fiestang epitomizes FASO’s opening up and inviting of so many others to join in- join in and discover what’s so great about this we call “Filipino”.

 

-AB

Song: Pumapatak Na Naman Ang Ulan

Artist: Apo Hiking Society

 

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I’m old enough now to know that this song has references to alcohol-which is probably the reason why my mother refused to teach it to me as a child, though I asked her to numerous times because I found it catchy.

Much of what I remember of the Philippines is soaking wet; streets with inadequate drainage formed temporary rivulets when the rainy season hit. Painted stripes on trees along the roads marked the levels at which the water would be cause for alarm. What alarmed me was that the markings were well above my head, and in that condition I doubted the swimming power of my own brown limbs. Our family was lucky in that our house wasn’t situated at the very bottom of a hill, and thus wasn’t likely to float away during the night (or, at least, that was ever the soothing explanation whispered by a weary parent already in bed).

Still, I don’t remember a single monsoon ever being severe enough to warrant blaring sirens and the summoning of thousands indoors into the nearest available windowless underground room. As I sat this afternoon in the basement of Lewis with my fellow Chicks during the severe weather warning, I was struck by this difference as I have grown up and come here: that now, I wait here, mostly grudging the interruption in my busy day, when back then I would be huddling over there, grasping the edge of my blanket up to my chin, wondering  how long I could stand to wait before I would need to glide over to the next room for some reassurance.

 

-AMCCBB