A year ago, on this day, I was in the Philippines. After coming home, people asked how my trip was like, and all my pompous-Canadianized-ass could say is how much I hated the weather.
It’s hot, crowded and hot…I’ll never be coming back again. There’s no place like Canada. I love it here.
Eight years ago, I vehemently refused to get my citizenship. Today, I have my 50 mm x 70 mm Costco-taken-picture on a black Canadian passport. The next thing I know, I’ll be cheering for the Canadian candidate in the Miss Universe pageant; the red maple flag for the Olympics; putting “eh” at the end of each sentence. Don’t worry, it hasn’t come to that yet. I’m still gonna vote for the Filipino-American Idol contestant (and Canadian Idol is a lame, lame version).
After the Desperate Housewives incident, my friend came knocking onto my door and shared her bruised pride. I tried to conjure feelings of outrage to show my patriotism. That I still care. The sad truth is, I didn’t. And I hated myself for not caring. Ohhh, what a horrible person you are, Jay. You’re gonna burn in hell! I can’t even sing the first verse of Lupang Hinirang. If it makes you feel better, I only know two lines in the Canadian anthem: Oh Canada…Oh Canadaaaaaa…let’s make that two words.





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