While Robert and I were walking across the parking lot, the guard went beside us and started chatting us up. He asked where we were from, and Robert replied: Manila.
The guard then looked at me and asked the same question. Of course, my reply was the same: Manila.
He frowned and disbelief and asked again if I was a Filipino. After confirming my earlier claim, he started talking excitedly in his Cheech Marin accented English:
GUARD: Whoa, man. You sure you're Filipino. Because he (refering to Robert) looks Filipino because his skin is brown. But you. You. Look at you. You've got white skin like an American. Your eyes are Latin and your face is European. But you're Filipino. That's amazing, man.
It's a funny reaction. But something I'm prepared for because even in other countries, they can't identify my nationality or race. But the way the guard described me, I felt like an "askal" whose breed no one can identify. Harhar.
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