"Filipino" içeren İngilizce örnek cümleler

"Are you from Australia?" asked the Filipino.
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3 Malay nationals and a Filipino were killed in the Davao bombing on Mindanao.
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The Filipino woman wanted to learn English so that one day she could emigrate to the Anglosphere.
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He found few Tagalog books amongst the mostly English books at the Filipino bookstore.
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Are you a Filipino?
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I am learning to speak Filipino.
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Do you speak Filipino?
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I am a Filipino.
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The beautiful Tinikling dance is Filipino.
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Filipinos should write more about science in Filipino.
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Sami's mom is Egyptian and his dad is Filipino.
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I'm Filipino.
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My best friend is Filipino.
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On the sunny 29th of October of 2021, I had my usual medium-sized iced green tea at the local cafe on Lulu Island. At the counter, Max the Chinese said that she was going to dye her hair purple once it has grown a bit. It was blue before she had cut it. Through the window, I could see that fresh teenagers were already celebrating Halloween with fancy costumes. At another table sat two Filipino men, one thinner in black and the other handsome and tubby in blue.
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Rose, the Filipino vendor at the pizzeria here on Lulu Island, said that she might bring her kids to the haunted house at the winery for Halloween in 2021.
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A grey day it is on the 4th of November of 2021. At the pizzeria, I could not sit eating my pizza at my regular table just outside the window, as a crowd of fresh brown teenagers were eating pizza there. So, I sat inside by the window. I could see the hairy arms of one brown teenager at the table outside. I went then to the cafe to have my usual iced green tea. I saw a longtime Filipino friend named Alma, who worked before at a corner convenience store, but now is in health care.
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Before 8 o'clock in the morning of the 8th of November of 2021 at the cafe, I sat drinking iced green tea and eating banana bread. At the front table sat a Filipino woman talking in Tagalog in her cellphone. A big brown-haired man in blue and grey waited at the counter. On my way home, passing by were a brown-haired girl in black and a brown-haired boy in black, who exclaimed, "They think Esperanto is more like a violin..."
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All she watches on television and on the Web is English. Even when she watches a Spanish movie, she just reads the English subtitling. She no longer subscribes to TFC, The Filipino Channel, which is full of Tagalog.
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Instead of going out for pizza tonight, I stayed at home and ate two pieces of Filipino bread, "pandesal." It is 4 degrees Celsius outside in the dark.
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Ursula Le Guin's Earthsea franchise is very stimulating. As a Filipino, I am from an archipelagic country, and I can relate to the islander culture and supposedly brown people of magical Earthsea. Publishers market this franchise as sci-fi, but it seems also fantasy—maybe "science fantasy" as some call it.

Having immigrated from the Philippines to North America, my father, who was a Roman Catholic, learned about Christian Fundamentalism from his converted Filipino friends. Soon, he became converted to a Baptist Protestant. Then, he recruited my mother, my paternal grandmother, and my cousin.

At my age ten and on my introduction to North America from the Philippines, my family first rented a ground floor suite in a flat suburb. In the neighbourhood were two sisters, who were half-Japanese and half-white; two Filipino brothers, who loudly played drums; black brother and sister, who played ping-pong in a driveway; and a Greek boy, who was friendly.

At my age ten and on my introduction to North America from the Philippines, my family first rented a ground floor suite at a cul-de-sac, where there was also a house with three Filipino children. They introduced me to eating cherries.

My Filipino neighbour, who liked eating cherries, took Japanese in high school, whilst I waited until university. He was a strange character, admittedly effeminate by choice.

The cousin of my cousin was gay and Filipino. He, like I, learned Japanese and sojourned in Japan, but his tilt was towards the gay scene in Tokyo.

Nerria, the Filipino wife of my white ex-neighbour Bruce, was an avid Roman Catholic.

Wesley was the handsome brown boy of my white ex-neighbour Bruce and his Filipino wife Nerria, on Lulu Island. Wesley did not look nerdy, but was the technical type, following his father. Bruce was very technical, as he fixed cars and other machines and we talked about radiation shielding for space travel. Nerria babbled about Roman Catholicism, which was her love of life.

In Quezon City, at the end of a road lined with coconut trees was Merced Bakehouse that was full of Filipino baked goodies.

Chris is an online Filipino friend from Washington State. He has deep talent for natural languages, especially Philippine. His linguistics knowledge is professional. Of artificial languages, his choice is Interlingua. He is gay and happily married now to a Taiwanese.

Marc is an online Filipino friend from Cebu Island. He is of the violet kind, as he encouraged me about the artificial language Lojban. He is gay. He convinced me that there are Filipinos who are really avant-garde.

In high school, my gang included the mulatto Jamaican Graeme, the intellectual Russian-Scot Kenneth, the Hokkien-speaking Chinese-Filipino Philip, and myself. We often ate lunch together. We played video games and computer games. Our favourite board game was Risk, whose objective was land conquest. Graeme lived in a townhouse complex with a nice swimming pool, in which we swam.

My Chinese-Filipino friend Philip grew up in North America, but he speaks the family language of Hokkien. His family hailed from Cebu Island.

Kevyn was an online Filipino friend who lived in my North American metropolis. He was an enthusiast of conlangs, such as Toki Pona and Elefen. He wrote a poem in my own conlang Vong. Dear to him was the comparative deep study of religions. He grew up Roman Catholic, but later grew to like Hinduism. In his religious studies, he did not neglect the sexual aspect. I noticed that he had an Oriental face.

Geoffrey, pronounced like "Gawfree," was a big Chinese-Filipino who was my classmate in high school English and first-year university Engineering courses.

My first class here in North America from the Philippines was in Grade 5. Phoebe was a strange, quiet Filipino classmate with long hair. It seemed that maybe she was born in this continent.

Leo was my friend, a Filipino from the Ilocos region; he taught me things about the sect of the Jehovah's Witnesses. He spoke Ilokano, Tagalog, and English.

At the Asian Library of my university, I enquired if there was a Filipino section, but there was none; however, there were sections for Indonesian, Japanese, Chinese, Korean, East Indian languages, and others.

In the Japanese-American software company in Tokyo, there was a Korean named Yujin. There was also a Mandarin-speaking Chinese. I was not the only Filipino employed there.

Today on the 14th of April of 2015, is an appointment at the doctor's. In the late morning, on my way, I stop at the Roman Catholic worship centre, a mid-20th-century brown building. A bell rings as it is the end of recess for the noisy children at the adjacent school. It is practically empty in the spacious interior of the worship centre, except for a middle-aged, dark-haired Caucasian woman by the candles and an Oriental who looks like George Takei and who passes me by as he heads out. I sit at the pew, centre right. The banners above are in faded pastels, blue, pink, yellow, and green, with three butterflies printed on them each. A month ago, the banners were all purple. The statue of floating JC, front centre, is adorned in white and yellow cloth. The standing cross to the right is covered with green paper bits. I stand up and walk to the lobby area. Therein, I marvel at the Mexican Santa María painting and whisper the Spanish words on the caption. I gaze at the elegant photographs of Pope Francis and some other high-level religious authority figure. As I exit the building, a Filipino woman approaches the statue of white and blue Virgin Mary at the outside corner.

On the 21st of October of 2012, Croatian-descent Bratislav and I a Filipino meet up again, on the grey-sky sidewalk. This time, Bratislav discusses about a Japanese psychic experiment wherein a Buddhist monk is used to imbue certain emotions like love, anger, etc. into water. Then the water is frozen. The researchers find out that different emotions affect the way water crystallizes.

In the morning of the 5th of March of 2022, I ate at the pizzeria and drank iced black tea at the cafe, where Rob with now long brown hair, with a black sweater and orange worker pants, entered to greet me and Don, sitting at separate tables. A brown man in a white T-shirt and sleeveless black vest came to get coffee, his muscular arms writhing. I spent a minute in the woods. As I approached my house, I waved to Derek my Filipino neighbour in a green tracksuit, his mesomorphic silhouette showing. In the sunny afternoon, going back to the pizzeria, I saw, on the other side of the main road, a whole Jewish family with children, all wearing Sabbath synagogue attire. I waved to Gurpreet the Sikh at the gasoline station. At the pizzeria's front, a thickset bicyclist in black parked and locked his bicycle. I ate a pizza slice and drank a cold diet cola. Northbound, homebound, I could see the snowcapped mountains. Near my home, I waved to my Fijian multiracial neighbours, the grandson Darius and his grandmother Moli, whose name meant "orange" in Fijian.

As a Filipino, I revel in the words "From Peru to Cebu / Feel the power of Babylon" in Enya's song "Orinoco Flow."

I woke up late today, the 8th of March of 2022, just in time after 10:00 AM to promenade to the pizzeria to have two slices and a cold diet cola. Heading home, I saw an advertisement for a tuna croissant sandwich on the sidewalk, as well as large pieces of white styrofoam and big brown cardboard boxes littered on the way. In the alleyway, I saw the tall Dane-French Michael, smoking, who said, "You can really feel the sun!" Yes, it was a sunny day. In the sunny afternoon, I walked to the cafe, which was full. I drank my iced black tea at a table outside. There was a Filipino boy in blue shorts. A round-headed robust man that I had seen before headed to the entrance of the cafe. Before midnight, I ventured out to the corner convenience store. Men, who were alone by themselves, looked excited, as they sprinted, scootered, or walked by. I bought a bag of fried pork rinds and three cold cans of Thai tea drinks, of which one I drank just outside the store.

Filipino culture is highly aural-oral when it comes to the indigenous language. Older generations, with greater Americanization, tend to write in English, when they have to write. However, texting on cellphones is often done in clipped Tagalog. Tagalog needs more literature. The translation to Tagalog of Kirsten Nimwey's fantasy book The Explorers impresses me. But the vastness and sophistication of the literature of Tagalog's southern brother, Indonesian, really outdo Tagalog's. Being aural-oral, Tagalog-users emphasize television, film, and videos.

As a society, there are really three blending elements in the Philippines: the Sundadonts, the Sinodonts, and the Caucasoids. My family is such a blend. Mongoloids really comprise three variants: the Sundadonts, the Sinodonts, and the Super-Sinodonts, these respectively being the Pacific Islanders, the East Asians, and the Amerindians of the Americas. The Filipino Caucasoid element is commonly Mediterranean. There are four human subspecies in my preferred model of anthropology: the Mongoloids, the Caucasoids, the Negroids, and the Australoids. Caucasoid has variants Nordic and Mediterranean; Negroid has variants Congoid and Capoid; and Australoid has variants Veddoid, Negrito, Papuan, Melanesian, and Aborigine. Migrants into the Philippines might have carried various bits of other strains. For example, Super-Sinodonts, Amerindians, might have reached the Philippines with the Manila-Acapulco Galleons during the Spanish Empire.

Mama looks Mediterranean, but she has also Chinese and Filipino ancestries, as does Papa.

Filipino culture as it pertains to the indigenous language is highly aural-oral. It's not just Tagalog, as there are regional and local languages, as well. English as fizzy faddish words is part of the common code-switching of the masses, whilst Spanish loanwords sit in feeling at home in the stew. It's a linguistic hodgepodge. Most just enjoy long hours of chitchat or watching television, videos, or cinema commonly in the indigenous language. English sounds and text don't really appeal to the masses, but English is a hesitantly established piece of furniture, useful for understanding the outside world. Filipinos generally are not known as avid readers, except for elite people maybe entrenched in the margins of the Anglosphere. Literature in the indigenous language is still relatively scarce.

As a Filipino child, once I knew the fundamentals of Tagalog orthography, I could then spell any Tagalog word from just the sound. Learning English in tandem, I thought that it was cumbersome to be obliged to memorize the spelling of each word, as English spelling was not phonemic, unlike Tagalog.

In Hong Kong, I and my two high school friends sojourned at the apartment of the relatives of my friend, who was a Chinese-Filipino from Canada. My other friend was Scottish-Russian from Canada. I was a Filipino. The big apartment took up much of the space of one floor of the apartment building. The kitchen sink was a large industry-grade sink that one would normally see in the laundry room in Canada. My friend had two grownup cousins living there, one girl and one boy. One night, my friends were wasting time playing basketball with the boy cousin and his friends, whilst I and the girl cousin went shopping in the exciting city. I bought a lot of cheap innovative watches. The cousins were learning Japanese, as it was a cool language for young people to learn there. Whilst we were parting from Hong Kong, the girl cousin gave me a small box containing a family of ceramic cats.

Everybody has his or her own idiolect of each language that he or she knows. My own English idiolect is weird for some. In speaking, I choose a variety of accents, depending on the listener. When I speak English to Filipinos, I try to use a more Filipino-accented English, because it is easier for them to understand. When I speak to a Canadian or American, I shift to a more North American accent. In writing, I learned the American way until age 10 in the Philippines. From age 10 and above in Canada, I learned Canadian English writing, up to university level. My appetite for science fiction and fantasy books from both American and British authors has affected my writing style. Some Cantonese opine that my writing is British, and it reminds them of England. My philosophy is that English is an international language and its origin can be divorced from its essence, as the case, I think, also of Spanish and French. Ergo, I urge Cantonese to divorce the essence of English from its land of origin. My favourite English writers are the British sci-fi author Olaf Stapledon and the American inventor-philosopher Buckminster Fuller.

I've seen Greg incidentally at Starbucks café on Lulu Island for some years, but only today morning, on the 14th of August of 2022, we formally introduced to each other. He is a Filipino from Nueva Ecija, and he came to Canada at age 18 in 1977. He lived in Edmonton and Calgary in Alberta for some twenty years, then moved to here in BC. He is a devout Baptist Protestant, converted in Canada from Roman Catholicism, who carries his Bible to the café. I told him that when my father was alive, our house had Bible meetings for our Filipino Baptist community. I told Greg that I'm Buddhist. I talked to him about Buddhism and Daoism, this latter of which he knew little. I'm glad to meet a Filipino, like me, who came to Canada very young and has lived in Canada for a vaster period.

Some people think that Greg and I are like Filipino Hispanics. This Saturday morning on the 20th of August of 2022, Greg eats apple chips, and I salted potato chips with black iced tea, at the neighbourhood café. He mentions that he doesn't always go to church on Sunday, because maybe he feels down about life. We talk about the Philippines having mainly three blending peoples, Malays, Chinese, and Spanish. We wonder if most Filipinos really have Spanish and Chinese blood. Many Filipinos don't trace their genealogy. I mention to him that as one just lands at the Manila airport, one sees that the majority are really Malay-looking people. We talk about Jehovah's Witnesses and Mormons. I list some countries, in four continents, to which I've travelled, as it impresses him that I am a world traveller. Greg has only been to the Philippines, Canada, and USA. I assure him that my rich uncle in Oregon, who builds houses in the Philippines, doesn't want to go to Europe. Greg knows that I've lived in Japan and Europe, where I've learned the "walking life."

In the morning of the 5th of September of 2022, at the Lulu Island café, Greg and I discuss sociopolitical and anthropological issues. Firstly, Greg shows me his brown pocket Modern-English Bible. I tell him that I have a big purple Tagalog Bible and a dark-blue pocket Jehovah's Witnesses' Tagalog Bible. We both know that in both English and Tagalog, there are various versions of the Bible. Then we talk about Alaska, once Russian territory, and the big Mississippi River Basin, once French territory. I tell Greg about the teleseries, Anash and the Legacy of the Sun-Rock, about the life of native Tlingit tribespeople in contact with Russians in southern Alaska and northern BC. I know that not just in BC, there are handsome hybrid children from Europeans and First Nations mixing. We talk about Brazil, which, I say, has three main blending peoples, whites, reds, and blacks. The Philippines is different from Brazil, where there are Nordics, not just Mediterraneans, amongst whites. There are Mexican-looking Filipinos in the café. From my Filipino friend Chris S., a linguist, I hear about a "Mexipino Fest" held on the 3rd of this month in Santa Cruz in California, as Filipinos and Mexicans celebrated their rich cultures. I may want to be a "Mexipino," so I should practice my Spanish, of which I do know a lot already. I am reading Bram Stoker's Drácula in Spanish, as Halloween approaches. I am also reading an Esperanto book, Memoraĵoj de kampara knabo, by Xosé Neira Vilas.

I guess "bilimbi" is what people in Mayotte call the fruit, our Filipino "kamias." Mayotte is islands off the East African coast, near Madagascar, which was settled by Malayo-Polynesians from Island South-East Asia.

As a Filipino, I know that English is not very pronounceable to many Filipinos. Anglophones think that English is easy to pronounce, which is not true. It is full of twisted consonantal clusters, shady vowels, and unsimple diphthongizations. Their unsimple tongue makes them incapable of pronouncing Spanish "jalapeño" and Japanese "karaoke" et cetera.

My understanding is that there are a lot of Bisaya than Tagalog even though the basis of Standard Filipino Language is Tagalog.

In the grey-sky morning of the 24th of March of 2023, Greg and I, both Filipinos, discussed some matters at the teahouse, whilst I had a cold Strawberry Oat Matcha Latte, and Greg had his coffee with cream and sugar in a big white mug and a croissant on a little plate. The athletic-looking, head-shaven Filipino, Rodney, was eating a sandwich at a table near a window. Chen, the military-looking, stocky Chinese was sitting by the counter. From my red Eddie Bauer waist pack, I took out and showed Greg my two mini dictionaries of Esperanto and Tagalog. We talked about a lot of things, including my predilection for the Finnish language and the Swede-Finn writer Tove Jansson, languages including Spanish that we learned in school, mestizos like Boris Yeltsin in Eastern Europe, Tibetans, and Elon Musk's vision for Mars as a second home for humanity.

Maybe, Filipino dictionaries need upgrading to include English loanwords with Filipinized spelling. I am thinking of English-derived words like "metabolisem." Sometimes, some Filipinos would prefer it to the more well-established Spanish-derived word "metabolismo." Though "metabolisem" does not exist in Filipino dictionaries, maybe it and others like it should. The current treatment of English loanwords is to spell as is from the English, unlike what is done for Spanish loanwords.

In the grey-sky morning of the 31st of March of 2023, Greg and I, both Filipinos, talked at the teahouse on Lulu Island. Greg by then had already finished his coffee, and I had just ordered my Iced Black Tea. Greg bought two bags of Dried Apple Chips, one of which he gave generously to me. We discussed in Tagalog many things like the romanticization of history, Inuit, Cree Indians, Alberta where he lived before, and evolution. Greg still did not believe in evolution, and I mentioned the Filipino creation myth in which from bamboo out came a man and a woman. We both learned this legend in school. I went to the pizzeria to have a slice and a Diet Coke. The owner, the Sri Lankan Tamil named Tharsan, was at the cashier. He lived in Vancouver, not here on Lulu Island. He had a girlfriend, also Sri Lankan. At my table, I read a Japanese fantasy book, Kudaketa Monshou, or Crumbled Coat of Arms. In my red fanny pack, I also had an Esperanto Mini Dictionary.

My high-school brown-haired friend Kevin boastfully adored everything about his English heritage, from the Rolls Royce to the Royal Family. He sometimes wore a black top hat for fun. One day, my gang with Kevin discussed the intrusion of Latin into the English language. He gleefully cited the word "fix" as a true Anglo-Saxon word, which I negated, indicating that it really derived from the Latin "fīgere." He knew that as a Filipino, I had also Roman ancestors. Kevin was like redheaded Michael in Grade 5, my first elementary grade on Lulu Island. He too was keen on Anglophilia.

I talked to two Lulu Islander neighbours today, the 15th of April of 2023. Michael the Dane-French told me how his siblings telecommunicating from the Atlantic coast lambasted him about his personal stories about extraterrestrials. (Elon Musk the multibillionaire still worries about Fermi's Paradox.) Then, I saw Derek the Filipino telling me about a great lumberjack's café that also serves Chinese breakfast.

Born in the time of The Beatles, my generation in the Philippines was the product of more nationalism and less Americanization than what my parents experienced, born during the Swing and Big Band music era. It was in 1937 that the Philippine government adopted Tagalog, an Austronesian language, as the basis of the national language. Filipinos born during the time of "King of Pop" Michael Jackson had much more Tagalog indoctrination, and television shows, anime, and cinema became more Tagalog. Later Filipinos born during the reign of Lady Gaga became more exposed to the Internet, where English was ubiquitous. With floodgates open, the archipelagic nation once again became inundated with the colonial language. It still seemed though that the reading habit was not for the majority because most books there were in English, which the elite gobbled up. The Philippines was a country of about 200 native Austronesian languages, whose ancient origin was Taiwan. What school children learned was Tagalog (alias Filipino) and English, but Taglish, the patois of code-switching between the two languages, was the de facto oral-aural lingua franca in the islands. English was the main written language.

On its way to Americanization since the Spanish-American War of 1898, in the 1930s, the Philippines was still somewhat a Hispanic country. Manila was the 9th largest Spanish-speaking city in this world in 1930 with 324 552 inhabitants. The switch to English for at least written communication was set in motion. Adding to the linguistic confusion, in 1937, the Philippine government chose Tagalog, out of about 200 native Austronesian languages, as the basis of the national language, because it was already dominant in many parts of the archipelago. By the late 20th century, Taglish, the patois of code-switching between Tagalog and English, became the de facto oral-aural lingua franca in the islands, despite that Tagalog (alias Filipino) and English were separate studied subjects in school. English was the window to the external world, whilst Taglish became the familiar chit-chat on the streets and in the domestic media. Spanish embedded itself as many natural-sounding loanwords within Tagalog, Taglish, and other native languages. Tagalog had not been fully "intellectualized" as a language, as many great international works had not been translated into it. Tagalog used in non-humanities fields of science remained only experimental. Artificial Intelligence and machine translation might give Tagalog a "kangaroo-hopping" boost.

There is such a thing as "Filipino English." Most Filipinos cannot pronounce English the way Americans do. So, when they speak English, they speak with a Filipino accent. There are also special local words that creep into it. Such includes food words like "hopia" and "pancit." But most of the time, the archipelagic lingua franca is really Taglish, the patois of code-switching between Tagalog and English. Filipinos reserve speaking pure English when Anglophone foreigners are present.

How do you write "sea" in Filipino?

The colors of the Filipino flag don't look like that.

I can not prophesy what will be the outcome of the efforts which the Filipino women are now making to obtain suffrage; but I know that these efforts must be to them, and are to us, a source of pride and glory, because they show that there is no part of our people which has remained indifferent to the great movements of the century. There are persons who scoff at them and many shrug their shoulders; but this must not discourage our women, because neither scoffing nor shrugging the shoulders are very weighty arguments.

I'm learning Filipino.

Looking from outside, the whole Earth may still be like Papua New Guinea, or PNG for short. My fatherland the Philippines obliquely retains its primitive innocence. It is really too bad that literature in indigenous languages there is still scarce. A trip to a bookstore in the Philippines reveals many books in English, but a mere small section in Tagalog. People speak an indigenous language ordinarily, every day, but when they read or write, it is often English. But texting on cellphones and smartphones and in Social Media may often be abbreviated Taglish code-switching. Many Filipinos prefer television, cinema, or videos in an indigenous language, rather than read English, which to them is still foreign cold. Maybe, Roman letters are too rigid for their Asian eyes, unlike the ancient Baybayin script, which nowadays people relegate to tattoos and patriotic T-shirts. Filipino culture is highly aural-oral, today. Today, Japanese anime, Korean dramas, American shows, and so on are dubbed in Tagalog in the Philippines, more so than when I lived there decades ago.

I'm Filipino and I come from Manila.

I wonder what would have been, if administrators had chosen Chabacano, Philippine Creole Spanish, as an official language in the Philippines, much as administrators had chosen Tok Pisin, an English-based creole, as an official language in Papua New Guinea. Today, Filipinos wax nostalgic and poetic of the bygone Hispanic Era. After the Spanish-American War of 1898, Puerto Rico retained Spanish, but not the Philippines. Like an effervescent pink drink, English is now the main written language in the Philippines. However, the de facto aural-oral lingua franca in the archipelago is Taglish, the patois of code-switching between the two official languages, Filipino (Tagalog essentially) and English. Chabacano (Chavacano) combines Spanish with native elements. There is in Chabacano no verbal conjugation that does exist in Spanish, Tagalog, and English, which complicates these languages. Native languages in the Philippines have oodles of Spanish-derived words embedded in them. Native languages are of the Austronesian family, said to have originated thousands of years ago in Taiwan. About 200 languages exist in the Philippines. Most of them are of the Austronesian family, whilst Chabacano, an outgrowth of Hispanic colonization, sprouted like mushrooms in various places there.

Before my own father passed away, we talked about the afterlife. My father had said that at his death, his "mind" would transfer to a newborn baby on a different faraway "planet," and there, he would grow up. Despite Roman Catholic and Baptist influences, my father believed in rebirth or reincarnation and other non-Xtian ideas. In the 1970s, he read books by Tuesday Lobsang Rampa and Erich von Däniken. Also my Filipino friend Greg believes in some non-Xtian ideas, despite that he claims to be a hardcore Baptist. It is difficult for others, especially Westerners, to understand my religious stance, of being a Syncretist, chiefly Buddhist-Animist, but not discounting other belief systems, and even inclining towards Science.

In my first of two trips in the sunny morning to the Lulu Island Starbucks café to drink iced green tea, I talk with my Filipino friend Greg about anthropology. I tell him that Middle Easterners are often Caucasoids with some Negroid infusion, whilst South Asians are often Caucasoids with some Australoid infusion. The Gypsies in Europe came from India, centuries ago. I recount my predilection for Sarah Brightman's music, as in her rendition of "Hijo de la Luna" ("Son of the Moon"), a Gypsy story. In Spain, I saw Gypsies, trying to make money from tourists in tourist attractions. Today is the 19th of June of 2024.

Makisig is a Filipino boys' name.

How do I translate the road into filipino?

Tom speaks good Spanish and Filipino.

These days, I am wearing my red touque with orange letters in Tagalog, "MGA AWSTRALYA ANG MGA ESTRELYA," alluding to space colonization and the cold and hot deserts of other worlds. These days, I talk with Greg, my religious Filipino friend, at Starbucks café. We talk about travelling, anthropology, international food, and religion. This morning, I played in the midst of dense fog in a neighbourhood grassy field. At Starbucks café, in the foggy morning, I was drinking my reddish Passion Tango iced tea, which contained hibiscus, lemongrass, cinnamon, passion fruit, pineapple, and so forth. Greg gifted me a chocolate croissant. At Starbucks café, in the grey-sky afternoon, I was drinking the seasonal Oat Nog Latte. (Incidentally, Nog is a dwarf-like Ferengi alien character in the Star Trek franchise.) Kristina, part-Inuit part-Norwegian, was my barista. She has a handsome face, and her mannerisms and style reflect some things about her Inuit ancestors. "Viktor, it's like you're part-Inuit," she told me. She knows that I am from the Philippines. At my table, I exercised with my hand grip strengthener, which I carried in my army jacket pocket. At the café, I greeted Don the alluring white man and Květa the solitary Czech lady, as I exited. It is the 4th of December of 2024.

I talked to Greg the Filipino this morning in Starbucks café. Greg was drinking Mocha and I a Passion Tango iced tea. I saw that seemingly "Greek" muscleman again, in and out of the café with his coffee. "Ang laki! (So big!)," I said to Greg. His body is like a Greek god sculpture. (I am not really sure if he is Greek, but I heard him talking in his cellphone in a language that sounded Greek to me.) I took my second walk in the grey-sky morning: At Yummy Slice pizzeria, Sachet the Gujarati vendor and Tharsan the Sri Lankan owner were there, as I was drinking my grey-can Diet Coke. At the Subway sandwitcheria, I got a Turkey Ranch "Snackwich" with spinach, tomatoes, fried onions, cucumbers, and honey mustard sauce. Simran the Punjabi Sikh was my vendor. She talked about the coming Lohri Festival in January for Punjabis. It has to do with celebrating with bonfires and honouring childbirth. I greeted Don the head-shaven white man at Starbucks café, where I was eating almonds. Today is the 9th of December of 2024.

I walked at night, here on Lulu Island. As I entered Starbucks café, sitting at a table with two Doritos bags of chips, one purple and one red, were Peter the redheaded Anglo and Hans the Netherlander on a motorized wheelchair, who offered to me. I took a few chips from both bags. Then, I was drinking reddish Passion Tango iced tea, then Oat Nog Latte. I was munching on crème brûlée almonds. I was exercising with my hand grip strengthener at my table. There were a regular couple with seemingly American spoken accents. The man was a handsome white-haired bear, always wearing a sports outfit. At Hans' request after he exited, Peter gave the purple Doritos bag to me and the red one to Chris the Japanese-English hybrid, who was a barista. The other barista was Jessica the petite Vietnamese. There were Filipino customers. Jessica asked me if I knew what was "lomi" (a Filipino noodle dish). I said that it was "rāmen." Homebound, walking, I accidentally tripped on a wooden board in a dark alleyway. My eyeglasses fell off. Luckily, I was not hurt. A Cantonese labourer helped me. Today is the 14th of December of 2024.

This winter has been warmer than usual, so far, without snow, here on Lulu Island. In the morning, this 27th of December of 2024, I walked twice to Tim Hortons: Firstly, I ate two hash browns with an oat milk iced coffee. Secondly, I ate a sausage egg English muffin meal, including a hash brown and oat milk iced coffee. I went to Starbucks for an oat nog latte. I missed Greg, my Filipino friend, who left just before me. Then, I went to Yummy Slice pizzeria for a red-can Coca-Cola Zero Sugar. The Filipina vendor Rose was there, so we said "Happy New Year" to each other. I passed by Kin's Farm fruteria. On my way home, in the park's alleyway, I met and talked with my ufologist friend, Michael J., a Dane-French. He amused himself with the red touque on my head, with orange letters in Tagalog: "MGA AWSTRALYA ANG MGA ESTRELYA" (The stars are Australias). I told him it was about "space colonization." There are the cold and hot deserts of other worlds. Then, I went to the house of my "auntie" neighbour, Tita Zeny, to pick up her homemade "dinuguán" or Filipino pork blood stew to bring home. Lunch at home would include Filipino chicken "adobo."

The morning was drizzling, this 28th of December of 2024. (Incidentally, there are 28 letters in the Esperanto alphabet.) I walked to Tim Hortons, there to eat a croissant and a hash brown, and to drink an oat milk iced coffee. Amongst the vendors were handsome men, Joban and Pushpak. The ladies were pretty. They were all South Asians. There was a fat Eurasian boy toddler with his white mama and Sinospheric papa amongst the customers. At our house, Rex, the cousin of my cousin Eve, arrived from the states. A devout Roman Catholic Filipino, he was wearing a necklace with a hanging crucifix when he greeted me. I exclaimed "Mr. Lingo!": Like I, he has been a long-time language fanatic, and now he is learning Portuguese and Polish. He knows that my "favourite" is Esperanto. He amused himself with my dark red T-shirt with the vertical phrase in white letters in Spanish: "¡Las estrellas son Australias!" ("The stars are Australias!" about outer space and potential future colonies on the cold and hot desert worlds beyond our Earth). I was wearing also a red baseball cap with yellow lettering of "XANADU, TITAN": a reference to a mystical region on Saturn's moon. Rex would be sojourning with my Filipino family, here on Lulu Island, for the weekend visit. He earlier communicated that he would want "bubble tea" from here. I complimented Rex that he still "looks the same" from decades ago.

About 6 in the drizzling morning, I headed walking towards Tim Hortons, here on Lulu Island. I had a chai tea with oat milk and a four-cheese savoury twist pastry. Later, my Cantonese friend Gary showed up; his family has been in this country for generations. Besides English, he speaks Cantonese and Mandarin. Some people want to live in a different country: Gary wants to live in Vietnam, specifically Ho Chi Minh City, for part of the year, as he has a girlfriend there. He said that he was not having too much language difficulty there, despite that I know that most signs there are in Vietnamese. He suggested that I buy property in the Philippines, where it would be much cheaper. I said that I do not really prefer a Xtian country. I talked about the city of Ayutthaya in Buddhist Thailand, full of expatriates admiring ancient temples there. Later, before 8 in that morning, I walked to Starbucks, and I waited for my Filipino friend Greg, but he did not show up this time. I was drinking an iced strawberry oat matcha latte. Today is the 5th of January of 2025.

Later in the morning, before 10, I returned to Tim Hortons. I walked as I usually did. At a corner of a long table with a graphic of an ice hockey rink, I was eating an Herb and Garlic Pastry whilst drinking a Specialty Chai Tea with Oat Milk. Pushpak the South Asian vendor was there, then. I saw my friend Leo the Filipino with a big bag of groceries for "two weeks' worth." He said that he still ate Filipino-style, despite being here in "the Great White North." There was a dark-haired technical man with a strange Euro-like accent using a sophisticated ultramodern rotating black camera on a tripod for taking "measurements for insurance." He mentioned the word "lighter." At home, I listened to music from a radio app on my tablet: Happy '70s, '80s & '90s Pop Rock, House: Deep to Future, Baroque, Zouk Hits, and Southeast Asia Psychedelics. I was earlier today making contributions to articles in the Tagalog Wikipedia. It was the 23rd of January of 2025.

I come from the Philippines. I'm Filipino, and I speak Filipino and English.

Lapulapu is regarded, retroactively, as the first Filipino hero.

"16" reminds me of the 16 Basic Rules of Esperanto Grammar, as today is the 16th of April of 2025. Esperanto is more popular in places like Brazil, China, Indonesia, Korea, Congo-Kinshasa, and others. Around 6 in the morning, I brought my lime green sack with a green lizard illustrated thereon. Therein, I usually carry my Esperanto book, Tra Lando de Indianoj, by Tibor Sekelj, about life in Native Indian territory in the Brazilian Amazon jungle. I read it in the cafés. Firstly, I was at Tim Hortons café here on Lulu Island to drink Earl Grey tea with oat milk and eat a sausage English muffin. Gurpreet the Punjabi woman was my vendor. Then I walked to Starbucks café to drink steamed oat milk in a white ceramic mug. Jam the Filipino was my barista, and Jessica the petite Vietnamese was my vendor. For early lunch at home, I ate chicken and fried spring rolls with noodles and drank hot lime water on my sunny verandah. Later, after 11 in the morning, it was my second walk of the day. I was then at Tim Hortons café to drink another Earl Grey with oat milk. Rajvinder the Punjabi lady who has a similar profile to my cousin Myra in the Philippines was my vendor. Gary the Cantonese fan of Vietnam was in the hall. It was sunny outside, with blue sky, but with a bit of chilly wind.

'Twas a cold morning. As my imagination of Esperantoland, the café Starbucks was my walking destination. Sitting outside in front were Les the Japanese, Marlin the Filipina, and their Chinese friend, all chatting away. Inside, 'twas quiet. I was drinking Iced Cherry Chai with oat milk. Greg my Filipino friend didn't show up today. Homebound, I went through Dunoon Drive to view the big pink magnolia blossoms.

A sunny day it was, this 30th of April of 2025. I walked several times to Tim Hortons café, here on Lulu Island, to enjoy various teas with oat milk, a Classic Lemonade, and a Turkey Bacon Club Sandwich. I went also to Starbucks café to enjoy an Iced Cherry Chai with oat milk. My Filipino friends, the baristas Anna and Jam, were there. At home, my family received a guest from Kenya: Moko. We talked about Swahili—or Kiswahili. She said that in neighbouring Zanzibar in Tanzania, one spoke a prestige dialect of Swahili. I recounted my fantasy of one day visiting Zanzibar. "Why not a safari tour?" she added. Yes, such would be nice, too—the fun countryside! Kenya is like the Philippines, we agreed, as many people might speak a local language, a regional language, a national language, and an international language. At home, in my bedroom, I could hear my Fijian neighbours, who are Cantonese, East Indian, and Black Caribbean in blending, chatting away!

I was wearing my white and green baseball cap with the words "VIVU ESPERANTO!" Today's the 1st of May of 2025, here on Lulu Island. It's sunny. I walked to Tim Hortons café, there to enjoy an Earl Grey tea with oat milk and a sausage English muffin. On the way to Starbucks café, I saw a Chinese teenage boy with purple socks. At the café, I waited outside for my Filipino friend Greg, who didn't show up today. I saw the familiar Brazilian man in shorts come out the door. I went through Dunoon Drive to view the magnolia blossoms.

A Japanoid told me the other day that talking to you is like a fun video game. Today's the 3rd of May of 2025. Walking, I went before 8 in the morning to Starbucks café, there to enjoy a Lavender Oat Latte. I talked with the café manager, Liz, who is partly Kwakiutl First Nations. She wore a black T-shirt with the words "INDIGENOUS PARTNER NETWORK" on the back. Iryl the Filipino and Chelsea the Mandarin were the baristas. I talked there to the customer Alex, the owner of a power wash company. Apparently, he is a neighbour and lives in a family house built in the 1950s. He doesn't have a girlfriend and wishes to travel more whilst unattached. Alex is Dutch-English. Marlin the Filipina was sitting, reading, at an another table. Dennis the Chinese-German hybrid was at another table. Al the Anglo was at the bar. Later, at Tim Hortons café, I was drinking an Earl Grey tea with oat milk. The baristas were Rajvinder and Pushpak, both Punjabis.

This 8th of May of 2025 is sunny warm. In the morning was my 6th walking voyage this spring to the Roman Catholic church on St. Albans Road. I was noticing a big tree which reminded me of the jacaranda tree because of the purple flowers, but it isn't jacaranda. I went to the big worship hall in the church and was noticing the multicoloured stained glass in front. The hall was almost empty. A lady lit a candle. There are Filipinos in this parish. At the smaller Adoration Chapel, 'twas more crowded. (My Uncle Sonny in Los Angeles habitually went to Roman Catholic church every day when he was alive. He was Filipino hybridized with white and black American. But he looked more white in reality.) Homebound, I spent a few minutes at a grove of trees. Sometimes, the trees are the temple that all I need. I'm Syncretic by religion, really, tending towards Buddhism-Animism, but I don't discount other belief systems. It's like potpourri.

This 21st of May of 2025 is a sunny, yet cloudy, day. I went walking in the morning to Tim Hortons café to enjoy an Iced Coffee with oat milk. The other day, I tried their pink-looking Pineapple Dragon Fruit Frozen Quencher. 'Twas more like icy candy for me! Later in the morning today, I went walking to the Roman Catholic church on St. Albans Road. On the way, I gazed at the big purple-bloom Empress Tree, near Bowcock Road. The blooms are starting to fade. In the big worship hall was a small class of little boys and girls, dressed in uniform, students practicing bowing at the altar and oration at the microphone. They looked like mostly Filipino kids, this time. It reminded of my private school days at La Salle Green Hills in the Philippines. Even then, our liturgical language was also English, as here on Lulu Island. It was despite that our household and street language was Tagalog. In the 1960s, the Church globally changed the liturgical language from Latin to the vernacular language. I remember my Thai Buddhist Temple in Vancouver—Wat Yanviriya. The wonderful liturgical language was Pali. It was the language that made the temple stay magical! We learned meditation, which is what I do in the church on St. Albans Road. I try to go when the big worship hall is mostly empty. At home, I try to learn more Esperanto vocabulary.

This sunny I-don't-know-if-it's-hot-or-cold day of the 22nd of May of 2025, I went walking several times to Tim Hortons café, from about 5 in the morning till after 10 at night. I enjoyed Scrambled Eggs with Potatoes and Sausage, an Earl Grey Tea with oat milk, an Iced Classic Lemonade, an Iced Coffee with oat milk, a Green Tea with oat milk, a Roast Beef Craveable Sandwich, and an expensive Habanero Chicken Bowl. At Starbucks café, I enjoyed a White Chocolate Macadamia Cream Cold Brew with oat milk. On the street, I passed by Joanne the Ukrainian-descent star-savvy wife of Rod the camping enthusiast. I saw Stella the regular Greek Starbucks customer come out of Kin's Farm Market with tomatoes and greens for making Greek Salad with feta cheese later. I joked that she might be making "moussaká"! At night, at Tim Hortons café, there was a Filipino family, my ex-neighbours. As for religion, my Syncretic inclination is mainly towards Animism and Buddhism, but I don't discount other belief systems. I visited the Roman Catholic church on St. Albans Road, and it was another confession day for the little boys and girls. The interior of the church is like a big clam! Near Bowcock Road, I gazed at the big Empress Tree, its purple blooms wilting. I visited Halal Meat & BBQ, across the street from Tim Hortons café. I admired the Western Asian, Central Asian, and Southern Asian foods on the shelves there—"fantasy brown country"! I was looking for dried apricots and halva.

I went walking to Tim Hortons café, twice this sunny morning of the 24th of May of 2025: Firstly, I drank an Iced Classic Lemonade. Secondly, I enjoyed a Sausage English Muffin and an Earl Grey Tea with oat milk. Then, 'twas a lunch of Sinospheric dishes at home, thanks to my cousin Eve who brought them from Yaohan Centre: gai lan, brown rice, fried fish, fried shrimps, and fried squid. At that centre, there was once a big Japanese bookstore on the second level, where I sometimes browsed Japanese books. After lunch with cousin and Mama, around 13:00, I decided on this blue-sky day to venture to the Roman Catholic church on St. Albans Road. It's Saturday today, so I wasn't expecting anything, but lo and behold, there was a wonderful prelude to a Filipino wedding! There were people in their finest attire. As I stepped out, I saw in the sunshine the bride in full white-gown glory. Another young lady was helping her lay out the fancy dress. 'Twas good that it wasn't raining! The scene reminded me of the "maiko-san" or geisha apprentice in Kyōto, when I was there. Then, I spent a few minutes in the Adoration Temple. It might be my 17th trip to that church this spring. The big Empress Tree near Bowcock Road still has a few purple flowers, but most of them have fallen off already. I saw my Greek Cypriot neighbour Nikki doing her daily routine of walking around the block several times. I waved at the religious Filipino family at the street corner.

It's the 18th of May of 2025. After 20:00, I headed walking to Tim Hortons café to enjoy an Orange Pekoe Tea with oat milk. In my lime green sack with a green lizard image thereon, I brought two books to the café to read, one Esperanto, one Interlingua: Tra Lando de Indianoj, by Tibor Sekelj, and Contos in Interlingua, by Sven Frank. Green and Blue, they are. The Esperanto book is a tale about life in the jungles of Red Indians in Brazil. The Interlingua book is a collection of children's tales. It was still before sunset. Arriving home, I saw that family Filipino friends Perlita and Glenn were talking to Mama in the dining room. They brought a fruit tray that includes red watermelon chunks, grape bunches, orange slices, etc. They brought also Philippine spaghetti and Philippine pancit noodles. We talked about rich chains like Tim Hortons, 7-Eleven, A&W, etc. and how so high the rental is for retail stores on Lulu Island, so that two 7-Eleven stores have closed in our neighbourhood; they stood for over 40 years!

After 15:00, the sky cleared, and there was blueness above. There was a warmer ambiance. I walked somniferously towards the St. Albans Road's Roman Catholic church, the "Clam Temple." Inside the mostly void worship hall, I was sitting. Yes, the mystical void is what I admire. I'm Buddhoanimist. In the lobby, a custodian was busy vacuuming with an industrial-grade vacuum cleaner. I went outside to sit on a wooden bench beside the building, I being more than four metres from the white and blue statue of the Virgin Mary with a halo and near garden beds. (I know that the statue is lit up at night.) Walking somniferously homebound, I saw Joemar the Filipino with his Chihuahua and John the Anglo neighbour. Maybe, I'll listen to music and read some books for the rest of the afternoon, this 14th of June of 2025.

"Macau-Macau!" exclaimed Michael, the Guǎngzhōu Man, when we were thinking about Tagalog and the Philippines, as we were sitting at Lulu Island's Tim Hortons café, after 10:00, June 15, 2025. "Malaki?" I wondered if he was referring to the word for "big." I asserted: "'Lalaki' is for a man or boy, a male. 'Babae' is for a woman or girl, a female." It was déjà vu: I remembered that conversation with him from years ago. I was explaining that Tagalog words for gender alluded to size or stature. To Michael, the Philippines seems like a big Macau, the Portuguese ex-colony in the PRC, except that the Philippines is ex-Spanish. After we talked more about other subjects, Michael had to leave to pick up his kids at Sunday ESL class at posh Aberdeen Centre. At the café, Alex, my Filipino friend, reminded me about Mass times: Well before 15:00, I ventured walking in the blue-sky sunshine to the "Clam Temple," the Roman Catholic church on St. Albans Road. In the great worship hall, there were just a Filipina nun in her nun outfit and two women church co-workers at the front. I was sitting way back. Feeling the void was all that was necessary, except that one of the ladies started using a handheld vacuum cleaner to clean underneath the votive candle stands, where some candles were lit. I exited to the nice sunshine, as I sat on a bench. I'm Buddhoanimist as many Asians. The "Clam Temple" is a good ersatz for me. It was likely my 44th visit this year for me there. Ah, the void...

It seems that many people at the Roman Catholic church on St. Albans Road, here on Lulu Island, like Interlingua. They know that I'm an Esperantist, as well as a Lojbanist. I'm Buddhoanimist. I was there at the "Clam Temple" this morning around ten, this 17th of June of 2025, maybe my 46th visit there this year. I was wanting to enjoy the void and silence in the grand worship hall, but two Filipinas were hammering at the electric organ, and the Filipino custodian was starting his vacuuming. The hall was empty, except for us four. I then headed to the Adoration Chapel, where there were more people, many of them Filipinos, praying in silence. It's a cloudy day today, but not drizzling. At home, I've been reading electronic books: The Jesus Incident, by Frank Herbert, a sci-fi book about colonizing the planet Pandora and a giant starship that thinks it's a god. I've read it already many years ago. I'm also checking a religious book, The Urantia Book, the Japanese version. As my right brain is more active than most people's, I read for texture rather than plot. I tend to read random pages. At Tim Hortons café, I enjoyed a Bacon Farmer's Wrap and Earl Grey tea with oat milk. I will be returning to enjoy Iced Coffee with oat milk.

It's a grey cloudy morning this summer day of the 22nd of June of 2025. Before dawn, I had a snack of two tofu fish cuttlefish corn potato tangerine pork rolls with strawberries. Around 8, I was at Starbucks café, there to drink Passion Tango iced tea, which contained hibiscus, lemongrass, cinnamon, passion fruit, pineapple, and so forth. I waited for my religious Baptist Filipino friend, Greg, who was there usually on Sundays at that time, but he didn't show up. Then, I walked to Tim Hortons café to drink an iced coffee with oat milk and eat a sausage English muffin. There were families. There were several ex-Soviet bachelors who spoke Russian. Before 10, I trekked towards the Roman Catholic church at St. Albans Road. I admired the bamboo grove and the Emerald Tree on the way. At the church, there were already some worshippers in the nave: many Filipinos, and some Hispanics and Cantonese. The Filipina nun in her habit was talking to some Filipinas in the lobby area. They were admiring someone's blue skirt, which cost 80 dollars. Today, this morning, many blue hydrangeas adorned the front of the nave, inside. (There is interest in Interlingua.) Yesterday and today counted as my 50th and 51st visits to that church, the "Clam Temple" as I call it because of its architecture. Some people wore beige, an interest in Chabacano. When I walk outside, I usually talk to rabbits in Lojban: "coico'o ractu" (Hello-bye rabbits!). I'm often like Dr. Dolittle.

Derek and I were speaking English, as we are long-time residents on Lulu Island. I told him that the parks in Japan are spiritual, with shrines and such. Meanwhile, here in Canada, the parks are secular, with not much spirituality. The traditional religions in Canada don't adore Nature. Derek reminded me that his family is Baptist, not Roman Catholic. I told him that I go to the Roman Catholic church on St. Albans Road, even though I'm not Roman Catholic. Years ago, Derek went to Sunday nursery at Vancouver's Grace International church, a Baptist church, as did my younger brother. My parents converted and went to that church. I came along, I told Derek, but I sat in the mostly empty balcony. I didn't tell Derek that my mentor was like Mr. Spock then. There was peer pressure for me to convert. My immediate family were previously at least nominally Roman Catholic, like most Filipinos. The Baptist Filipinos were pressuring me to go to their Christmas parties, Bible studies, and to the Mt. Baker Ski Chalet Retreat, to which I did go. I enjoyed the snow, but most of the Filipino youth tried just staying inside the chalet. I lived in Japan for some time. These several years back on Lulu Island have felt "marshy" or "swampy"—somewhat stagnant, despite that I try to edutain myself constantly. I'm a spiritual Japanized Syncretist, now living with Americanized Baptist relatives. Later in life, my family goes to a Pentecostal church for "much music." I'm more of a Buddhoanimist.