"Filipinos" içeren İngilizce örnek cümleler

Filipinos should write more about science in Filipino.
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The people of the Philippines are called Filipinos.
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The Philippines has had English since 1898 in its ecology of languages, but most Filipinos still cannot pronounce it correctly.
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Filipinos are not like Swiss.
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Filipinos and Mexicans are something like Orientals.
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My father, born as a Roman Catholic in the Philippines, converted in North America to a Baptist Protestant under the guidance of other Filipinos. At the time, he was hexed by joblessness. He was often a businessman of different wares and foodstuffs. Despite calling himself a Christian, he sometimes forayed into Buddhism, practice of meditation, and ideas of reincarnation. He believed that when he would die, he would be reborn in a different body in a different world—a different "planet."
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From Roman Catholicism in the Philippines, both my parents in North America converted to Baptist Protestants, recruited by already converted Filipinos. They went to Baptist churches for years, until later years, in Pentecostal church, because there was more music.
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Most Filipinos, as well as other nationals, have difficulty pronouncing English properly.
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I wish that the Philippines were a really rich country that it would have its own Mars program. Filipinos in reality just like growing rice and mangoes.
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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.
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My mother usually speaks Tagalog at home, but she watches television in English, and when she has to read or write, she uses English. She is typical of her highly Americanized generation of Filipinos. My generation and thereafter are more nationalistic, becoming less Americanized.
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Being of a highly Americanized old-timer generation of Filipinos, my mother still is not really accustomed to English. When my family first immigrated to North America, she pronounced "raspberry" with an unsilent P. After more than 45 years on the new continent, her accent still sounds foreign.
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Both my brothers, Filipinos, married brunettes of Anglo-Saxon ancestry.
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Many Filipinos who live in Hong Kong eventually learn to speak Cantonese, but most do not venture into writing and reading sinograms.
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Miss S. thinks Filipinos should pray in their indigenous language, not in foreign English.
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Filipinos don't believe in language purity, as they mix languages, typically Tagalog and English, freely, this code-switching being called Taglish. Tagalog proper is already full of Spanish loanwords and borrowings from other languages, like Hokkien. The Philippines is under the American sphere of influence, and code-switching is how Filipinos deal with modernization. Tagalog has an "old attic" of vintage words, with which modern Filipinos are less familiar, but which are still in common use in rural areas and with old folk.

I think that Filipinos and Mexicans have a similar personality.

Code-switching between languages is common practice in the Philippines. It's not just between Tagalog and English, but also with Hokkien, or with the many, many indigenous languages on the islands. Filipinos don't believe in language purity. Spanish words are embedded like gold nuggets inside many indigenous languages.

I know some Filipinos who can speak several Philippine languages aside from Tagalog, but they unfortunately don't use them to write prose or poetry. It's too bad, really.

My neighbours on Lulu Island are Filipinos. They're my "Uncle" Ed and "Auntie" Zeny with their three handsome grownup boys Derek, Michael, and Charles. The parents are from different provinces with different local languages, but as the majority of Filipinos, they share Tagalog as a common language.

I know some things about reading when it comes to Filipinos. When many Filipinos read, especially the elite, they read in English, although they commonly speak an indigenous language every day. The Philippines is highly aural-oral when it comes to the indigenous language. There are, nevertheless, some comics and other literature in Tagalog for the masses. Many Filipinos do not really want to read in English, as maybe it does not attract them, so they seldom read, but instead watch television, videos, or cinema, most commonly in the indigenous language. I suspect that Roman letters do not attract some Filipinos. Tagalog is no longer written in the ancient Baybayin script, but the Unicode Standard conserves the syllabograms. Tagalog literature is not yet extensive, as is that of neighbouring Indonesia. English is like a fizzy pink soda, whilst Tagalog is like a yellow-brown cassava cake. (Some French have stated that Tagalog is more like a grey shark in the sea. But I could imagine some Italians equating Tagalog with squid ink spaghetti. Maybe Tagalog is like Spanish "jamón de pata negra," an expensive delicacy.)

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.

I was a "Roman Cat" as a child in the Philippines. I was Roman Catholic, at least, nominally, as many Filipinos were. For me, the religion was decorative. I knew a few memorized prayers. I rarely did the rosary. But I had several rosaries, and one was glow-in-the-dark white-green plastic! My school, La Salle Green Hills, was a large private Roman Catholic school. I had my first communion at my school. I attended my cousin Jojo's confirmation in a UFO-shaped church in the University of the Philippines. My Roman Catholicism wasn't deep metaphysical and philosophical like my Animism-Buddhism in my current years, but Animism-Buddhism subtly attracted me since childhood. I've seen Buddha statues and Nature has fascinated me since a child.

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.

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."

Greg and I, both Filipinos, talk at the Lulu Island café this morning of the 20th of August of 2022. I tell him of my visit to the dried mango factory estate owned by my friend's relatives in Cebu, Philippines. There was a big house near the expanses of the dried mango factory. There was a games house. The auntie looked like an affable Chinese Hispanic. My friends and I ate mangoes every day. I tell Greg of my stay in Japan, where I frequently took the trains and subways. He mentions "bullet trains." I tell him that the PRC now has bullet trains. I tell him of Spanish-looking classmates with very long full names in my private school of La Salle Green Hills in Metro Manila. My classmate Julio lived in a big Spanish-style mansion with a garden driveway through the middle front. That look inspired my childhood dream that I told my mother about a "big house on a lot with a highway in the middle on an island." Oh, maybe, it was from James Bond.

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.

In the beginning of the twentieth century, the Philippine elite started switching from Spanish to English as the archipelagic elitist language, especially in written form, as a consequence of the Spanish-American War in 1898. Meanwhile, indigenous languages have continued to be the aural-oral mainstay, with Spanish loanwords being quite common. In 1937, administration chose Tagalog as the basis of the national language. As time passed, code-switching between English and indigenous languages became more prevalent. As a result, the Philippines is a linguistic hodgepodge. English is like an effervescent pink drink, and Tagalog is a grey shark in the seas. Spanish still rings nostalgically of bygone majestic good ol' days for many Filipinos. Tagalog is still not as fully "intellectualized" as its cousin Indonesian, which Indonesians use in university-level education and has extensive literature.

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.

Filipinos call themselves "Pinoy".

The Philippines is a real hodgepodge, the people, the places, and the languages. This incoherence confuses non-Filipinos. Certainly, the Philippines is not monolithic. The Philippines has high dependency on the Anglosphere, but this affair is changing with the new acquaintances with neighbouring Asian peoples. Previously, there were just two conditions for Filipinos, being in the Philippines and being "stateside," which is now an outmoded paradigm.

Mainly three blending peoples make up Filipinos: Austronesians, Chinese, and Spanish. While there are other elements, these three comprise the majority. Austronesians originated from Taiwan thousands of years ago, and they spread throughout Island South-East Asia, throughout the Pacific, and up to Madagascar. They are Mongoloids with an infusion of Australoid. In the dental perspective, Austronesians are Sundadonts, whilst Chinese are Sinodonts. (Amerindians are Super-Sinodonts.)

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 morning of the 26th of March of 2023, Greg and I, both Filipinos, were talking in the teahouse, as I had my nth order of Strawberry Oat Matcha Latte and Greg, having already finished his coffee, attended to his newspapers and magazines. The barista at the cashier was Stefania, a beautiful black-haired Italian with an accent. Marlin, my Filipina friend, was sitting at a corner near the window. Near the counter stood a handsome head-shaven Japanese-looking man who was fluent in English. Greg and I discussed martial arts. There were the karate, judo, aikido, and kendo in Japan. There was the kung fu in China. There was the capoeira in Brazil. There was the arnis de mano in the Philippines. We mentioned Bruce Lee and Jackie Chan, famous martial artists in the movie industry.

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.

In the Philippines, teachers teach us school children the doctrine of being "kayumanggí" in that all we Filipinos are "brown," despite actual different skin tones amongst us.

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.

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.

Sometimes, in a bilingual or multilingual family, children speak to parents in Language A, and parents speak to their children in Language B, and they inter-comprehend. Such is the case in my immigrant family from the Philippines, who, in North America, have us children speak English to parents, and parents speak to us children in Tagalog. I am able to speak to other Filipinos in Tagalog. It has just become customary in my family to have the complex linguistic situation.

According to news reports, Filipinos are stupid.

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.

In a way, in the Philippines, people already speak Spanish and English, as these languages, or really their words, are integrated or imbedded in native languages, not just Tagalog. Spanish is chocolate or coffee, whilst English is a fizzy pink lemonade soda. The Philippine society is mostly an amalgam of Malay, Chinese, and Spanish elements, with unmentioned various more minor ones. There is Philippine Creole Spanish, Chabacano or Chavacano, spoken scatteringly in the magical archipelago. The feature of the Philippines is more like the Caribbean, the crossroads of different peoples. I can categorize the people of the Philippines in several desserts: Many are like "ube halaya" or the dark mash of sweet purple yam. Some are more like "halo-halo" or ice dessert with leche flan, ube yam, kaong, nata de coco, young coconut strips, agar-agar jelly, sago, beans, fruits like jackfruit, et cetera. Some are more like "maíz con hielo" or ice dessert with corn kernels, sugar, and milk. A striking difference of Filipinos from Mainland Asia is their love of the creative purple colour, maybe because of the ube yam delicacy. In Okinawa in Japan, people call it "beniimo." They use it also in Okinawan desserts and other cooking.

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.

After two in the morning, I was awake, trying to read an Interlingua book, Le torno del mundo in octanta dies, by Jules Vernes. But the lamp in the living room was too dim. I ate a few pieces of Italian round waffle-like cookies, pizzelle. I went back to sleep on the couch. Later, it was a drizzling morning, cold and clammy, this Boxing Day of 2024. I walked twice to the neighbourhood's Tim Hortons. Firstly, I ate two hash browns, whilst drinking an iced coffee with oat milk. Secondly, I ate a crispy chicken wrap with a glass of blackberry yuzu sparkling quencher. At both occasions, there were Eurasian children, and there were Filipinos that looked handsomely Japanesque. I was exercising with a hand grip strengthener at my table, as I counted to twenty in Esperanto, in each set: "unu, du, tri, kvar,..." In the afternoon, this Boxing Day of 2024, the sun came out of the clouds, the drizzle stopping for the while. An odd cabinet mirror stood by the sidewalk, so I could see my bare legs and mauve garden shoes in the reflection. I walked to Tim Hortons, there to drink an iced coffee with oat milk. The café was crowded. At night, I went back there to eat a roast beef and cheddar sandwich with an oat milk iced coffee. A brown family popped in to break the empty silence. A pensive white man said that I liked the word "blossom": Maybe, he was waiting for spring?

There are still several centimetres of snow left on the ground, here on Lulu Island, this 4th of February of 2025. At home with the view of the bluish grey sky through my bedroom window, I reviewed my Chabacano, Philippine Creole Spanish, on my tablet. I perused a printed book about it, yesterday. I would give myself three stars out of five stars total for my Chabacano skills. I can read it quite well. I like that Chabacano has no verbal conjugation, but just has aspect markers, unlike Spanish. I assign the colour beige to Chabacano. I opine that more people should know it. I trudged in the snow going to Tim Hortons, once in the morning and once in the afternoon. In the morning were Earl Grey tea with oat milk and a roast beef Craveable sandwich. (Earl Grey was Captain Picard's favourite.) In the afternoon was an iced coffee with oat milk and cane sugar. Gurpreet the Indian was the vendor. Corpulent Dominic and his daughter Fiel, Filipinos, were sitting near the bay window overlooking the snowy street. I saw in passing Gary the Cantonese in green camouflage Vietnamese military pants, as I exited the washroom and eventually the café itself. For lunch at home, I had spaghetti with Mexican banana chips and a glass mug of hot lime water. Yesterday, Gary and I discussed horseback riding. I tried it, but I could not control the horse well. Gary lived in earlier years near North Vancouver's stables. He preferred motorcycling, as in Vietnam. I said that I was too "klutzy" for such.

Today's a cloudy, yet sunny day, the 13th of May of 2025. Yesterday and today, I went to the garden neighbourhood at St. Albans Road to enjoy the scenery and the big Roman Catholic church there, which I have visited maybe the 11th time this spring. The big admirable purple-bloom tree nearby is probably not a Jacaranda, but maybe a Paulownia, an Empress Tree. Nevertheless, it's like saudade for me about South America. I often visit the major worship hall and the smaller Adoration Chapel, where I noticed that at the right front the statue of the Virgin Mary is holding the Child at her arms, and they are not standing side by side, as I imagined from memory. At the big worship hall, there are two crucifixes, one at the front centre and one at the front right, both draped in white cloth. There are Filipinos in the parish. By the way, it's now Pope Leo XIV. I'm really tending to Animism-Buddhism in my Syncretism. I visited Tim Hortons café here on Lulu Island several times during the day to enjoy an Earl Grey Tea with oat milk, an Iced Classic Lemonade, Scrambled Eggs with Sausage and Potatoes, an Iced Coffee with oat milk, and a Wild Blueberry Muffin. Today, at home, I'm reading bits from Spanish speculative fiction, El eterno regreso a casa, by Ursula K. Le Guin. I read aloud for oral practice. I'm also looking at an online Esperanto dictionary to ameliorate my green vocabulary.

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.

It's sunny today, the 2nd of June of 2025. I'm wearing my hooded red, grey, and black cardigan. I carry a lime green sack with a lizard drawing thereon. I wear a green touque. (I'm a long-time Esperantist.) In the morning and in the afternoon, I went walking to Tim Hortons café to have some varied drinks and a Crispy Chicken Craveable Sandwich. Sometimes, I crave absent things like baklava, cannoli, barfi, halva, and others too sweet and exotic. In the morning also was my 24th visit this spring to the Roman Catholic church on St. Albans Road. 'Twas practically empty in the worship hall. There are many Filipinos in this parish. The grand Empress Tree, called "Kiri" by Japanese, near Bowcock Road, has lost most of its purple blooming glory by now. The species originates in East Asia, and is here on Lulu Island. It looks like the Jacaranda, also purple-bloomed, in South America. Incidentally, as a linguistic note, maybe for many, Japanese Katakana would suffice for their linguistic curiosity, as it does really satisfy the graphic dimension of language learning. Katakana words are like "eye candy."

After 10 o'clock in the morning, I headed walking to Starbucks café, after I discovered that Tim Hortons café was jam-packed. It's Saturday today, so it's unusual. At Starbucks, I enjoyed a Grande Summer-Berry Lemonade Refresher. It was festively blue and red in colour with raspberry, blueberry, and blackberry flavours embedded with raspberry-flavoured pearls. There were this morning 5 baristas active: 3 Filipinos, 1 Vietnamese, and 1 Mandarin Chinese. I like it at Starbucks, too, due to the dimmer cavern-like ambiance. At the Clam Temple, I like the wide, vast emptiness in the worship salon. At Tim Hortons, I like the sun rays beaming from the bay windows. After Starbucks, I walked to the nearby Kin's Farm Market to buy a bag of 10 Mexican guavas, which were already yellow. I want to take pictures of them sliced and accompanying my tofu fish cuttlefish corn potato tangerine pork rolls from 852 Kitchen food boutique. I might wait until it's sunny on the verandah to photograph there. It's a cloudy day, this 14th of June of 2025.

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.

It was my 54th visit this year to the "Clam Temple," the Roman Catholic church on St. Albans Road, here on Lulu Island, this cloudy 25th of June of 2025. It's "Konkotemplo" in Esperanto for me. It was around 6 in the morning, very quiet, and there were only three of us in the huge clam-shaped nave—the void—ah! I'm a spiritual Syncretist. Later in the day, I went to Tim Hortons café several times. In the afternoon, I took a siesta at home and had a dream: There were young Japanese visitors to my house. On the ground floor, I was taking a picture of them with some Filipinos using what was called a "picture-taker" shaped like a box of chocolates, and the pictures turned out, so that the people's faces looked like chocolate! Later, awakened, I went to Kin's Farm Market to buy a yellow Manila Mango, then to FreshCo to buy a ring of shrimps with red cocktail sauce.

It's a hot sunny blue-sky day with a little breeze so that I can flap my arms through it, this 1st day of July of 2025, Canada Day. Some people are wearing red. I ventured to Tim Hortons café for drinks and snacks. On my way, I saw Bob and George, the Greek-Cypriot brothers, as they just attended the festivities in Steveston Village, Lulu Island. There was salmon, they said. They bicycled. It was "fun," they said. Bob is visiting from "olde" England, where he now resides. A Thai neighbour with his Filipina wife hosted a nice Canada Day party in their cozy shady garden. People were sitting, enjoying food—Thais and Filipinos, probably. There was Mass in the morning at the "Clam Temple," where attendants even sang "O Canada"!

It's hot and sunny today, this 2nd of July of 2025, here on Lulu Island. I ventured walking to Tim Hortons café several times for the usual drinks and a Turkey Bacon Club Artisan Sandwich. I saw Michael L. J. the ufologist Dane-French on the way. He was wearing an ultramodern pair of sharp orange-tinted sunglasses. He was complaining about a snobby cashier at the gas station. On his cellphone, he showed me videos of flickering spooky bedroom lights that he attributes to extraterrestrials. He's thinking more of the famous Grey Aliens, but I tend to think that, instead, they may be postbiological. On my way home, I saw Robby, the neighbour Derek's Filipino uncle, in his car. He's Baptist like the rest of their family, still less common for Filipinos, mostly Roman Catholics.

A cerulean sky and breezy warm weather was today, the 20th of July of 2025, here on Lulu Island. As usual, I walk to Tim Hortons café for summer drinks. At home, there is a Filipino dessert of sticky rice balls, jackfruit pieces, and tapioca pearls in coconut milk. Lunch was a curry rice dish much like Beef Rendang, but it wasn't. I walked my 72nd time this "Krismas" year to the "Clam Temple," the Roman Catholic church at St. Albans Road. On the way, in the immaculate garden of the Korean lady, was a hummingbird floating in the air. I delighted myself by whispering in Esperanto, "Kolibro!" (Hummingbird!). At the church lobby were two Kenyan ladies in beautiful colourful African gowns. I complimented: "Your clothing is really nice!" As I was sitting at the back of the near-empty nave, a Filipina worshipper approached and irksomely asked that I take off my green safari hat as a sign of respect. "Sorry!" I exclaimed. Later, at the front of the nave was an ongoing baptism of a Filipino baby boy named Mateo. Filipinos gathered around, there with the white minister and a Filipina nun. As I walked home, I said in Esperanto, "La loko estas magia!" (The place is magical!).

Do Filipinos eat a lot of rice?

Filipinos eat a lot of rice.