In an interview for the documentary, Ninoy, wearing a crisp white shirt and glasses with wire frames, smiled wide as he told one of his jokes. “The ambassador of Japan once visited the Philippines and made a speech. Keep in mind that in Japan, there is no distinction between ‘l’ and ‘r,’ so Japanese people often pronounced the two letters as if they were the same, so the ambassador said, ‘You know, you Piripino pipor, you are very rocky. You have a president who robs you, and a First Lady who robs you more.’”

I was struck by how clever and brave Ninoy was to come up with something so witty, though Marcos could have put him back in jail. But Ninoy knew that it would have been a risky move for the president; it was much easier to imprison someone for yelling and inciting violence than for making a funny joke. So Ninoy managed to avoid prison, until he decided he could no longer remain in the United States, and ultimately died for his country.

I had read about heroes in our history books, the ones who fought for Philippine independence against the Spaniards, men like José Rizal and Andres Bonifacio. But here was a man who was immensely brave and had also mastered the intricacies of English so well that he was able to make sophisticated jokes in that language, yet remained unquestionably proud to be Filipino. I began to wonder why I was so quick to want to be American.

That idea was in the air as I began hearing the phrase “colonial mentality” on TV, along with “neocolonialism.” I remembered the book I’d taken from the shelf at Mama’s printing press, The United States and the Philippines: A Study of Neocolonialism, and began to read it, surprised at how much more I understood in less than a year. The book argued that even though the Philippines was supposed to be independent after World War II, America still controlled the country economically. Not only that, but Filipinos were brainwashed to believe that Americans were superior, which meant that we still behaved as though we were colonized rather than as fully independent people. I recognized myself in those words and felt shame.

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Though watching myself on TV was still exciting, working while going to school got really hard. In the beginning, I fought with Mama to be in class at seven in the morning even when my tapings went past midnight, only for me to get yelled at when I fell asleep on my desk. So I started to skip, though I cried when I got my report card and realized I was no longer the top student in my class; I wasn’t even on the honor roll. I also grew more bored at work, as I got used to the routine of learning lines and blocking, looking cute, doing the same joke over and over again, me being clever and Redford dumb.