From contemporary novels to José Rizal’s writings, the Balikbayan Book Club uses literature and Filipino comfort food to explore Filipino history, identity and community.
On a Wednesday night in October, volunteers of the monthly Balikbayan Book Club transformed the Rizal Center’s ballroom into a family-style dining room. They shuffled tables across the dance floor, pushed smaller ones together and moved a whiteboard in front of guests to share community events and updates. Onstage, a projector screen flickered.
In the back, volunteers’ “chikahan” — or casual conversations — broke the silence of busy hands preparing the fixings for Filipino comfort food. Crispy fried garlic, chopping scallions and hard-boiled eggs were paired with the arroz caldo, Filipino rice porridge, simmering in a large slow cooker.
Out front, club leader Austin Kole and friend Hannah Corpuz warmed party trays of pork adobo — a popular dish cooked in soy sauce, vinegar, bay leaves and whole black peppercorn served over rice — on a small grill. Rising smoke saluted the nearby statue of José Rizal, the Philippine national hero whom the Chicago community center is named. The club picked Rizal’s novel “Noli Me Tángere,” for its October gathering held during Filipino American History Month.
This was a celebratory night, organizers said. Kole and Corpuz, who spent days prior planning and premaking the food, expected a larger turnout.
“Now, we’re feeding what? Forty-plus people once a month?” said Kole, among the first club members and a “bayani,” the title given to leaders, which means “hero” in Tagalog. “It’s crazy. I love it. It’s so cool.”
Since launching last December, the club that began with 10 members now draws around nearly 50 people each month to the Rizal Center for Filipino food, literature and conversation. Its Discord group chat has 150 users, more than 200 subscribed to email newsletters — and Instagram reels draw hundreds of likes and thousands of views.
Fun memes and free hot meals may get people to the door, but the reasons why they stay — and return each month — vary. Club organizers and members say the group offers young Filipinos a space to explore heritage, cultural identity and learn more about the Philippines and their family history, while keeping alive the memories of loved ones who have passed.
“A lot of people [who] come are like half Filipino and don’t know their culture that well, or they grew up in the Philippines, and they’re very much connected,” said Teddy Gonzales, the club’s founder and chief bayani. “Or they just moved in from [the] East or West Coast, and are looking for a community.”
“I think there’s no one specific right way to be Filipino,” they said. “We all kind of make the journey back together.”
A name rooted in mission
For Gonzales, the club’s name mirrors its mission of unity. “Balikbayan” combines two Tagalog words together: “balik,” which means “return” and “bayan,” which means “homeland.”
Former President of the Philippines, Ferdinand Marcos Sr., coined the term in the 1970s after launching tourism initiatives to encourage Filipinos working or living abroad to visit or return to the country. A program meant to help boost the nation’s economy became a way for families miles apart to stay connected. Balikbayan boxes — packages filled with clothes, food and other goods that Filipinos abroad send to loved ones during Christmas — are a symbol of that gesture and a tradition that brings a family’s bond into focus.
“Your history is something that’s never going to be taken from you,” Gonzales said. “If you want it, it’s there.”
For Gonzales, making that history accessible meant fostering a space where people can show up as themselves. Although most members are Filipino, Gonzales said the club is open to anyone willing to join.
At the Oct. 7 meeting, another bayani set up slides on Rizal’s novel, “Noli Me Tángere,” on a screen. Published in the 1880s, the book — whose title translates to “touch me not” in Latin — remains one of Rizal’s most prominent works on the impact of Spanish colonial rule in the Philippines.
“I’m never going to gatekeep knowledge,” Gonzales told members that night. “So, even if you’re here and you’re like, ‘Girl, I picked up the book yesterday;’ ‘I never read one page;’ or ‘I just finished it right before I got here’ — you are welcome in the space.”
Literature surpassing generations
Balikbayan Book Club’s reading list spurs conversations on generational differences and what it means to be Filipino, especially for those who immigrated to the U.S. or other countries, were born and raised in the Midwest or elsewhere, do not speak the language, or are multiracial.
In the book, “The Latinos of Asia: How Filipino Americans Break the Rules of Race,” members learned from author Anthony Christian Ocampo about the shared histories between Filipino and Latino communities. Members read testimonies from Filipina survivors of sexual slavery during World War II in M. Evelina Galang’s “Lola’s House’s: Filipino Women Living with War.”
November’s read — journalist Malak Gharib’s graphic memoir, “I Was Their American Dream” — uses illustrations to reflect on her experiences navigating Filipino and Egyptian customs while growing up in the U.S.
“This community helps us feel part of something,” said member Angeline Barthel, who is biracial and over the last few years began learning more about her Filipino identity. “I like that the most — just being able to talk to people. But also just like reading the stories because it exposes me to things I didn’t know.”
Member Ernie Royales feels that sense of belonging. Growing up Filipino, in a predominantly white Chicago suburb, Royales felt like an outsider.
“I spent my entire childhood being this weird Brown kid,” he told Borderless. “I’m also trans, and that just adds to the layers of isolation. I can’t describe how incredible of a feeling it’s been to be in a room of people that look like me and also don’t care at all about anything else.”
For Gonzales, the book club’s mission is personal — inspired by the conversations with their father around the dinner table before he passed.
“Thinking about how much this would have mattered to him, to have a community of people who care enough about their history to do something with it,” they told Borderless. “I really just envision, like I don’t know, talking to a couple people around a table like this.”
Amanda Tugade is a reporter at Borderless Magazine. Email her at [email protected].
