On a trip to the Philippines, Filipina-New Zealander Alyssa Medel found herself confronted with grief, survivor guilt and political realities she’d long felt distant from. In her new bilingual play Ilang-Ilang, she explores the weight of two contrasting worlds that migrants could carry.
As told to Vivien Beduya
Trigger warning: This article mentions rape and violence.
Ever booked a spontaneous trip after a long-term relationship ends with a bad breakup?
That was me. But in my case, it was the end of a marriage.
Two years ago, I booked a three month-trip back to Davao City, my hometown in the Philippines.
I spent most of that time in my father’s village of Ilang, an informal settlement I grew up in.
All I wanted was to be with my family – and to get away from all the people asking me about my ex. What was meant to be a time to nurse a broken heart, though, turned into something much heavier.
Over Christmas, one of my cousins was killed.
Survivor Guilt after Migration
My cousin’s death reminded me violence still exists in parts of the Philippines, even from 4,000 miles away.
I’d grown up hearing tragic news from home while growing up in the UK and New Zealand, but that’s all it ever was to me – news. There was still that sense of distance.
Then, while I was back, I learnt more harrowing stories from my cousins and childhood friends – stories of drugs, imprisonment and rape.
Being confronted by these realities made me scrutinise life and death, and along with it came survival guilt.
I’d gone home after my separation because I felt like a failure. But after everything that happened, I suddenly felt like my problems didn’t matter anymore.
When you compare a divorce and death – which one is worse?
Downplaying my Mental Health
This idea of comparing my life to my family back home is something I’ve wrestled with my whole life.
I moved to the UK at the age five, spent a couple of years back home at 12, then to New Zealand at 15.
Growing up away from the hardships of my home village meant that I had a lot to be thankful for – food, safety, education and a roof over my head.
But it also meant that I didn’t feel like I had the permission to feel any sort of negative emotions, or to feel any difficulty in my life.
I spent years downplaying my mental health struggles, especially as a teenager.
I’d gaslight myself into believing my problems weren’t real, because compared to other peoples’ lives in the Philippines, mine seemed much easier.
Between Two Worlds
Calling two countries home with two very distinct political systems is another source of inner-conflict.
In Aotearoa, I know the privilege of being able to participate in a democratic process. I can speak my mind, make submissions, and know that the Government will at least read them.
But the issues I care about the most are the ones that affect Filipinos back home – yet that’s where I feel most powerless.
In the Philippines, it’s much harder to speak up. Often, those in power don’t want to listen. For the few that do, they’re still up against corrupt systems that can block any real change.
It’s something I still grapple with, and as a filmmaker and playwright, I’ve decided to use my creative practice to voice those opinions.
Writing Ilang-Ilang
Bringing together all those threads – migration, grief, survival guilt, political tensions – I wrote and directed a bilingual play called Ilang-Ilang.
It follows a young Filipina-Kiwi named Aya, played by Ariadne Baltazar, who returns to her hometown after the sudden death of her cousin Faith.
In a supernatural twist, Faith’s spirit (played by Marianne Infante, Shortland Street) confronts Aya with an impossible question: “If my life were yours and yours were mine, would our fates have been different?”
Aya goes between the contrasting worlds of diaspora and home, forced to face the harsh realities that shaped their separate lives in Tāmaki Makaurau and Davao City.
Faith represents many things. Her death isn’t just about losing a loved one, but she’s become this metaphor for losing hope for a country that you still love.
There’s this rhetoric about our country, especially with the urban poor, that they don’t have choices. As someone who’s from there, I strongly disagree.
Yes, we may not have the same privileges, but we have agency and choice on how to use the cards we’re dealt with.
Migrant Lives Aren’t One-Dimensional
Migrants could be seen as very one-dimensional, and they’re more than just the job they take to come here.
Ilang-Ilang is my way of showing that migrant lives are more than that.
Our lives don’t just start the moment we get here, we carry a lot of history with us.
Through the play, I want people to see that we have full, complex lives – lives we’ve lived and still live in the places we come from, even as we figure out where we belong in a new one.
I’d also want to pop the New Zealand bubble a little. It can be really easy to forget that other shit happens in the world, too.
While there’s a growing awareness of global issues and oppression, thankfully to movements like Free Palestine, Free Congo and Free Sudan, we’ve barely scratched the surface.
There’s so much more happening around the world beyond what we see on the headlines. And for migrants, those global events could still be impacting their homes, family and friends.
So in my storytelling, I want to say something more political and upfront – a true reflection of the world I grapple with everyday.
You can watch Ilang-Ilang at Auckland’s Basement Theatre from 28 October to 1 November.