On season 02, episode 05 of Murder She Wrote (‘sing a song for murder’), Jessica Fletcher arrives in London after news of her cousin’s death (of mysterious circumstances!). Before the story truly propels forward, we’re first introduced to said cousin, Emma, who is actually just Dame Angela Lansbury in her theatre goddess divinity realness. The austere orangey red lipstick, the crinkly, high-pitched British accent, the bright and gorgeous outfits accompanied by hand tosses, dramatics— the works.
It’s the very opposite of Dame Lansbury’s Jessica, which is the point. It’s also used as a device for the plot, as Jessica looking so much ‘alike’, befuddles the list of suspects. A comedic irony for the plot if you will. The episode reminds me of the first episode of season 02, ‘widow, weep for me’, where Jessica takes the name of an infamous rich lady who became a recluse and had to act in a frivolous manner, not unlike her cousin Emma. She embodied her character to bait a killer.
Personas. Much of the same faces changed by a name, an action, a smile.
I say, with a few minor blunders swept under the rug, I’ve hidden myself quite well in these trying times of knowing so much and forming opinions. Where it is demanded, for authenticity’s sake, that you put a name to a face before you shake hands.
I’ve never liked that I’ve come to realised.
Not that I don’t like being authentic, I just don’t like the idea of being peeled as if that is what makes you authentic. The demand to be known and then by some horrifying conclusion from an illusory judge, unliked, in this vast, vast void we call the internet seems like, well one, a shot in the dark, b, silly thoughts from the void we call our brain by all means, and c, infuriatingly terrifying.
I like the several tertiary levels between us, one layer thicker after another; some storing dinosaur bones, some nothing but ash; it keeps me relatively at ease to have those boundaries. The unknown, the smokescreen, the door with the pretty handle that’s plastic coaxed to be glass, refracting like it is its duty. If you’re distracted enough, maybe you won’t try the handle.
It’s not like I am ashamed of who I am. I just like being shrouded in mystery. That was the entire gag when I first started writing mystery in the first place. Nothing more en vogue than a mysterious mystery writer.
But not all anonymity is equal, especially if I want to be the one to tip the scales.
And regardless, there is a very, very slim chance of you (I am using the universal ‘you’; the ‘you’ of the unnamed, faceless audience that usually judges what I do and I feel very small, mostly by its sheer mass) knowing fully who I am. So many facets, so many lines in a thumbprint to be known singularly as a single human. Especially when each one exists as a universe, a collection of so many somethings.
For those of us whose cultures and languages aren’t always the english we present in our forefront, that there is, indeed, a deeper scale of person beneath just a few layers that has an entire byline, a society, a culture made from the backbones of childhood and unrequited (relentless and unbound) rawness of a person—
We pack her up to be more digestible, I think, to the english-speaking market. For my fellow bilinguals, my multiculturals. This is a universal feeling, no? The shift of personas are easy for us when English (British or American) isn’t our primary persona. From that interview with Lupita Nyong’o, talking about how she had two different English Lupitas. A Kenyan English Lupita and an American English Lupita. It’s not an intentional diaspora that occurs, it’s just what happens.
And the funny thing is, it’s easy to conform to white culture when consumerism is set up the way it is. In my country, with its history (nothing deeper than rawdogged colonization, but that’s a different longform writing for another day), you will be spread thin in versions of yourself, as if each slice is what makes you who you are1.
But.
There is a certain degree of comedy I possess in my natural culture and language that just can’t be transcribed into the forefront persona I have.
I am hilarious in my native language.
In my country, we have a very specific flavour of humour that is very cultural. You cannot truly translate it in English. not even it's bastardisation makes sense. It doesn’t fully encapsulate the meaning and the tone, especially in the wrong translation from delivery, the choice of words, to the tone you have to use. The joke is beyond several layers (with several layers of culture), and by the time an explanation is attempted, it will lose all its sense.
And there’s nothing funnier than explaining a joke.
Insert Babel quote here.
No, you know what? I’ll actually add the quote because it’s very timely and relevant, and it’s one of my favourite books. Not just because the magic is inspired, or I related so much from the POC characters coming from a country that’s a hot pot for colonizers lol, but because when the lines struck, they struck gold—
“Betrayal. Translation means doing violence upon the original, means warping and distorting it for foreign, unintended eyes. So then where does that leave us? How can we conclude, except by acknowledging that an act of translation is then necessarily always an act of betrayal?”
— Babel, R.F. Kuang.
I want to write in my native language. I’ve craved it for a while now. A few years. I really started thinking about it in 2022. I started writing some stuff in the backburner around 2023. Here and there, words were strewn but I didn’t have total focus on it.
And, well. Here we are.
Did you know the first book I ever wrote— ever, before I even started fanfiction — was a little short story in my native language? A cousin of mine nudged me to write, as she herself enjoyed fanfiction and came to know I enjoyed reading. She drew it in as a natural conclusion for a reader to write, so she said I should try to write and see.
To this day, I don’t know if she said it offhandedly or if she truly meant for something to bore out of it, but I did write, and I finished that 2little story in two months.
When she came to my house for a party, she spent the entire day reading it.
She said I should post it. It was enjoyable to a degree that she couldn’t leave my computer alone or my swelteringly hot room, and devoured the spotty, no doubt awful, first draft of a directionless piece. It was romance. Nothing but friends to rivals to lovers, second chances, and 3kilig.
So many firsts at the time I didn’t know where it would butterfly effect me. The next piece I wrote was fanfiction. English. I had expanded my world then.
There’s just so much more I am able to write in Tagalog. So much more nuances I can comfortably break in, writing in my mother tongue.
Unironically enough, I’ve sprinkled filo representation in my works here and there. The most obvious is in 4GMSF, in the Filipino-Canadian family, the Delos Reyes’, and our darling boy Lorcan. Antonina is also5filipino, funnily enough. Or her 6faceclaim definitely is.
So ultimately speaking, I am taking the plunge.
In 2023, I debated making an entire separate account (persona, veil, guise— the works) but ultimately decided against it after a conversation (or three) with my 7partner in crime for all things writing, growing up, and trash taking the shit out of men coddled by their mothers.
However, I am keeping the name I was going to use, as a, there is significance in the choice (spent a week working on it, and there is an art form to pseudos I tell you), b, I already have covers with the name on it, c, I am a sentimental idiot and 8will never let go anything I’ve worked remotely hard on, and d, this way, my books are divided.
C. Snick for darker, more serious works.
Clairy Dahrling for light, english works (ish; relatively).
And Daphne Cariño for 9Taglish works.
I know there will be readers who might not be able to read these new flush of works under the new pseudo, but I am willing to take that bargain. I will still write English stories, of course. I’ve still got ‘em in me.
I just really, really want to write stories in my own language and culture. From a tentative circle of betas, they enjoyed it despite numerous asks of mine as I felt insecure and worried. But I had been assured, and I received resounding positive remarks. I hope that you, who understands it, will like it too.
I hope to write representation in English as well, so never fear.
Being Filipino is an integral part of how I work; it is quite literally who I am.
Also—
With that, a ripple effect.
From snick did it to thumb print is the biggest change. A more personal view, not just from a storyteller with the proposal name of ? (a name you see first, offered like a joke before we shake hands), but from a 20 something South East Asian writing about mysteries, con artists, and complicated characters (and their complicated relationships! And feelings!) from one of the countries smack dab in the 10archipelago’s line of fire.
Revealing my ethnicity propels a certain kind of exhale; crossbred between relief and a new kind of fear. Revealing bits of yourself will always be scary. But there is relief in honesty, in being true to11yourself. There are certain avenues I am more than happy to explore now that a few doors are open— in a new way publicly, that I wouldn’t have before this.
I hope to talk about culture, the frustrations of politics (maybe, who knows), books, food, being a twenty something writer in the digital age (or a woman, or an SEA resident; so many facets to draw from really, what excitement!), and other fun stuff.
As a good representation of villains who need to monologue, a 12thought daughter, and someone who views journals and digital footprints as important archival roomba to be thrown, physically, in my grave when I get lowered— I can only hope to share as authentic of a voice as I can.
There are still a few things I will keep close to my chest, of course. I said ripple, not a frat guy cannonballing. A face, a true name, the exact coordinates to my hermit en vogue house, and other silly little things I will keep to myself.
Again, welcome to thumb print [n]:
It’s called thumb print because I can wear as many coats as I want, use as many pseudos as I want, but in the end, I only have one thumbprint that wholly makes me who I am.
Also publications, you know, has the name print in it. Yes, I felt witty when I strung that thought.
It took me a few days to think about a new title (titles are hard!), and I was really attached to 'Snick Did It’. It’s such a good hint. It felt so clever. I also feel clever with this new one, as it quenches my need for a short but rotund title, a good representation of what this newsletter will be, and very good starter of what you can expect.
Consider this a re-introduction. An angular shift in publication— going as far as a name change — deserves one.
There is a lengthier conversation about this too, but alas, another time.
First wrote it in a thirdhand, beaten up old laptop, then to my 2009 Mac desktop that still works today.
Untranslatable word, but the vibe is feeling all sunshiney and wanting to squish shit from the sweetness/the feeling of love; a certain giddiness almost. Google translate says it’s ‘thrill’, close but nah.
Fun fact: I wrote a joke there that had a cultural undertone, translated in English, and didn’t land as good if you weren’t pinoy lol.
Spoilers????
Which does make her Filipino, because I am very particular about my choices.
She never reads these because the digital feng shui of her email backlog can make anybody who curates their shit, works, or has OCD, eye twitch.
As the hard work ultimately made me vulnerable to the said work. Anything you spend enough time working on will have your claw marks after all.
Tagalog + English.
For reference: we only have two seasons. Hellfire and flooding. The wet and dry moonsoons having a tag game of ‘you’re it!’ and letting us mere mortals with our human skin, though usually very dapper in melanin, can only handle so much.
Of just another layer of who you are.
You can pry this buzzword from my cold dead hands.
ahhhh i'm so excited for you!! and i love the name 'thumb print' so much :,)