Little Manila, a one-block thicket of restaurants and businesses in Woodside, Queens, is the heart and soul of Filipino culture in New York City. Here, momentum is building in the quiet micro-neighborhood, just a 10-minute subway ride from the boisterous U.S. Open, as Alex Eala, the young Filipino tennis star, starts her long-shot run to win one of the largest and most lucrative tennis tournaments in the world.
At a pop-up food market in Little Manila last weekend, while rice cakes and barbecue cooked over hot coals on the sidewalks, the cheerful response among Filipino New Yorkers, upon being asked if they knew about Eala, was nearly universal: “Of course!”
Llalen Cruzat, who was giving out free samples of kapeng barako, a bold Philippine coffee, said she had been seeing and hearing Eala’s name everywhere. “Facebook, Instagram, even in church, people are talking about her.”
Eala has reached icon status among Filipinos. Last month, the left-handed 21-year-old became the first tennis player from the Philippines — man or woman — to win a major singles title. But for Filipinos, she is not simply an ambassador for the sport. Her success is giving the country, a large, dispersed archipelago of more than 7,000 islands in Southeast Asia, as well as its diaspora, a reason to unite.
“She’s the perfect representation of a Filipino lady,” said Sharmaine Rivera, 47, an occupational therapist from Elmhurst, Queens. Rivera had attended an early Eala exhibition match at the Billie Jean King National Tennis Center in nearby Flushing, the home of the Open, and it was packed with Filipino supporters. “She’s really representing the whole country, not just herself,” said Joanne De Asis, 43, who works in health insurance and lives in Somerset, N.J.
Eala’s first-round appearance at the Open took place on a humid, stormy Tuesday night. Because of a men’s match that had run long, Eala’s start time had been pushed to 10:15 p.m. Yet the line to get into the stadium was barely moving, a parade of shuffling but smiling fans, many of whom had paid over $300 to catch a glimpse of the young sensation.
The crowded wait proved too much for Frances Sycip and Jenny Carrillo, two friends who had spent a full day on the grounds hoping to see Eala in the flesh. “The line was insane,” said Sycip, a pharmacist from Howard Beach, Queens.
So the women left the chaos of the Open behind and ended up in Little Manila at Kusina Pinoy Bistro, which was showing the match on three television screens. The women ordered egg rolls, clear glass noodles, garlic rice and two large glasses of wine. Perfect timing, one of them said, plopping down at an empty table near the largest screen.
Nearby, Ma-Ann and Samuel Sanchez, Filipino immigrants who lived around the corner, watched, enrapt, with half-eaten plates of pig cheeks and crispy tofu, along with a bucket of San Miguel beers, on the table. “We’re proud of her,” said Sanchez, who plays tennis himself. “She’s the first.”
The scene at Kusina was busy for a Tuesday night at 10:30, especially since it usually closes by 10. But it was calmer than what the owners had hoped for, which they attributed to the late start time, the bad weather and the fact that it was early in the tournament. Eala, they figured, would most likely whiz through this first challenge (she did, beating an American qualifier in two quick sets: 6-1, 6-2). But they predict rowdier times ahead, and will continue to host watch parties.
Sycip said she had already noticed people gathering at Jollibee, the Philippine fast food chain, which has a location in Woodside, after watching Eala play.
For the roughly 50,000 Filipinos who live in Queens, getting to the Open in Flushing has been fast and affordable. This was especially true during Fan Week at the beginning of the tournament, when events are free or heavily discounted.
When Eala played in the mixed doubles showcase, Filipino supporters poured into Louis Armstrong Stadium. Two days later, they overwhelmed Arthur Ashe Stadium, the largest tennis arena in the world, to watch her play an exhibition match. They waved Philippine flags, wore Eala’s sold-out signature Nike T-shirt and roared when she walked onto the court like a pop star, complete with smoke machines and a light show.
“This is not Rihanna,” one post on social media clarified. “It’s Alex Eala.”
Some fans had a longer commute. Nisan Manauis and Marifel Tolentino, two 50-something nurses, flew from Modesto, Calif., to watch Eala play her exhibition match at Ashe. Sitting courtside (they snagged tickets for $240 each), they wore floppy Philippine flag hats and T-shirts with images of a popular Eala internet meme.
In the nosebleeds, where tickets went for about $40 each, a teenage boy waved a large Philippine flag and a little girl wore ruffled socks and light-up shoes, just like Eala did as a child, a fact she famously alluded to after beating the defending champion of Wimbledon earlier this summer.
Mercy Mendoza, 61, a financial controller from Woodside, said she had watched Eala practice earlier that week, along with crowds of other Filipinos who broke out into an impromptu call and response, yelling “Kababayan” (which means compatriot) and “Hip, hip hurrah!”
Many Filipinos say they are uniting around Eala in the same way they did with Manny Pacquiao, the world champion boxer who left the sport to become a politician in the Philippines, even running for president in 2022.
But Eala is different, said Adrian De Leon, co-chair of Sulo: The Philippine Studies Initiative at New York University. The government and business interests in the Philippines have a history of supporting masculine combat sports, he explained. The “Thrilla in Manila,” for example, the notorious 1975 prize fight featuring Muhammad Ali, took place under martial law during the Ferdinand Marcos dictatorship.
Eala’s success, on the other hand, “is completely homegrown,” De Leon said. She has become a global superstar through her skills, her wits and the support of her family, but without much assistance from the Philippine government or corporate interests, he added.
Eala provides hope for Filipinos as their country struggles with poverty and fatal monsoons, said Ida Castillo, 76, who has owned Phil-Am Food Mart, a grocery store in Little Manila, for more than 50 years with her husband. In the past, reporters have visited her store to ask about the Marcos dictatorship, as well as fatal flooding in both Woodside — Tuesday marked the five-year anniversary of a storm that killed three residents there — and her homeland, where there were more than 30 fatalities from flooding or landslides last month.
“It’s bad there, it’s like the Kevin Costner movie ‘Waterworld,’” said Dennis Nepomuceno, a co-owner of Kusina, about the chronic flooding in the Philippines. “If she wins, it would boost the morale of the country.”
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