As an almost pathological introvert—an off-­the-­charts Enneagram type 5 with
a strong 4 wing—­I’ve always found it difficult to let go of my writing, presum-
ing to work things out by myself. But reading other scholars’ ac­know­ledg­
ments, another symptom of my introversion and expression of my 5-­ness, has
reminded me that it takes communities to write a book, and I’m exceedingly
grateful to all those who’ve let me into theirs.
As a predental (?!) undergraduate student, though, writing a book ­ wasn’t
originally in my plans. But my closest undergraduate professors, Alec Marsh,
David Rosenwasser, and Jill Stephen, who first exposed me to postcolonial stud-
ies in their Irish literature reading group, showed me how intellectually and
creatively satisfying critical analysis could be. I thank them, and Tom Cartelli,
for putting up with that fledgling feminist-­theoryhead En­glish major. Barbara
Gorka, from my other major, helped consolidate my Spanish after my time in
the other colonial Philippine metropole.
When I started graduate school at the University of Illinois, Urbana-­
Champaign (to which I would return years later), Michael Bérubé, Tim Dean,
Stephanie Foote, Janet Lyon, and Joe Valente (most of whom have since left)
offered me the space to synthesize critical theory. Among my fellow gradu-
ate students at Illinois, I fondly recall Sarah Blackwood, Gabriel Cervantes,
Mudita Chawla, Joshua Eckhardt, Melissa Girard, Praseeda Gopinath, Scott
Herring, Ed McKenna, Deepti Misri, Dahlia Porter, Rochelle Reeves, and ­
Rychetta Watkins. Matthew Gambino, who was pursuing a doctorate in his-
tory and a medical degree, was a solid interlocutor and friend and even after
earning his paradox (sorry, Matt, for the awful pun) has continued to be gen-
erous to me in both of his fields of expertise.
At the University of California, Berkeley, Wendy Brown, Anne Cheng,
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