The reality of being mixed-race
“What are you?” is a question I tend to dread. For some, it can be a simple answer. They can respond on the spot with one single ethnicity, sometimes two. Whereas I sit and list the ones I can remember, the majority of them coming from what I saw on my Ancestry DNA. While it gets the job done and can be comfortable, it can also be unsatisfying. I am full of the feelings of isolation and confusion, and I question if I am truly Filipina.
Growing up, cultural days in school were always awkward as I didn’t know what to dress up as or what food to bring. Sure, I am part Filipina, but it felt difficult to resonate with at times. While other kids brought their grandma’s dumplings or their mom’s famous curry, I would bring lumpia, but my mother or grandma didn’t make it, it came from a restaurant.
While I tried my best to embrace that part of my ethnicity, it was hard when my mother, a second-generation Filipina, did not embrace it herself. She grew up in the San Fernando Valley of Los Angeles with blonde, blue eyed peers and only had one other Filipinx friend. Then she married my father, a European mutt, who was born and raised in Las Vegas.
When she finally had kids, she decided to raise them the opposite of how my grandparents, who were born in Manila and Cebu, raised her. My siblings and I were never taught Tagalog. We were never pressured to become a nurse or go to church. We didn’t actively go to Jollibee, and we only ate sinigang and pancit when my grandparents visited. Sure, I told others I was half-Filipinx, but was I, really?
Once I got to high school, I tried to become at least somewhat connected to my father’s side, so I decided to start learning French. While I felt I was a natural at it, I still felt guilty when I would visit my Filipinx grandparent’s house and not understand what they were saying. To try and fix this feeling of disgrace, I joined the Filipinx club.
I thought this would be a fun and inviting experience, but I was wrong. I walked in the meeting room, and while I imagined this to be the opportunity for me to connect with individuals who were “like me,” I was mistaken. I felt uncomfortable and awkward, and while I could’ve been making this up in my head, I felt as though I was being looked at by others in a certain way, because technically I didn’t “look” Filipinx. I never showed up again after that first meeting.
Four years later, when I stepped onto campus at USF, I saw loads of different cultural clubs, given the University is ranked as the second most diverse in the nation. At the Involvement Fair, students were joining various cultural clubs such as the Vietnamese Student Association and the Black Student Union. The one that caught my eye was Kasamahan, the Filipinx-American club.
Because I spent my entire high school experience embracing my father’s culture by mastering French and studying European society, I sort of felt an obligation to not let my Filipinx culture disappear. I was also at USF, a university full of individuals of Filipinx heritage and from the Philippines themselves.
I attended the first Kasamahan meeting, and while I walked in being open-minded, hoping that the experience would not be like the one from four years ago, those exact feelings of awkwardness came back. I didn’t understand the presentation video in Tagalog. I couldn’t relate to the jokes or understand the struggles that come with having Filipinx parents because technically, I didn’t grow up “Filipino.” It wasn’t that they weren’t welcoming, it was more that their experiences were so different from mine. There was not much in common besides our ethnicity, and while that can be a way to connect with others, it felt like the opposite.
I’ve always felt that it was important to embrace both parts of my heritage, but after that experience, I realized that the one that mainly needed exploring was my Filipinx side. My childhood was dominated by the typical American culture, and maybe it was because my mom felt it was easier. Although I still feel uncomfortable with the question “What are you?” and grapple with how I identify, I have tried to put in more effort to become more connected to my Filipinx culture. Being in San Francisco has helped a lot, and while it still feels a little strange and weird, I am a Filipina at the end of the day, and I am proud of it.
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