To be true

This past week will be remembered by our trip New York City! It was a great experience to explore the life—and more importantly, the food—in the city. Even more so, it was a great experience to explore more about myself and the other EYAs. A topic posed during our time at the Church Center for the United Nations dealt with our relationship, for some of us as children raised in the United States, to our ethnic and cultural heritage. This is something I have struggled with throughout my life, so I will take this time to reflect on my experience as a Filipino-American.

I was born and raised in Kent, Washington, a suburb 30 minutes south of Seattle. I grew up constantly surrounded by family. Before I was old enough to be in school, I (along with my brother and the rest of my cousins) were cared for by my maternal grandma (Lola). We would get dropped off every day at her rambler on Beacon Hill in Seattle; her basement was our playroom, and her backyard our playground. On weekends, we would drive up to Shoreline (a city north of Seattle) to visit my paternal grandparents (Papa and Mommy Lou). In the summer, we would be there constantly, enjoying the sun in their backyard pool. During all of this time, I was fully immersed in Filipino-American culture. We spoke Tagalog, ate Filipino food, and the most defining Filipino attribute: we spent each day with family. However, as I got older, my connection to my family, and thus my Filipino heritage, slowly faded away.

Although I still attend a predominantly Filipino church, eat Filipino food most days, and am still constantly surrounded by family, I no longer feel the close connection to my heritage that I did as a child. I no longer speak or understand Tagalog—the latter being what sets me apart from most other Filipino-American kids—which is my main concern should I ever visit the Philippines. This language barrier also separates me on a day-to-day basis; I can’t communicate with my elders as well as I wish to, and I often get left out of conversations. I’ve learned to laugh with the crowd so as not to expose my inability to understand the joke. These experiences of exclusion have pushed me further and further away from my Filipino identity.  

However, the language barrier is not the only thing that drew me away. Growing up queer caused me to suppress my authentic personality from an early age. I never had a doubt that my family loved and cared for me unconditionally, but the weight of my secret felt inescapable. Even in moments when I was loud and outspoken, I was always hiding a part of myself. As I got older, I became more comfortable with my queerness. It became an important part of who I am. This was a freeing experience, but it simultaneously pulled me further away from my family. The “queerer” I became, the more I had to hide. As my cousins and I grew older, I slowly detached myself from them. And with my family, so went my connection to my Filipino heritage.

I hope to someday reconnect and reclaim my Filipino-American identity. That channel of reconnection will of course be through my family; those who brought me up into this world, and those who I let go of to discover another integral part of me. Now that I can proclaim who I am to the world, It is time to let go of the shame I have carried for so long, and finally share my truth to those who matter to me most.

Blog Post 6

7/17/18