My story as an Asian American, Filipina and a Women

Are you Chinese?

“No.”

Are you Japanese?

“No.”

Are you Korean?

“No.”

As an Asian American, I am used to people defaulting to what they know to be “Asian.” I’ve had countless conversations where people try to guess my ethnicity or background. I’ve been told that I look ethnic or racially ambiguous. For some I look Asian, for others I look Latina, and for the remaining I look Hapa (Hapa is a Hawaiian word used to describe mixed people - often those who are half white and half Asian). But as a child, you don’t wonder about your ethnicity or about how others perceive you. You just think and feel without questioning how those thoughts or feelings emerge.  

I remember combing through magazines and seeing all the beautiful women across the pages. They had long, ashy blonde hair and luscious full locks with a waist that I could wrap my tiny fingers around. I remember wanting to be like those women. I remember eagerly buying Sun-In (a product meant for blonde hair to help lighten it in the summer) in hopes that I would get even a slight tinge of blonde. At the time, my parents, especially my mother, refused to let me get highlights because not only did they not want to see streaks of yellow contrasting against my black hair but more importantly, they believed that haircuts (or anything to do with hair) should never cost more than $14. So the $6 Sun-In was my best bet. This is a small example but one of many where I tried to be more white, or in my adolescent mind, just prettier. I even remember spending hours on the internet trying to find a surgery that would change my eye color because I wanted to look like Adriana Lima (a Victoria Secret model with blue eyes). Adriana (who is Brazilian) was the closest thing I had to a role model for beauty, since she was one of the few models who had olive skin and dark hair. I know that ultimately I would’ve never gone through with a surgery or anything that drastic, but these seemingly innocent actions further illuminate my wanting to be anything other than what I was. To me, I was plain and boring. I had black hair, dark poop colored eyes and thick, bushy eyebrows. 

I grew up in Palos Verdes, California. A suburb town that’s 45 minutes south of Los Angeles. Palos Verdes (or PV for short) is predominantly made up of affluent, Caucasian families. It was common to see my classmates being picked up in a BMW, Mercedes, Range Rover or Lexus. It was less common to see a Honda Odyssey 4-door van with business stickers attached to the sides but this was the car that my parents would pick me up in. The contrast of wealth not only manifested in physical possessions, but also non-surprisingly, lifestyle. I grew up listening to various accounts of ski trips, vacation homes, lifeguard bootcamps and lavish vacations abroad. These types of trips and experiences felt foreign to me and exacerbated my feeling of “otherness.” I used to eagerly nod and smile in hopes that no one would ask if I’d been to Aspen or where my family’s timeshare in Hawaii was.  

Fast forward to my freshman year at UCLA. College was a turning point for me because it was the first time that I felt both excited and proud about my ethnicity. The campus was so diverse and completely different from Palos Verdes. Instead of hiding my Asianness, I began to proudly wear it as I met others with similar backgrounds or experiences, and many who were genuinely curious about my culture who wanted to know more. For the first time, I was able to be understood and not lumped into a broader group.

I’ve never felt that it was fair to group all Asians into one identity. The experience of someone from Vietnam is completely different from someone from Japan, which is completely different from someone from Malaysia, and so on.

My parents are from the Philippines and I identify as Filipino. The Philippines is a group of islands in Southeast Asia located near Taiwan and Vietnam. It was under Spanish control from the sixteenth to the nineteenth century, and under American control until the middle of the twentieth. Many Filipinos have Spanish last names (like myself) and have dark skin. 

Not only do Filipinos have a complex history, but we also have an additional layer of complexity today. Similar to other immigrant groups, there’s the tension between being a Filipino versus a Filipino American. Not only have I struggled with my identity in relation to other groups, but I’ve also struggled with my identity within my own group. My parents didn’t teach my brother or me Tagalog because they wanted us to assimilate into our new culture and lives (and for them, that meant focusing on the language of this new country they were raising their children in). We would visit the Philippines every year or so to stay connected to our families and spend 90% of our time inside my grandparents’ homes with relatives - most likely eating every 3 hours. My knowledge of the Philippines and Filipino life was limited to the 4 walls around me rather than what lay outside those walls. I only know a few things here & there, but nowhere near the amount of those who lived and breathed the culture. To this day, I always feel a flush of embarrassment or shame when someone brings up something I don’t know about the Philippines or something about being Pinoy that I can’t relate to. I understand that there are people out there who feel the same way I do, but that knowing doesn’t change my wanting to be more. 

The final piece of my story centers on my womanhood. 

As a kid, you’re a living, breathing sponge. You dawdle around minding your own business and without you knowing, you’re absorbing. You absorb every story, every image, every conversation as a source of truth about what the adult world is like. Without you knowing, you absorb the good and the not-so-good.

Like most 90s kids, I grew up watching Disney films. I grew up watching various princesses live a life in pursuit of their Prince Charming. I learned that true love is the cure for everything and that it’s normal to fall in love with someone in less than 48 hours. 

As I grew older I began to notice that I didn’t look like a princess. I didn’t have perfectly bouncy curls or big doe eyes with full lashes. I didn’t own sparkly dresses or have an angelic voice that woodland creatures flocked to. And I sure didn’t have a handsome prince knocking on my door. I was just normal. I wore shorts that fell below my knees, slightly baggy t-shirts and gladiator sandals.

Disney is just a metaphor for the countless things that shaped my womanhood; things like the media, the books, the stories, the movies, the conversations and the people. Without me knowing, these things came to shape my beliefs and I came to believe that I was lacking if I wasn’t being validated by a boy (and as I got older, a man). Through the stories I watched or read, I came to believe that I was lacking if I didn’t have a Prince Charming and that Prince Charmings didn’t end up with girls who looked like me.

Before I go into my “now that I’m older” monologue, I want to clarify some things. I had a good childhood, happy teenage years and an unforgettable college experience. Not once did I hold any anger towards anyone who didn’t know that I was Filipino, nor did I spend every day in denial of my looks. These stories are moments and glimpses of my life, but they aren’t the full picture. I’m not sharing these stories and moments to get your pity or to evoke sadness. I’m sharing them because I want to illustrate how much room there is for improvement. Let’s create a world where there isn’t one standard of beauty, where people from all backgrounds are recognized & rejoiced, where gender isn’t limiting and human compassion is the norm. 

Now that I’m older, I’ve learned alot. I’ve learned that olive skin is beautiful, thick eyebrows are amazing, dark hair is mysterious and sexy, your racial background is something to celebrate, you will find your people, love is complicated, you can be your own Prince Charming, sweatpants are just as good as sparkly dresses and women are phenomenal. Throughout my adult years, I’ve also spent many days and hours unlearning the “truths” the world has taught me about what it is to be a woman. 

My worth is not tied to a man.

My value is not dependent upon my beauty or physique.

My success is not defined by perfection.

My happiness is not linked to being likable.

Most importantly, I’ve learned that I'll always be learning. In an easy but boring world, we could snap our fingers and life would solve itself. But in reality these lessons and learnings can take days, months or years. I'm grateful for the parts of me that make me ME. My ethnicity, heritage, background, family, friends, religion, gender, and upbringing all are a part of my story. And I believe our stories are our greatest gifts.

Despite being nowhere near to having kids, I spend a disproportionate amount of time thinking about what it might be like having to raise a daughter. Will she be confident? Will she be able to hold her own? Will she fight for what she believes in? Will she chase her dreams?

I don’t know when I will have kids of my own, but I do know this. I want to be one of the many who refuses to accept where we are today and tries their best to do their part in helping shape the future of our world. I want to help build a world where girls and people of color are not only welcomed, but also supported. 

If I ever am blessed to have a daughter, I can’t wait to look straight into her eyes and tell her that I am proud to be Asian, I am proud to be Filipina and I am proud to be a woman.