One thing I vividly remember learning about in the seventh grade was that the United States of America is known as the cultural mixing pot of the world. Andrews University is a prime example of that title, being tied as #1 for diversity on campus as well as being in the top ten for hosting international students. The United States celebrates its diversity on a social level as well, with months dedicated to highlighting certain cultures: with February being Black History Month, May being Asian-Pacific American Heritage Month, September being Hispanic-Latinx Heritage Month, October being Filipino-American History Month, November being Native American Heritage Month, and more. However, dedicating months to celebrating heritage only highlights the social aspect of identity. Some may claim their ethnic heritage more than their American identity or vice versa. As a person of color, there is always a struggle with social and communal identity and individualistic identity. How exactly does being a person of color (POC) in America affect one’s identity?
Personally, as a Filipinx-American individual, I struggled with the views and mindset that came with being raised as an American. I’m a first-generation Filipinx-American, as my parents immigrated to America in 2000. Although Tagalog was spoken at home from time to time, the TV blaring the latest Filipino dramas, I did not necessarily learn Tagalog. My parents said that if they spoke too much Tagalog at home, they would forget to use English while working as nurses. And so, although I can fluently understand it, I never tried to learn how to respond in Tagalog. However, I’ll always regret not knowing how to speak fluently, and even more so not knowing anything about Ilocano, my Father’s home language. My family was fortunate enough to visit our home country, and occasionally the home islands of both my parents, every three to four years while I was growing up. Unfortunately, I could never become close with my cousins because we never spoke the same language. My cousins from Isabella Island spoke minimal English, and I did not even understand a word of Ilocano. When our parents would talk, my cousins from the Philippines would huddle together while my siblings and I would keep to ourselves. We would play card games with our cousins since it did not require as much communication, but even then, I felt guilty when my cousins struggled to forge a connection. As the house filled with laughter, I would strain my ears in an attempt to understand enough to join in. It was times like those that I felt that I was more American than Filipinx. I felt that, because I was raised in America, I was not as Filipinx as them.
However, I was “proven wrong.” Apparently, being raised in the Philippines does not correlate with how connected one is to their heritage. I had a group of childhood friends, all Filipinx kids of freshly immigrated nurses and medical staff. We stayed together from pre-kindergarten to our senior year of high school. Most of us were pretty iffy with Tagalog, not exactly fluent. After graduation, we went our separate ways: three of us went to the Philippines, two went to Southern Adventist University, one went to UC Davis, and I went to Andrews University. As one does, I usually keep up with their lives through social media, and sometimes I feel jealous, especially of my friends in the Philippines. They joke around in Tagalog, even posting in slang I barely understand, and adventure around, enjoying life like our parents would have at university in the Philippines. Sometimes I feel guilty for not going to the Philippines for university. Maybe then I would be “Filipinx enough” for my parents or enough to be a “real Filipinx.” My friends did not grow up in the Philippines and did not grow up conversing in Tagalog, yet they were able to reconnect with their roots. Even though we grew up in the same environment, it wasn't “too late” for them.
Coming to Andrews, in contrast, also opened my eyes to the variety of exposure POC kids have to their home country’s culture. Although I am not fluent, I speak enough Tagalog to get by in conversations. So imagine my surprise when I met Filipinos who did not know a word of Tagalog, much less even understand it. I was shocked that there were Filipino youth who weren't raised to automatically pagmamano the elders in the house you enter, to receive their blessings. For the first time, I felt isolated, not because I was not Filipinx enough, but because I was “too Filipinx.” Just as my parents stopped speaking their native tongue to fit in, other households filtered out even more of their culture to assimilate into the American lifestyle. I will never be able to fully understand other families’ mentality or the experiences they had to go through in coming to another country. I sometimes wonder whether immigrant parents believe it was worth it to forgo teaching their children their heritage and forgetting the language that would have tied them to their home country.
As a college student, this is the point of my life where one should be defining themselves and finding their identity. I am at the point in my life where I am proud of being both American and Filipinx. As a Filipinx-American, I know there will be prejudices thrown my way in the real world, ranging from the assumption that I’m in college to be a nurse to the harmful colorism as a “brown Asian” or not a “real Asian” since I’m not pale. I also acknowledge my privilege as an American Filipinx, being born in a first-world country and having the opportunities my cousins in the Philippines do not necessarily have easy access to. Therefore, what makes one worthy of celebrating their cultural month? Nothing. No one is ever “more POC” than another. As long as they hold pride and respect for their home country and the struggles of those that came before them, they should celebrate! I’m Filipinx and my friend is Native American, and I still celebrated and educated myself on their heritage during November. Does that make me Native American somehow? Of course not. Every POC goes through the journey of balancing their identity, and I hope that they find a safe space that accepts them as they puzzle through themselves.
The Student Movement is the official student newspaper of Andrews University. Opinions expressed in the Student Movement are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the editors, Andrews University or the Seventh-day Adventist church.