response #1: How I came to be.

09071987. Numbers? Statistic? Identification Number? No, just my birthday. Twenty years old with a swollen epidemic called immaturity. No, not really. See, I’m the kid that carries the ‘brown’ jokes in their pockets and I’m still coming to the cross roads of my identity. It’s definite that I’m never going to be a fixed self, nor do I want to. When I was younger my grandma talked to me in her native language Tagalog until my loving father reprimanded her for not speaking English to me. I guess you can say that’s when americanism and assimilation literally flooded my family.

I’ve never really rested on the idea of how I’ve come to be, but rather analyzed the multi-faceted “characteristics” I’ve grown to accept. Like culture, I view my “filipinoness” as something not so traditional, but rather clueless within my own knowledge of its traditional histories. To be honest, I have not rested upon my asian roots or how it is incorporated into my assumed american privilege. Rather, I consider myself a product of americanism, but not willingly so.

I actually find myself angry and frustrated that conflicts arise with my perceptions of what it means to be asian, asian-america, asian america, and american. Although they’re all subjective (within a personal context) I feel like they all reside in some type of stereotype—how the east perceives the west and vice versa. I grew up in what started out to be an average neighborhood in San Jose, CA, and then as time progressed the grass literally stopped growing and cops became more present. My house lied in that neighborhood, but my middle and high school years resided in Santa Clara, CA-the majority of members being white.

Even now (specifically in Santa Cruz) I find myself trying to figure out who I identify with, and why I become upset, in terms of race and culture especially when it comes to certain relationships in my life. I guess you can say that is when my pocket of brown jokes becomes versatile. Most of my friends are predominantly white, therefore, when there’s any ounce of asian anywhere—I’m assumed to know what it means, understand it, be it. I always get those eyes, and sometimes the jokes don’t start from my own mouth. I feel the stereotypes flood their minds and I’m just the one vocalizing it because if I wasn’t there, they would either still think it, or not relate it to me but to what main stream america has taught them about asians.

Yet, what have I been taught about america or asia? It’s nothing as different as my friends understanding and/or knowledge. I can only take into account and be responsible for my own history, my shared experiences, and my struggle within a system that acts like a device that doesn’t want my voice to be heard-unless the ‘white-superemist-capitlistic-patriachy’ benefits from it. As much as I want to pin point moments in my life that acted as turning points in which I produced my several identities- I just can’t. Maybe, I’m just in this boat of constant insecurities floating into any direction where there is no land so I don’t have to stake my claim, but rather am allowed to find rest within the water’s fluidity and pick and choose what and who I want to support.

I want to find and learn about my cultural identity instead of basking in jealously of others who know their culture well. I want to believe that my parents still want to insert type of filipinoness in my blood, instead of sending me to the phillipines every once and while to figure it out (when I go there, I’m not tapping into the histories of my identity but analyzing the systems and relationship that take place between this homeland and that homeland). Hustling between my assimilated family (except the Filipino food) and my assumed to be diverse college education of a town I still stand at the cross roads. Maybe something will land on me, smack me up against the back of my head (not so much a hand) or shake me so I can feel confident and willing to identify with something. All I know is I was born in america (no choice here!), love filipino culture, but am an invisible race in america-perhaps I just lack the exposure to filipino history. In any case, I don’t feel pity for me since checking a designated box on an application is the least of my worries (when speaking of ethnicity/race).