Finding my Filipino

Dear you,

I am Filipino. I don’t say it out loud a whole lot. But in the wake of the tragedy at the Lapu Lapu Filipino Festival last weekend in Vancouver, and in the wake of losing both my parents in the last three years, I find myself wanting to say it.

AWKWARD is the best word to describe my connection to being Filipino. It hasn’t been easy, and it’s only been in the last ten years that I’ve made a conscious effort to seek out a sense of identity as a Filipino.

I grew up in Richmond Hill, Ontario, a suburb of Toronto. While Richmond Hill is now known for being very multicultural, I can tell you that it wasn’t when I grew up there in the 70’s. Back then, it was very white, with a strong Italian element. I don’t recall ever having a Filipino classmate, and certainly did not have Filipino, or any Asian friends for that matter, growing up.

I can not tell you how many of my friends would say, “I don’t even think of you as Filipino.” I just think of you, like me. As I say that, I’m thinking - what did they mean? Though I’m suspecting what they meant was that I came off as white. There’s a name for that, in case you didn’t know. It’s called a banana - Asian on the outside and white on the inside.

Fine, OK, I will own it. I was a banana! It’s what happens when you grow up around all white people in the suburbs, in the 70s, and you’re just doing your best to fit in and be like everyone else in a culture where racism was undoubtedly at play but never ever talked about.

Though I was confronted with my Filipino’ness by a judge when forced to appear at the young offenders court, for attempting to shoplift a top from the Bay with my mischievous friend Adina. I remember clearly the white judge looking down on me from his judge’s perch, and saying something like, “What is a nice Filipino girl like you doing here. We don’t see Filipino people in criminal court.” And as he let me off the charges, said something like, “Now go off and be the good Filipino girl you are, and don’t let me see you back here again!”

What! I’m supposed to be nice! It’s true, it’s the messaging I’ve gotten my whole life from so many who’ll say something like, “oh, you’re Filipino, I love Filipinos, they are the nicest people!” Or, “I had a nurse, or a nanny growing up, and I loved her. Filipinos are so nice!”

Here’s the issue with that. I’m not so sure that I’m all that nice. Not like Filipino level nice. Which I get the sense is more saint-like, like Mother Teresa, nice. Like you’d give your last this or that to someone in need cause you were so effing nice. I certainly can not identify with that cause, there is no way I’d give you my last thing if I needed it for my myself. “Go get your own fucking last thing” is what I’d say, and that is just not the Filipino way.

What is the Filipino way? It’s a question I asked myself when my son was a toddler and decided I wanted him to grow up connected to his Filipino roots. The problem with that is this: I barely felt a connection to being Filipino myself.

I started with food.

At home at the Filipino restaurant.

I figured I’d start with food. Not too far away, there was a tiny Filipino restaurant/grocery store that served food cafeteria style. The food was fantastic, and since I could barely cook Filipino food, it was a welcome thing to go there on weekends. My son would mound up the white rice and make a mess of things. Our favourites were fried bangus (fish) and lechon (crispy roasted pig). The two of us became regulars there. The owners came to know us and would welcome us on arrival. In a way, it felt like a Filipino home where I’d sit and eat and chat amongst my people. While it didn’t make me feel like a full-fledged Filipino, I could at least feel like one for two hours on weekends.

Then three Filipino friends.

A lovely young lady we got to know at the Filipino restaurant. Wish I had her contact info. If your recognize her let me know!

I have exactly three Filipino friends in the city. I met Sen about 7 years ago. She lives just around the corner from me, and was the first Filipino friend I ever had. Paul, I met more recently, he’s the barista at my local coffee shop. And Alia, I met a few years ago when I took a hip-hop dance class she was teaching. There’s a special bond with each of them that I attribute in significant part to us being Filipino. Sen also happens to cook great Filipino food, and I just found out Paul loves cooking Filipino food too and look forward to getting to know him more, over his cooking. When I’m with each of these three friends, I feel my Filipino come through! And for the record, I also want to add that they are very, very nice!

And street dancing!

This is by far my favourite way of expressing my Filipino! I’ve never heard it explicitly said that street dancing is a Filipino thing. But I’ve always associated these grittier dance forms like hip-hop and breakdancing with people of colour. For years, my son and I have taken street dancing classes with the dance company Alia and her partner founded. My son prefers breakdancing; I’ve done it all and love it all. The story I tell myself is that the street dance is a place where we people of colour, including Filipinos, have punched out a sense of belonging in the world. To the sharp and low-down beats of the music, to the quick, assertive gestures, to the colourful fashion, and the unmistakable cool factor of it all. In this dance, I spread my Filipino wings out the widest. It is very cool to be Filipino in these circumstances!

At breakdancing class with my kiddo.

And that’s my story, as a Filipino Canadian who didn’t grow up feeling particularly Filipino at all. These are the ways I’ve found a connection to my Filipino-ness. Do I feel Filipino now? Sorta, kinda, maybe, at times yes. Have I managed to instill in my son a sense of being Filipino? Sorta, maybe, probably. I’d say it’s still a bit awkward how I connect with the Filipino in me. But I try my best. And that’s my story for now.

AND, I can feel now, as I share my story with you, as I say out loud, “I am Filipino,” that it’s probably the boldest move I’ve ever made towards being Filipino. And can sense my future has a lot more Filipino in it.

Also feeling a desire to connect with those, like me, seeking a connection to their own cultural story, but not sure how to go about it. I want to tell you that it’s OK if you don’t know how to make that connection. Just try your best, and do what feels right. Even when we feel we only half belong, that is exactly how we sink into belonging. By owning and embracing the truth of our stories.

Thank you again for hanging out with me here, dear you. Thanks for taking an interest in me and my story.

Dodie 🩶

P.S. This is blog # 19 for me. For most of the drafting of this piece, there was no music. I do however want to leave you with this amazing Spotify breakdancing playlist for your pleasure - BBOY MUSIC THAT ISN’T SHIT.

P.P.S. Something I felt in writing this blog was the richness in each of the stories I told here. This blog is a story of coming out as Filipino. There is much more to tell, and I look forward to deepening into these stories with you down the road.