Writing poetry and spoken has always been a HUGE part of my life and who I am. I was never able to really express my feelings, but when I put pen to paper, everything made sense. With my newest piece “Don’t You, Walang Hiya” I wanted to address and break the stigmas and stereotypes people have about Greek life, especially ethnic-based Greek organizations. This is only my point of view on the social issue, but someone’s gotta say something because I’m tired of being seen as one thing, when I represent something bigger than myself and the Greek letters I wear.
I’ve always been afraid of corners, and being cornered. I’ve never been afraid of small spaces, enclosed places.
I was five years old on my first day of Kindergarten. My mom stood by my side in line with all of the other kids that morning. Every kid had their parents accompanying them that day. It seemed pretty normal. And then she shook my teacher’s hand and let me go when the bell rang. I felt so excited and scared – I didn’t know what to expect my first day of school.
But that feeling quickly plummeted – as I quickly became every other kid’s emotional punching bag. Throughout the day, all of the kids kept making fun of me.
Are you Chinese?
Do you speak English?
Why does your name sound like chlorine?
Why does your name sound like fluoride?
Why was your mom alone?
How come your dad wasn’t here?
Your parents are DIVORCED?! Continue reading
My tita once told me, “You are part of this family. This family is talented because we dance. And we are good! Trust me, you can dance!”
The warmth of the spotlight. I felt at ease. The music flowed with me and empowered me to keep the candles steady. Sayaw was how I expressed myself differently. It was a whole new perspective to life filled with such beauty and grace, but staying true to powerful movements in Filipinx dance. Dancing pandanggo sa ilaw during a Gonzaga Men’s Basketball half time on National Gonzaga Day, was a moment that brought me back to when I used to fear the spotlight.
When I was younger, I would shy away from attention because that’s what I was taught. It was so ingrained in me, I was ashamed to even participate in family grandeur. Filipinx parents and grandparents are notorious for making their kids do artistic activities, in hopes of one day becoming the next Filipinx artist(a). Apparently, I was born into a family of dancers. Continue reading
My birth mom sent me to Canada for a better life and education. Because I was only four, there was no way of understanding that. All I understood was that I wasn’t going to see her. At an age that required nurturing and love, what I received instead was confusion. Instead of family, there were strangers. Instead of love, there was anger and hate. Rather than gaining self-confidence, I learned that I was unworthy and became deeply insecure and fearful. This, coupled my growing understanding that I looked different too. This sense of not fitting in, of not belonging, stayed with me everywhere I went — even more so after visiting the Philippines 10 years later. Who I thought I was didn’t seem to fit the description anywhere. I began feeling that I was simply an outsider in every community I discovered and it didn’t help that I was constantly reminded of my differences. Continue reading
“They’re your children? Are they adopted?”
I remember standing at the bus stop feeling like a melon because a random stranger had asked my mother this question. She was offended, as anyone rightly would be. I was left with a sense that despite my mix I could never truly express my Filipinxness. I felt ashamed.
When we think about identity, we usually focus on what we can see. If you were to look at me, you would probably be able to tell that I’m biracial. Living in London I have always had a sense of multiculturalism, which I know I am so blessed to have but growing up there was always a need to outwardly show where I am from. Continue reading