Learning to be Filipino
H
By Hubert Zhou
aving a last name and face that yelled “Chinese,” I was quickly labeled as just that at a school where the Chinese and Korean population was at large. Whenever I told people I was Filipino, they would always be surprised. My school had few Filipinos — what did a Filipino even look like? Growing up, I wanted to fit in and be like everyone else (but better). Thus I
fell into the label given me, continuously introducing my ethnicity as Chinese. Whenever people teased me for my middle name, I shrugged it off, neglecting my Filipino half even further. It took me years (and a few fun trips to my cousins in Manila) to truly embrace both halves of my culture, and myself. From the occasional longanisa breakfasts, to the extra long drives just to get to a Jollibee, to avoiding balut at a family dinner, I’ve grown to embrace and love my culture. I’ve grown to love the way we value family and eat dinner together each night — the way my mom has rapid conversations on the phone in Tagalog. Being Filipino in America pushed me to love being my own person and to value the relationships I’ve built with the people around me. Now whenever someone asks about my ethnicity, I can proudly say I’m both Chinese and Filipino.
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Vol. XLIV, Issue I 9
