An In-Betweener

Leaving Home

I was seven years old when my family moved to Odessa, Texas, after my mother was recruited from the Philippines to work as a nurse at a local hospital. The move was originally intended to be temporary. The plan was to spend a few years in the United

States, experience life in America, and eventually return home. My father remained in Manila and would visit a few times each year. It wasn't until our second or third year in Texas that my family decided to stay permanently. 

Around the same time, other Filipino nurses and their families were arriving as well, and a small community began to form. Families like the Gimenezes and the Arzadons became part of that community. Many of those families had children around my age, and we all spoke Tagalog growing up. As the years went by, I noticed some of my friends speaking the language less often. Because my father was still living in Manila, Tagalog remained a natural part of everyday life in our home. Living so far from family, the language became one of the ways we stayed connected to the Philippines. 

Looking for a Connection

Growing up in West Texas, I often felt out of place. Football never really clicked with me, so my older brother and I gravitated toward other interests. We took martial arts classes and caught any Asian movies that played in theaters, usually Jackie Chan or Jet Li films (and rented whatever anime we could find at Blockbuster). While those things were not specifically Filipino, they offered a connection to a broader Asian identity that was otherwise difficult to find around us. 

At the time, media that felt culturally familiar was rare. My dad, who was still living in the Philippines then, would occasionally record episodes of Dragon Ball onto VHS tapes and mail them to us. Other times, finding an Asian film meant ordering an expensive VHS copy of Drunken Master II or borrowing a recording made from a friend’s bootleg copy. Looking back, I think we were searching for signs that people who looked like us existed beyond West Texas. In a place where Asian representation felt rare, those movies, shows, and stories reminded us that we belonged to something larger than ourselves. 

Finding Community

When I moved to DFW and joined the Filipino Student Association at UTD, it felt like finding people who understood those experiences. Many of us had similar family stories. A surprising number of us had nurse moms and engineer dads, and many of us had grown up as the only Filipino or Asian kid in our class. We bonded over anime, manga, video games, and music. We followed the Big Three anime series (Bleach, Naruto, and One Piece), waited for Naruto scanlations to drop every Thursday night, and spent countless hours discussing Fullmetal Alchemist, Hajime no Ippo, Vagabond, Berserk, and Gantz. We played Final Fantasy, Kingdom Hearts, Halo, and whatever happened to be popular on the PS2, PS3, Xbox 360, or Nintendo DS.

Music was just as much a part of that experience. Many of my friends played guitar, and it was common for us to spend evenings at someone's apartment learning new songs.  We listened to plenty of 90s and 2000s R&B artists like Ne-Yo and Tamia, but also OPM bands and artists such as Parokya ni Edgar, Eraserheads, and even VST & Company for those of us who were old souls. Karaoke was practically a ritual, which is probably why so many of us still end up around a microphone whenever we get together. 

Those friendships extended beyond campus. We held FSA Christmas parties at Family Karaoke near Harry Hines and regularly met up around Carrollton, long before the area became the destination it is today. Yogurtland near H-Mart became one of our gathering spots. What I remember most, though, were the conversations. We often talked about visiting family in the Philippines and about existing somewhere between cultures. We did not always feel fully Filipino, but we did not feel fully American either. It was comforting to realize that experience was shared by so many people. The friends I met through FSA remain some of my closest friends today.

It has also been meaningful to watch Filipino culture become more visible over the years. When I was in college, Filipino food, desserts, and traditions still felt relatively niche outside of our own communities. Today, there are Filipino-focused festivals throughout DFW, and it is not unusual to see events centered around things like ube, halo-halo, and Filipino street food. Seeing that growth has been exciting because it reflects how much our community has expanded and how much more visible Filipino culture has become.

Return to Drawing

Drawing has been part of my life for as long as I can remember. Growing up, I would draw the toys and action figures I wished I had. Drawing became a way to extend play beyond what was in front of me, and before long it became a daily habit. I stopped drawing during college, but picked it back up during the pandemic after joining a local art meetup group. Starting over and learning alongside other artists helped reconnect me with drawing, and I have been drawing consistently ever since.

What continues to draw me back to art is its ability to preserve memory. Sometimes, while drawing, I find myself remembering details I had forgotten. I think about walking through the palengke with my lolo to visit our family's vegetable stall. I remember the smell of grilled pork skewers from nearby vendors, the scent of sampaguita flowers being sold at small stands, and even the sharp smell of bagoong left out in the sun, waiting to be paired with sour green mangoes. 

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Some of the memories that return are tied to people I wish I had more time with. 

I never got the chance to say goodbye to my lolo. We were already living in the United States when he passed away. Drawing gives me a way to return to those moments and spend a little more time with them. 

Other memories return unexpectedly. I remember trying to impress the girl next door during a game of tag. Attempting a cartwheel, I lost my balance and fell into a canal where sewage had collected. The whole neighborhood saw it happen, and I am still thankful smartphones were not around at the time. 

Many of the scenes I draw begin with memories like these. Some are tied to family, tradition, and place. Others are moments of embarrassment, joy, or the dumb things my friends and I did growing up that somehow stuck with me. Through drawing, I feel connected not only to places, but also to people who helped shape them. 

Why Kultura Dallas Matters

Today, much of my work is inspired by memory, community, and everyday life. I am particularly drawn to markets, fiestas, beaches, and the ordinary moments that bring people together. Many of the scenes I draw are inspired by family stories, observations from visits to the Philippines, and memories of Filipino traditions and communal spaces. Through my work, I hope to preserve and reflect on the places, traditions, and experiences that have stayed with me over the years.

That is also why I am excited about projects like Kultura Dallas. Growing up, many of these stories existed primarily within our families and communities.  Creating spaces where Asian American and Filipino American voices can share their memories, perspectives, and creative work helps preserve those experiences and allows others to see parts of themselves reflected in them.  I hope this reflection contributes in some small way to that larger conversation.