Growing Up Without It: Fil/Am Cultures, The Presence of Absence, and The Feelings that Filled the Gaps

Setting the Scene in the Sunbelt South 

In previously  published work, I mentioned my grandparents moved from the Philippines to the Texas Hill Country in the mid 80s. A part of the Sunbelt South, my family has lived here for mostly 30 years as time pulled us in different directions across the state but especially into the North Texas area. From what I can remember, my aunts lived in different areas of Denton, Fort Worth, Arlington, Burleson, Cleburne, and the Hurst/Euless/Bedford area. 

I was born in Arlington, Texas. I remember my mom used to point out the hospital I was born at when we would pass it occasionally on the way to my elementary school, middle school, and high school. I never left Arlington actually. 

I stayed there or very close by at least. I’m still here, actually. After finishing my PhD at the University of Texas at Arlington, I wanted a space to reflect on how far I’ve come, not only as a scholar, and not only as a person, but as a Filipino American living in DFW and what that looked like and continues to look like for me Post-PhD. 

Let me back up—I was an only child for a long time (my sister is about 14 years apart), and I could never articulate this impending feeling of loneliness. I was a shy kid, mostly obedient, and deeply introspective. I spend a lot of time in my head. And in a family dynamic where things seemed to be swept under the rug, forgotten, (repressed even), I never found a stable footing when I was in school. 

My elementary school was actually fairly ethnically diverse. I remember growing up with a lot of Black and Latino/Latina friends. I often had many Black, Hispanic, and White teachers, mostly female in primary school, growing up. I remember this spectrum of representation but it never really weighed heavily on me. 

Until one day in fourth grade, I was hanging around after school in their after-school hours daycare and this kid, in fifth grade, who I had never spoken to before, approached me with a really direct, debatably inappropriate question: “are you an eskimo?” Out of honesty, I didn’t really know how to answer. Given my childhood knowledge of this cultural group, all I faintly had for reference was Disney’s Brother Bear (2003) (which in middle school, I apparently earned the nickname “Kenai” for “looking like him”). 

I told this fifth grader, “No, I’m actually Filipino.” To his surprise, his eyes lit up and he responded, “me too!” We spent all of 45 seconds bonding over our Filipinoness and he went on his way. He eventually became one of my early childhood best friends and one of my favorite memories was visiting him in the Philippines when we were in middle school/early high school. But that’s for another time. 

This encounter set the scene for me growing up. Nobody really in all my early education classroom experience saw me as an Other. This moment is the most salient to me, I think, precisely because I always return to the joyfulness, maybe even pride, of being recognized as part of a cultural identity in the DFW area. 

As a Gen Z’er, What was Filipino America anyway?

For this fourth-grader, seen as a Filipino, to be recognized as such propelled me into a sort of hyperawareness of culture, tradition, and practice. But what did I know of these terms? Besides this encounter in school, many of the moments, explicitly “Filipino” moments, surrounded food, or a certain type of attitude that Filipinos bring to different spaces—we were often seen as cordial, charismatic, enjoyable to be around, good hosts, and hard (medical care) workers (characteristics I now recognize through the terms of Model Minority). 

Being born in the late 90s came with my identity being imbedded with different ideas; multiculturalism, pluralism, xenophobia, and diversity have been swimming in the air as abstractions that have influenced my way, and my family’s way of being and knowing how to move through North Texas systems. 

As a young adult, I recognize the lack of space for Asian American cultural engagement in the DFW area. Throughout my undergraduate years, I missed so many opportunities to connect with other Filipino or Asian American communities because I didn’t have the language or the confidence to know how to interact with them. I think it’s the purpose of this platform to ask these questions, how we can interact and call out for each other in times of crisis because truly, I think, this sort of collaborative effort has the potential to reshape attitudes, beliefs, and instill a sense of purpose. 

Platforms like 8Asian, Hyphen Magazine, CAAM (Center for Asian American Media), or Mochi Magazine critical, seminal, and necessary to uplift Asian American Bi-Coastal perspectives but I have yet to see deeper grassroots engagement with Asian American communities in the Sunbelt South. 

With this, I recognize Nopality (working out of the San Antonio area) as well! and it’s the goal of Kultura Dallas to make visible what has largely been invisible here in the Dallas area—as this essay partially underlines the purpose of Kultura, many essays in this cornerstone collection emphasize who gets to say what, and how they get to say it. Because the uniqueness of this platform comes from a grassroots approach and publicly accessible reach towards The People, I, as the editor, must recognize the power we hold in collecting these experiences and giving a voice and reach to those who have something to say. 

What They Had That I Didn’t and Where We Want To Be 

For me, as a child, being Filipino meant eating ensaymada, adobo, or champorado or wearing baraongs on special occasions or standing on stages meant to highlight (or make spectacles of) our culture and tradition. 

I wanted to be a little more than that. I still do. Between the Pacquiao matches and the Filial Piety, I’ve wanted to know what it’s like to belong to a community unabashedly. Part of this reflection is a first pass at the ways I, and many others, strive for connection. It’s not just about being a Filipino/American, or about the diasporic identity politics within this platform but about creating a space where we can hold fast our own perspectives as Asian American, Pacific Islander, Desi American peoples. 

I was often envious of my friends who were so tightly knit together through the Filipino diasporic experience. They spoke Tagolog, knew the recipes by heart, had homes that were distinct with Filipino/Asian American immigrant aesthetics (shout out to the walis tambo, the rice cooker with the cherry blossom decoration, and those little porcelain figurines around the shelves or on the pianos). I could recognize these elements in my grandparents home, but I did, and still, feel like a stranger in my own house.

For me, it’s building alongside Kultura Dallas, as an exact approach to a community driven, bottom-up, and independent perspective that I strive to provide. I want us to focus on the local politics, lived experiences, hobbies, events, and initiatives that only “on the ground reflections” can bring about.

Overall though, what I want for this platform is to be an inside look, a walk through the threshold of mainstream representation into the afterimage or afterlife of memory, tradition, and culture, towards the future of Asian American progress and community and to embody conversations with one another that spark a newfound love, intimacy, and commitment to each other.