QUOTE
Growing up confused: Mushroom's Story
A couple of weeks ago a friend asked me if I was interested in helping restart the Filipino Society at my uni. Apparently some “Pinoys” wanted to re-establish it after it was disbanded (apparently due to someone within the ranks syphoning money from the society funds- go figure).
I’m trying to recall how I felt about this invitation. I mean in the midst of trying to figure out where exactly I was going to fit in extra responsibilities whilst juggling my university workload plus the added burden of working to pay for it, then there is trying to finish my final grades in piano and teaching on top of this new volunteers position, I was really touched that I was asked to join…
Ask me in high school if I wanted to join and I would tell you straight to “get fu-ked”.
I guess you can say that I’ve had a turbulent relationship with my heritage.
It started when I was first learning to speak. That was when my parents made the conscious decision (guided by the advice of both my sets of grand parents) that I should be taught only perfect English as I was born in a country that seemingly accept nothing less if professional and scholastic success was the end goal.
When I was a little older and noticed that many of the other ethnic children in my kindergarten class (all 4 of them) spoke a second language, I asked my mother how come I did not know mine. She responded with “Do you want to be like those other children that are teased because they speak with an accent?”
The irony is, of course, that I do speak with an accent, an American one I picked up during my years in the States as a child that was reinforced with non-stop Sesame Street … 18 years later I still can’t shake it off.
In short, if you asked me what nationality I was as a child I would repeat “Australian” with great gusto. I was (and to an extent still am) White Washed.
I must have assimilated well, because I suffered very little ridicule in primary school being one of 3 children of Asian decent in the whole school other than some smart arse asking me “Are you a Japanese?” to which I replied “No. Are you?” I know, not a big comeback.
The other Asian kid in my class was teased mercilessly because of his speech and mannerisms, which only served to emphasis his Taiwanese ethnicity. The last laugh is with him I guess because, unlike many of the kids in my 6th grade didn’t even make it to year 12, he’s currently studying his 3rd year of Law at Macquarie.
It was only in high school that I was made to feel uncomfortable about my Filipino background. Interestingly it was people of my own ethnicity who were responsible. In my grade in year 9 there were a sprinkling of Filos (the Rooster included although at this point I did not know him very well at all). Most of the Filos disassociated themselves with one another in year 7 but now they started to join together to form a little alliance. One time during a science class two of them came up to me and asked me a question...
“Mushroom, you’re Filo right?”
I replied, “Yes.”
“Can you speak Tagalog?” one asked
“Umm… not really” I responded.
“Can you understand it?” The other asked.
“No. My parents decided that I should learn English only.” I replied.
They then turned to each other and said:
“Geez… that’s shameful. Filos who don’t know how to speak Tagalog.”
And then they proceeded to say how not knowing how to speak Tagalog was like denying your culture ever existed which was disrespectful, pathetic and not to mention very uncool.
Just aside, I wouldn’t be learning “Tagalog” anyway. My parents originated from Cebu and therefore it would be logical that if I were to learn a second language it would be “Bisaya” not “Tagalog”. Anyway.. that's another story.
I wanted to scream to them that it wasn’t my fault! My parents thought it was best that I not learn my native tongue. But they really wouldn’t have cared. I guess back then it was fashionable to be Filipino... just like it is now.
That was devastating for me at the time, to be told I was a shameful example of my culture.
I was so unhappy with what they had said to me that the moment I came home I ran to my mother and once again told her exactly what happened.
To which she wisely replied, “Don’t listen to them. What is most important is the value of what you say, not the language in which in say it. You can know 10 thousand languages but what use is it if all you talk is rubbish?”
Listening to my mother’s words empowered me. However the by-product of my little pep talk wasn’t the greatest decision at the time. I became a quasi “Filipino denier”.
Not in the fact that I would walk around saying that I wasn’t Filipino and go around flaunt a mixed heritage or anything like that. I just decided to build up in my mind a profile of each and every Filipino without getting to know them. I convinced myself that the majority of them were rude, arrogant, conceited and unwilling to experience new expressions of thought or mingle with different cultures (unless you were a girl, in that case you “experienced” every single ethnicity in the neighbourhood). I became extremely judgemental had a bad superiority complex.
It really didn’t help when most Filo girls were thought of as “R&B listening, school ditching, incessantly giggling, skirt hiking, chain-smoking sluts” who hung out at Westfield, Westpoint or the “Station”.
I was really very much embarrassed Filipino Australian’s seemed to carry themselves and I really did not want to be pigeon holed with “them”. Seemingly I forgot the fact that foolishly I was stereotyping every Filipino that happened to cross my path.
In my mind I rationalised that there was no point socialising with Filos anyway. My closest friends were all of different cultures. I did not directly associate with Filipinos of my own age, family friends or otherwise. I had a grand total of 1 Pinoy friend that I was close to and even she was a little white washed too.
Another thing that helped I guess is my ambiguous appearance. I’ve thought long and hard how to explain this without trying to omit a feeling of “superiority”. This is a taboo subject with many Filipinos. It is a common trait lately for Filipinos to state a mixed heritage (authentic or not). In my family this was the case. My family prided itself heavily on our mixed heritage. I remember an occasion during a vacation to the Phils as a child riding through the streets in my Grandparent’s car on our way to the family house. My Filipino-American grandmother would remind me that I was very different to the other children on the street that we passed. In English she commented on my features, and especially my skin colour and reinforced that I was different to “all of them” and take pride that I was “Mestiza”.
I guess perhaps the reason that I found difficulty in relating to many Filipino people, I was always programmed to believe subconsciously that I was different and in a way better. But it’s definitely not the case. How is it that I could believe that all people are equal albeit black, white or red, yet in my own ethnicity be so very judgemental. Now that is embarrassing.
Growing up though some people did know that I was Filipino, many others still don’t recognise until I tell them (even though it is bleeding obvious when you look properly). This still happens, especially at work. Of course I look obviously Asian but I’ve been everything from Malay to Vietnamese, from Indonesian to Chinese. These days I’ve taken to proudly correcting them: “I am an Australian of Filipino descent”.
It was two moments in my life that ceased this nonsense behaviour. One was starting university. The other was meeting Rooster. In both occasions I was faced with the notion that not all Filipinos are the same. Both experiences opened my eyes and realise that there are several layers in my existence, a Filipino one included. I’ve started to instil some peace with my nationality and quell my prejudices. I’ve been introduced to more people with a similar background to myself as well as other people that I wouldn’t usually converse with (and they turned out in the majority to be very nice people). Although I still sometimes find myself in my old ways of thinking, I’m trying to make a conscious decision to recognise that my thinking is damaging. Not to say that I now condone the behaviour of some “Pinoys” in the community, but at the same time I cannot blindly categorize everyone in the same basket.
Denying or omitting your Filipino nationality helps as a band aid solution to the prejudices perpetrated against Filipinos, especially during the Joseph Estrada period in the Philippines and will probably help again now in the FPJ climate. I still don’t quite know how to retain pride when your country is falling to pieces socially and economically. I guess that would explain many a disenchanted with their homeland, or a blind feeling of sentimentality that balikbayans may possess. We all as children of the Philippines in one way or the other have to address the pressing questions that are put to us. For me, I had to recognise that paying out on my culture will not stop the deep-rooted detrimental stereotypes continuing generation after generation. Instead of perpetuating, I should be looking for solutions…
... So if you still need the help, I’ll be more than welcome to help out with organising a Filipino Society
A couple of weeks ago a friend asked me if I was interested in helping restart the Filipino Society at my uni. Apparently some “Pinoys” wanted to re-establish it after it was disbanded (apparently due to someone within the ranks syphoning money from the society funds- go figure).
I’m trying to recall how I felt about this invitation. I mean in the midst of trying to figure out where exactly I was going to fit in extra responsibilities whilst juggling my university workload plus the added burden of working to pay for it, then there is trying to finish my final grades in piano and teaching on top of this new volunteers position, I was really touched that I was asked to join…
Ask me in high school if I wanted to join and I would tell you straight to “get fu-ked”.
I guess you can say that I’ve had a turbulent relationship with my heritage.
It started when I was first learning to speak. That was when my parents made the conscious decision (guided by the advice of both my sets of grand parents) that I should be taught only perfect English as I was born in a country that seemingly accept nothing less if professional and scholastic success was the end goal.
When I was a little older and noticed that many of the other ethnic children in my kindergarten class (all 4 of them) spoke a second language, I asked my mother how come I did not know mine. She responded with “Do you want to be like those other children that are teased because they speak with an accent?”
The irony is, of course, that I do speak with an accent, an American one I picked up during my years in the States as a child that was reinforced with non-stop Sesame Street … 18 years later I still can’t shake it off.
In short, if you asked me what nationality I was as a child I would repeat “Australian” with great gusto. I was (and to an extent still am) White Washed.
I must have assimilated well, because I suffered very little ridicule in primary school being one of 3 children of Asian decent in the whole school other than some smart arse asking me “Are you a Japanese?” to which I replied “No. Are you?” I know, not a big comeback.
The other Asian kid in my class was teased mercilessly because of his speech and mannerisms, which only served to emphasis his Taiwanese ethnicity. The last laugh is with him I guess because, unlike many of the kids in my 6th grade didn’t even make it to year 12, he’s currently studying his 3rd year of Law at Macquarie.
It was only in high school that I was made to feel uncomfortable about my Filipino background. Interestingly it was people of my own ethnicity who were responsible. In my grade in year 9 there were a sprinkling of Filos (the Rooster included although at this point I did not know him very well at all). Most of the Filos disassociated themselves with one another in year 7 but now they started to join together to form a little alliance. One time during a science class two of them came up to me and asked me a question...
“Mushroom, you’re Filo right?”
I replied, “Yes.”
“Can you speak Tagalog?” one asked
“Umm… not really” I responded.
“Can you understand it?” The other asked.
“No. My parents decided that I should learn English only.” I replied.
They then turned to each other and said:
“Geez… that’s shameful. Filos who don’t know how to speak Tagalog.”
And then they proceeded to say how not knowing how to speak Tagalog was like denying your culture ever existed which was disrespectful, pathetic and not to mention very uncool.
Just aside, I wouldn’t be learning “Tagalog” anyway. My parents originated from Cebu and therefore it would be logical that if I were to learn a second language it would be “Bisaya” not “Tagalog”. Anyway.. that's another story.
I wanted to scream to them that it wasn’t my fault! My parents thought it was best that I not learn my native tongue. But they really wouldn’t have cared. I guess back then it was fashionable to be Filipino... just like it is now.
That was devastating for me at the time, to be told I was a shameful example of my culture.
I was so unhappy with what they had said to me that the moment I came home I ran to my mother and once again told her exactly what happened.
To which she wisely replied, “Don’t listen to them. What is most important is the value of what you say, not the language in which in say it. You can know 10 thousand languages but what use is it if all you talk is rubbish?”
Listening to my mother’s words empowered me. However the by-product of my little pep talk wasn’t the greatest decision at the time. I became a quasi “Filipino denier”.
Not in the fact that I would walk around saying that I wasn’t Filipino and go around flaunt a mixed heritage or anything like that. I just decided to build up in my mind a profile of each and every Filipino without getting to know them. I convinced myself that the majority of them were rude, arrogant, conceited and unwilling to experience new expressions of thought or mingle with different cultures (unless you were a girl, in that case you “experienced” every single ethnicity in the neighbourhood). I became extremely judgemental had a bad superiority complex.
It really didn’t help when most Filo girls were thought of as “R&B listening, school ditching, incessantly giggling, skirt hiking, chain-smoking sluts” who hung out at Westfield, Westpoint or the “Station”.
I was really very much embarrassed Filipino Australian’s seemed to carry themselves and I really did not want to be pigeon holed with “them”. Seemingly I forgot the fact that foolishly I was stereotyping every Filipino that happened to cross my path.
In my mind I rationalised that there was no point socialising with Filos anyway. My closest friends were all of different cultures. I did not directly associate with Filipinos of my own age, family friends or otherwise. I had a grand total of 1 Pinoy friend that I was close to and even she was a little white washed too.
Another thing that helped I guess is my ambiguous appearance. I’ve thought long and hard how to explain this without trying to omit a feeling of “superiority”. This is a taboo subject with many Filipinos. It is a common trait lately for Filipinos to state a mixed heritage (authentic or not). In my family this was the case. My family prided itself heavily on our mixed heritage. I remember an occasion during a vacation to the Phils as a child riding through the streets in my Grandparent’s car on our way to the family house. My Filipino-American grandmother would remind me that I was very different to the other children on the street that we passed. In English she commented on my features, and especially my skin colour and reinforced that I was different to “all of them” and take pride that I was “Mestiza”.
I guess perhaps the reason that I found difficulty in relating to many Filipino people, I was always programmed to believe subconsciously that I was different and in a way better. But it’s definitely not the case. How is it that I could believe that all people are equal albeit black, white or red, yet in my own ethnicity be so very judgemental. Now that is embarrassing.
Growing up though some people did know that I was Filipino, many others still don’t recognise until I tell them (even though it is bleeding obvious when you look properly). This still happens, especially at work. Of course I look obviously Asian but I’ve been everything from Malay to Vietnamese, from Indonesian to Chinese. These days I’ve taken to proudly correcting them: “I am an Australian of Filipino descent”.
It was two moments in my life that ceased this nonsense behaviour. One was starting university. The other was meeting Rooster. In both occasions I was faced with the notion that not all Filipinos are the same. Both experiences opened my eyes and realise that there are several layers in my existence, a Filipino one included. I’ve started to instil some peace with my nationality and quell my prejudices. I’ve been introduced to more people with a similar background to myself as well as other people that I wouldn’t usually converse with (and they turned out in the majority to be very nice people). Although I still sometimes find myself in my old ways of thinking, I’m trying to make a conscious decision to recognise that my thinking is damaging. Not to say that I now condone the behaviour of some “Pinoys” in the community, but at the same time I cannot blindly categorize everyone in the same basket.
Denying or omitting your Filipino nationality helps as a band aid solution to the prejudices perpetrated against Filipinos, especially during the Joseph Estrada period in the Philippines and will probably help again now in the FPJ climate. I still don’t quite know how to retain pride when your country is falling to pieces socially and economically. I guess that would explain many a disenchanted with their homeland, or a blind feeling of sentimentality that balikbayans may possess. We all as children of the Philippines in one way or the other have to address the pressing questions that are put to us. For me, I had to recognise that paying out on my culture will not stop the deep-rooted detrimental stereotypes continuing generation after generation. Instead of perpetuating, I should be looking for solutions…
... So if you still need the help, I’ll be more than welcome to help out with organising a Filipino Society
http://2001.girra.com/pen/archives/cat_fil...week_2004.shtml
