torn between two cultures ​

Ever since I was young, I knew a part of myself was missing. Being born in a third world country and then moving countless places in a military household, I never knew what home meant to me. Even I couldn’t grasp the center of what identity was. My life has been a constant struggle of trying to understand my roots while growing up in Western society. After landing in the Philippines and stepping off the plane, I was immediately greeted by the humidity and the sunshine.

Right in that instant, I knew I felt at home.

I was heading to the Philippines along with students from SPU to engage in a study abroad service learning trip. Despite the fact that I was super jet-lagged after 20 hours of traveling, we immediately dived into our work. It's been a really long time since I've been in the Philippines and I couldn't contain my excitement to tell my friends and family that I was going this holiday season. Rona, a gal big in stature and a big heart, was in charge of the feedings that happened around the town we were staying at. A few of us packed into a small van to drive 20 minutes uphill. Along the way, we saw sights of many karaoke parties, little schoolchildren in their yellow uniforms, aunties performing a dance at a class reunion and many stalls of people selling fruits and snacks.

After traveling over the bumpy roads, we arrived at our destination, with no realization that I was in for a treat.

Growing up, I‘be seen on TV and on other sources of media the “broken” side of poverty in the Philippines. I did not expect today would be the day when I finally get to see it with my own eyes. When I got off the van, my sandals were planted in a pile of stones mixed with copper-colored mud and the sun was beaming on my face. After admiring the mess on my shoes, I looked up and all I could see were battered buildings, children in rags and animals frolicking around. Clothes were hanged up in wires between battered buildings. I could hear the rooster crowing from the distance and the dogs barking at each other in the nearby basketball court. It looked like a scene from a movie. When we got off the van and opened the trunk, Rona yelled, “Feeding!” and immediately, a rampage of little children came running towards us.

I applied for this trip seeking answers to those questions in my head. Seeking puzzle pieces in hopes they will fit somewhere in me. The feedings at this specific location were really hard to do, and I felt guilty in a sense of what am I doing here. Who am I, as a privileged Filipino, to come to a place like this and display myself in the community? Rona encouraged me to start the feedings, spooning hot rice porridge into small plastic bags or into the various dishware that the locals owned. In times my head was held down, ashamed of what I couldn’t face. I was scared to admit that I couldn’t face them, knowing that there’s not much I can do to alleviate their brokenness. I knew that I couldn't belong in their world. I just continued on, scooping the scalding hot porridge into containers and telling the kids to be careful not to burn themselves or telling them that there’s no more boiled eggs left.

My parents both lived a less fortunate but simple lifestyle in the Philippines. My mom had to walk many miles just to go to school and had to make do with her 6 siblings. My dad, on the other hand, had 11 siblings, and also had to struggle to make ends meet. I wanted this trip to be a chance for me to understand them; to put myself in their shoes. The shoes that journeyed many miles to get to school. The shoes that once struggled with getting food on the table. The shoes that carried sacrifice.

I would say that the feeding was the most challenging and difficult day I have ever experienced, but I knew that I found a puzzle piece there.

I came to the Philippines searching for answers about myself and the missing puzzle pieces I longed to find. I’m torn between two cultures: the one I carry through my flesh and blood and the one I carry through my mindset and my ideals. I knew that there was a missing part of me and that there must be an answer in the motherland. But I carry a lot of questions that are better left unanswered. I pondered a lot of, “What ifs?” and “What would have happened if...?” that were running through my mind. In just a few short weeks, I've learned so much about myself, my childhood, my family and my parents. The trip serves as a reminder to go back to where you came from and appreciate the little things in life. As I look at the puzzle of me; I still yearn to find those unfound puzzle pieces. Still searching and still seeking. ~

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I feel alienated not only both in the United States, the place where I grew up, but also the country where my culture is rooted from: the Philippines. My parents left their homeland to come to America to search for what many people seek: The American Dream. That's why in everything that I do came with the pressure and phrases from parents like, "I didn't have the same opportunities that you did" or "take advantage of all opportunities." I had to live my whole life upholding the sacrifices that my parents went through and the ones that they continually make. I'm a first person in my family in everything: first child, first to graduate college, first in nearly everything.

As first generation student, I've lived out my life not just for myself, but for the people around me. My dreams, goals, aspirations come from the ability to not take things for granted. Having this label carried on my shoulders is not easy, being a first generation is not easy.

I ask that you put yourself in my shoes and the shoes of individuals who live out life similar to mines. Understand what it's like not to feel belonged. Understand what it's like to not be American enough or Filipino enough. Understand what it means to work even harder to prove to others your worth. Understand the sacrifices we had to make and the hardships that we go through. Understand how hard it is for someone to go to college because it's solely because their parents just frankly don't know how. Understand the lack of support we get. Understand the privilege you have.

The feeling of alienation is a continuous struggle. I hope that this story of my experience resonates to those who claims to be a first generation individual and/or who is a product of immigrants.

But don't fret if you are, for you are a fighter. A trooper.

You are strong and resilient. Your hard work will come with prosperity in the future.

You are deserving of every opportunity and experience that you gain.

You are not alone in this world.