Having spent the first half of my life in Laoag City, Philippines, and the second half on Kodiak, Alaska, my childhood was a unique blend of cultures, walking a tightrope between two identities. In the Philippines, I grew up in a neighborhood where poverty was the reality. After immigrating to the U.S., my parents worked 18-hour shifts, and I rarely saw them. When I left the house for school, I would adopt my English-speaking persona. As I walked through my doorway in the evenings, I sank back into my Ilocano language, allowing me to truly feel at home.

My family immigrated to Kodiak, Alaska when I was in 3rd grade to join my father. After 30 years of hard work in a Kodiak cannery, my father could no longer physically sustain the work. To support our family of five, my mother started a daycare business. Living in a low-income immigrant family, I had to contribute financially, so when I was fourteen, I started my own businesses that function both by priority of purpose and principle of profit. Developing these businesses motivated my passion for hospitality and entrepreneurship.

During my first day in third grade, a Filipinx peer called me a caraboa. I cried, wondering why he called me a water buffalo. While reading aloud, classmates teased me for saying an English word with an accent. In the cafeteria, I was embarrassed to open my lunch, filled with my mom’s pancit and dad’s chicken adobo because I would be teased for not having peanut butter and jelly like the other kids. What I never understood is why none of my Filipinx classmates defended me. Confused, I pondered how I could be so proud of my culture at home and so judged at school.

I never fought back against the microaggressions from my peers. I tried to deny my culture so that I would be socially accepted. My parents never knew what happened at school because I did not want them to think that their land of opportunity was actually a land of judgement and embarrassment for me. I worked hard to be academically successful despite my struggles, and I strived to blend in with American culture. When I was mid-way through high school, my older sister returned from college and shared readings and studies that inspired me to try to embrace my Filipinx identity. I had been taught to repress my feelings and my culture, and then I realized that despite being teased I could be true to the my strong Filipinx identity.

I learned that changing myself would not change how others viewed me, but that choosing to accept my cultural identity encouraged my fellow Filipinx classmates to value our culture. Today, I actively work to connect with my heritage, whether through cooking pancit or lumpia with my mom, or attending local Filipino-American Association meetings and gatherings. Although the tradition has changed in the US, I continue my childhood practices of Simbang Gabi – nine days of attending mass before Christmas – to honor the Filipinx tradition

Years after being insulted and called a carabao by my classmate, I have learned that this water buffalo is known for its hard-working nature, and that I can celebrate my connection to this creature as I have resolved to honor my Filipinx identity. When I was selected to attend the ceremony for the National Arts and Humanities Award presented by Former First Lady Michelle Obama, I proudly represented my Filipinx identity by wearing a Barong Tagalog, an embroidered formal dress shirt of the Philippines. I was delighted and inspired when Mrs. Obama complimented this shirt. I now hunger to learn and share about the rich history of our Filipinx people. I have a voice, and I work to amplify the voices of my kababayan, my fellow Filipinx.