Growing up, I discovered that fitting in everywhere often meant never truly belonging anywhere.
Acting as both the participant and the bystander, the feeling of being caught between acceptance
and estrangement tore my self-identity. As periods of my childhood found these dim moments, I
constantly found myself finding disconnection within social relationships. However, my story
did not begin here in the US, but in my homeland.
Davao, Philippines.The story of my life began here. Although I did not grow up in the bustling
city, my area was fairly clamorous. The sounds of chicken fights occurring on the corner of the
street, people playing basketball, children playing tumba lata (kick the can), a man yelling “taho”
to let others know of his arrival, and loud uncles enjoying their time with alcohol would fill the
air with their noises. The air is surrounded by the aroma of delicious homemade cooking, the
disgusting smell of cigarettes, fresh fruits, and more that is carried with the gentle breeze. Even
though it is not ideal for some, this is what I used to call home.
My life was accustomed to these types of sights, noises, and smells as it was an everyday
occurrence. Everything I knew from culture to language was connected to the people who I am
surrounded with from classmates, neighbors, friends, and my loved ones. I never felt excluded.
Everywhere I go, I feel like I belong to this community that is full of life, love, friendship, and
happiness.
However, in a blink of an eye, everything that I knew changed with that one text message that I
read from my dad stating,“Come. Move here in the States this month, it will get the kids enough
time to get ready for U.S. school next month.” As I showed my mom the text, she was excited to
move to the states to be reunited with my dad. We packed our belongings and spent the rest of
our days in the Philippines with our loved ones.
My last days went by like a flash as in the summer of 2014, I soon found myself inside the plane
crossing the Pacific ocean. I was going to be living in the states, fulfilling the dream of many
Filipinos. I told myself during the trip that I shouldn’t be ungrateful for this opportunity given to
me as many work hard to get where I am. In return, I ignored the aching feeling of my heart
yearning to go back to the place I called home.
Upon my arrival with my family, I expected to feel excitement for what America has to offer, but
everything started to sink in as I realized that everything had changed. I used to be surrounded by
my people, culture, language, and loved ones that made me feel like I belong. Now, everything
changes as I venture into a new world where all is different. A new language needed to be
learned in order to communicate with others. The culture being the opposite of what I am
accustomed to. A distance of a few feet turning into a thousands of miles of land and sea that
separates me from my loved ones in a span of a few hours.
The feeling of estrangement, grief, and loneliness lingered around me like whispers in the air that
only I could hear as I adapted to my new life. Sub-urban America differs significantly from the
Philippines that I grew to fall in love with. There was a continuous monotone color that
surrounded the buildings, the surroundings were more hushed and quiet, and life overall was at a
slower pace. Although it is not what I am used to, I tried to adjust to the new lifestyle.
Moving into a new country became a nightmare for me as now I can recognize my differences
from everyone else. I did not speak their language nor grew up the same way as they did. I did
not know about a lot of pop culture which baffled others as they did not understand how a person
would not know anything about the hottest trend. I was always too late and slow to catch up. I
tried to conform to their standards in order to make new friends, only to be made fun of by my
accent, food, and mannerism. I became the laughingstock of the group.
In the process of fitting in, I lost my sense of my original culture and language in order to
become one with everyone else. I stopped bringing the food from my culture and started to eat
popular meals, like lunchables or plain sandwiches. My parents forbid me and my siblings to
speak my native language so we can learn to speak English fluently at a faster pace. I changed
my cultural wardrobe to dress up like everyone else. In a year or two, I was able to make some
friends.
I finally felt like I was accepted and that I belonged. With this new social group, it became my
new home. But is it really home? Is this truly acceptance? I was disregarding my background in
order to feel included with others. Then, after nine years, I finally realized how drastically I
changed after visiting the Philippines.
I was not able to communicate in my native language with my loved ones as I was used to
speaking English. I did not know about the latest trends or events which excluded me from most
conversations. It was weird to be welcomed in the family despite not having the feeling that you
are truly accepted. Even though I grew up with them as a child, I was not Filipino enough for
them anymore. I was distraught. I realized that I erased my differences rather than embracing
them to please other people. In return, I lost my connection to the people who I loved, my
community, and my culture.
In the process of adaptation, I lost my sense of identity for the connection of others. Although I
was young and naive, self-realization does not undo the damage that has built up for years. I
have learned that embracing my uniqueness and celebrating what makes me different gives
harmony in life. Contrasting the endless efforts of changing myself to conform to people’s
standards which has lost my sense of self. The ability to fit in everywhere is not an
accomplishment when there is no sense of belonging anywhere. Authenticity is vital to the
journey of self-discovery. Although I cannot go back in time and replace my story, there is one
thing I can change now: to consistently embrace my identity. After all, true acceptance is
acceptance of oneself.
