I can still remember the first day of school that was the beginning of my new life.I remember constantly fixing my hair making sure I looked presentable. I remember walking through the main gate of the school, filled with both excitement and nerves. I remember my dad walking me to my classroom. I remember the nerves weighing down on me the moment he left my side. I remember nonchalantly, yet awkwardly walking to my seat, failing to be inconspicuous as everyone stared at me wondering whom the new girl was. I remember the room echoing with a foreign language. I remember telling myself not to worry and that everything was going to be fine. “Wag ka magalala, kaya mo ito.”
I remember the moment when it finally hit me hard. The moment when it finally sunk in that I was no longer in the Philippines. I was in a foreign country and there was no going back.
I moved to China, not only to explore the other side of my roots, but also to have a fresh start. In the Philippines, I’ve always had a problem identifying my culture; figuring which culture shaped my identity. I am half Filipina and half Chinese. However, there have been glimpse moments where I felt neither halves. I think that half bloods have it harder to gain clarity and acceptance than pure bloods. It’s hard when you’re caught between two cultures, when you have one foot on each side of the line. That’s how I felt, except it was as if both halves of me were strangers, a stranger on both sides of the line.
One thing I’ve always been concerned with is the way people defined me. When I was in the Philippines, I still had a foreign half. Therefore people identified me as that foreign half: the Chinese half. I found it strange, as I had never actually been to Mainland China, let alone lived there. People always assumed that I spoke Chinese, or that I knew everything about the Chinese culture. They would always say that I look more Chinese than Filipina. I always had a guilty feeling itching in my stomach. I felt like I was fooling everyone, including myself. I didn’t consider myself Chinese and the fact that everyone did made me feel even worse. It’s not that I was ashamed of being known as a Chinese, it’s just that they were acknowledging the other side of me, the side that still felt unknown, even to myself.
Home is where you’re supposed to find a sense of belongingness, a feeling of comfort and tranquility. The Philippines is supposed to be my country, my home. But for some reason, I’ve just never felt all those things. Even though I had a lot of close friends, I always felt different. I never felt apart of the culture. I was a stranger to my own country, to my own culture and to my own home.
When I was younger, I spoke both Filipino and English. My father travelled outside the country most of the time so I mostly grew up in an English-Filipino environment as he never had time to teach me Chinese and he wasn’t particularly too strict on me learn- ing it as well. Looking back, I wish he had been.
I’ve always had problems communicating with my family on my father’s side. I couldn’t even speak to my own grandparents because they couldn’t speak English. Although I loved visiting
my father’s side of the family, I dreaded the family dinners. They would ask me questions in Chinese and my dad would have to remind them that I couldn’t respond back in the same language. The guilt sunk lower as I felt like a disappointment. We were family. Chinese was supposed to be a common ground for us to connect and communicate in. Instead, I had nothing to bring to the table. I was a stranger, even to my own family.
My father was concerned with the way I felt so one day he decided to ask me whether I wanted to move to China and I didn’t even hesitate to say yes. Moving to China really was a “fresh start”, except it wasn’t as welcoming as I had hoped. I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to embrace my Chinese roots. I thought it would be this perfect little world where all my troubles would be solved. I had this fixated idea that everything would go perfectly in this new home. Unfortunately that wasn’t the case when I actually arrived.
There were so many days when I played it strong, but deep inside I was filled with discomfort and frustration. My mom would always tell me “Ito yong gusto mo diba? Walang balikan” (“This is what you wanted right? There’s no going back now.”) People identified me as “the new Filipino kid” Once again; they forgot the fact that I was half Chinese as well. When I told them I was part Chinese, their eyes would shoot wide open. However, there were times when I wanted to engage in an conversation, but this inability to understand the language inhibited me. There were even times when people would ask for me directions, and every time I always had to respond with “???,????” (“Sorry I don’t understand”) I really did want to help. I did. But, once again, I couldn’t. I couldn’t speak or understand anything from one of the languages that was supposed to be my “mother tongue” I felt useless.
I eventually made friends and they all spoke English. But there were times, in which they would have conversations in Chinese. It was as if, one moment I felt like I belonged, and then the next, I was back to being an outsider. I felt as if this language barrier inhibited me from actually communicating with some students. Learning Chinese was hard.
It had different dictions, writing, and there were multiple tones with various meanings. How was I supposed to learn anything when I didn’t even know where to begin?
I guess that as the years passed, it got easier. I started to pick up useful phrases and was able to understand the language slowly. It was a long process, and I’m not particularly fluent yet, but I do believe I have come a long way. I’m not really sure if I’ve come to a conclusion. There are times when I feel like I’ve finally adapted. But just when I start to get comfortable, in a click of a button, I’m back to feeling like an interloper again. I guess it’s still this cultural struggle to find my identity. I don’t think I’ve come to a conclusion on which side I fit best yet. Maybe someday I will. But, right now, all I know is that I’m still balancing my way in the middle. And I guess I’m fine with that.