Growing Up Filipino-Hawaiian-American.

When I first came to America on August 27, 1999 as a 9-year old, I felt incredibly lost. Jetlagged-wise, I felt lost in that I left the Philippines on August 28, but because of the time difference, it seemed that in a way, I traveled through time. Arriving in America as a 1.5 generation, I had very little knowledge about the American culture and society, with racism, ethnicity and the whiteness concept not in my vocabulary nor my in mind at all—I didn’t know what any of those were and anything about it. But now, having lived here for almost 11 years (and haven’t been back since then…), I’ve come to develop an understanding of it.


It wasn’t until taking the Filipino-American History class here in Shoreline Community College that I became more aware of my own ethnic background as a part Filipino, American and Hawaiian and the world around me. I don’t mean to advertise the class, but I found the latter half of that quarter to be one of the most interesting because it was about our own self-proclaimed self-identities.

I usually describe myself as Filipino, paying lesser attention to my Hawaiian and American backgrounds, because of the color of my skin and where I was born. Filipinos are akin to having tanner skin than Americans, but lighter than Hawaiians, as early Hawaiians (Polynesians) migrated along with many other ethnicities to the Philippines. These days, it’s common to see a Filipino, especially because of the rich Filipino history here in Seattle.

Even if I describe myself as a Filipino, typically others don’t. I’ve been asked plenty of times if I was Indonesian, Thai, Cambodian and even Indian or Taiwanese. I find it intriguing at how people view/mistake me for those ethnicities, since I’ve never experienced that at all prior to coming to America.

It just makes you wonder what are the certain features people look for in stereotyping or picturing the average look for a certain ethnicity.

Did I look Thai because of my darker skin, dark eyes and jet-black hair? But even if I did, don’t Cambodians exhibit the same features of a dark skin, dark eyes and jet-black hair too? And what about an Indian?—Or Taiwanese? It is questions like these that often have an impact on the self-identity of an individual, radically changing them to accepting or disputing/racist extremes. As for me, with the knowledge I learned in that class about self-identity and ethnicities, my own self-identity changed to one that I believe is to be an accepting one, integrating into the American culture and become bi-cultural.

Using these various models (Racism) , I’ve proclaimed myself to be in the integration stage in minority identity development. I feel like I’ve experienced a lot, but still not enough, to have gained a good understanding of other cultures besides my own. Moreover, I feel that I have accepted the American culture, yet still retained a good portion of my own Filipino culture, such as still referring to older Filipino women as “tita” or “ate” (Filipino for “aunt” and “older sister”) to show respect (and also to recognize the knowledge they have gained at such an age) and taking off my shoes when entering a home. I have a strong sense of my own self-identity as a male, 19-year old heterosexual Filipino/Hawaiian/American. I appreciate other cultural groups, their cultures, traditions and customs, developing an interest in them, such as attending and celebrating a Cambodian New Year while being the sole Filipino in the entire proximity and eating with chopsticks with proper etiquette and manners (as a Filipino, I ate with my hands).


But you know… Growing up Filipino hasn’t always been that easy… Especially with the concept of whiteness…

Cambodian New Year.

Flag of Cambodia.  (SkynetUSAdvertising Corp. World Map Center)

Last Sunday, I went to a Cambodian New Year celebration with two of my non-religious Buddhist Cambodian friends/co-workers (one girl, one guy, both of the same age as me). It was being celebrated in one of the few Cambodian temples surrounding the metropolitan cities of Seattle, Tacoma and Bellevue, with the temple that we went to being far south of Seattle and halfway to Tacoma.

One of my two friends lived in this area, calling it the “ghetto” because of all the stereotypical ghetto-like things there she has experienced and seen from the media—the gunshots frequently audible at night, the numerous congregations and communities of minorities of African-Americans, Native-Americans and Southeast Asians, and weather-worn, low-rising two-story graffiti-marked buildings abundant in the area. This neighborhood of Seattle was called “White Center”, with surprisingly 51% of the census data consisting of Caucasians, according to a Seattle Post Intelligencer article on the neighborhood. (Seattle Post Intelligencer) Makes me wonder what the place would be called if only 49% of its population was Caucasians.

At any rate, the temple that we went to, with no offense to the Cambodian people, was small and dainty, the opposite of what I had imagined after seeing magnificent Southeast Asian films of Cambodian and Thai background. I would have thought of finding a stupa here, one of the most sacred monuments in Buddhism, but I didn’t see one at all (Peacestupa.org). Their temple consisted of a big traditional American living room but without the furniture, multiple and overlapping semi-ornate rugs invoking flower or lotus patterns and the prominent masterpiece of any Buddhist temple—a statue of Buddha—enthroned upon tiers and tiers of gifts, flowers and food, all housed under a small house-like shed of white tarp. Apparently, the temple is under major reconstruction and all donations and funds generated from the celebration were to be used for its reconstruction.

Yet despite the temple’s simplicity, it evoked respect and reverence. The Cambodians slipped off their shoes and slippers prior to entering, eating while facing towards the Buddha statue and quieting at the sermon of Buddha’s teachings. Besides the presence of the Buddha’s statue, the only other thing that garnered similar awe and respect were the traditional Cambodian dances, which were a sight to see.

The traditional Cambodian dances were spectacular in every way and as such, were in every Cambodian celebration, according to my friends and their numerous family members, whom I introduced myself to and inquired about the dances. The dances were a symbol of Cambodian tradition and pride, as they brought to life their folklore, reminding them of their native homeland of Cambodia, thousands and thousands of miles away from White Center. Their dances, based on their folklores, reminded them of lessons learned in the past by their ancestors, which they attributed to the current time.

One of the sermons of the host talked about how they disliked being familiarized to the Thai people, which, my friend added, to be called as one was considered an insult.  With the physical and linguistic similarities to the Thai and the Thai people's rise to fame in media, (with movies such as Chocolate and Ong Bak with actors like Tony Jaa and Yanin Jeeja Vismistananda), Cambodians were becoming stereotyped to be like them, as the host said in his sermon (without describing specific Thai actors/actresses and media). He said that nonetheless, they will "never be like the Thai", as they "have Angkor Wat", the most prominent symbol of Cambodia and their national pride, as displayed on their flag. (CIA Factbook on Cambodia)  It surprised me at how "hurt" they felt by being identified as and like the Thai--I didn't know it offended their nationalistic pride.

A painting of an apsara.  Courtesy of ksilks.com.

Coming back to the main topic on the celebration, one of the most widely pictured dancers in Cambodian dances were the apsara.  Apsaras are "celestial dancers" who grace the commonfolk with their elegant movements of highly arched hands and feet, and heavenly attire of silk white and golden crowns and adornments.  (Cambodia Travel Guide)

Here's a video of apsaras in a Cambodian dance.  Pay attention to their slow by graceful movements and how they use their body language.

When I watched the apsaras dancing at the celebration, I noticed how fixated everyone in the audience was at their performance.  No one moved. No one talked.  Everyone focused on them, perhaps captivated by their performance, especially the males, as I saw how less fixated some of the women in the audience were compared to the men.  And speaking of which...

I met two male Americans at the celebration, who taught me much about what they’ve learned about the Cambodian culture in the 3 hours I spent at the celebration, having experienced Cambodian culture firsthand with their Cambodian wives and families. The girls are taught to personify the traditional feminist qualities—grace, elegance, concern for beauty, nature, and spiritualism, such as fostering bonds in relationships and family. One of the dances performed at the celebration I went to was the Robam Phuong Neari, Cambodian for a dance of the beauty of flowers and maidens, which represented much of those qualities, especially in this dance.



The Cambodian women/girls, especially in dancing and in dances, were very powerful figures.  Like the others in the audience, I was mesmerized by their performance.  I just found it amazing at their captivation of the audience--I don't think I can accomplish the same, or even come close to it, if I were to dance like that.  That being said, I highly recommend attending a Cambodian New Year, or at least watching a traditional Cambodian dance!