The Journey of Embracing Cultural Identity - Through the Eyes of an Undercover Minority

by Sofia Brickner

“You’re half and half,” she said. “Just like a creamer!”

Half and half. Two halves of a whole. American Asian. Amerasian. Coffee creamer, if you will: what my mother called me playfully. I’m made up of my mother’s resilience and my father’s perseverance. Internally, I embody my mother’s culture while I physically favor my father’s skin color. I am half Filipina and half Caucasian. Despite my Asian heritage, I am frequently presumed to be Caucasian due to the fairness of my skin (although with a tan in the summer, I am considered otherwise). As someone who is half Filipina with what many would call white-passing looks, I struggled to fully embrace and understand my cultural identity during my childhood. I was, although I hate to admit it, ignorant of the culture I am now proud of. Even so, ever since I was little, my mom always instructed me to be proud of being half-Filipina.

Growing up in a school community seriously lacking in diversity—the main component of the racial demographic being white—I found it embarrassingly easier not to mention my Filipino side or talk about it around my Caucasian friends in order for me to “fit in” more. Having to explain why I call my aunt and uncle Tito and Tita, and Grandma and Grandpa Lola and Lola on my mom’s side of the family felt uncomfortable and awkward to talk about. I know now that respect for elders is a huge aspect of Filipino culture, but at the time I didn’t fully understand that. I really regret not embracing my Filipino side when I was younger, and I wish I had felt more confident in my cultural identity. 

Throughout my childhood, it felt as if people at my school were playing a guessing game with my race. I often felt my biraciality was something people found difficult to wrap their heads around—something extraordinary. Especially at a young age, my peers saying, “You don’t look Asian” and my mom affectionately saying “Just tell them your mom’s brown,” made me feel conflicted about my identity. The assumptions of people trying to guess my ethnicity made me feel out of place—I was a puzzle being critiqued for the interlocking of its pieces. I felt tethered between my appearance and self, having no choice other than to voice the half of the identity no one could see on the surface. I didn’t want to do it in the way of just simply “proving” my Asian heritage because someone didn’t believe me, but rather in the way of voicing my pride for my Filipino side because I feel it is my responsibility to do so. My Filipino side may be invisible to many, but my looks don’t define me and my upbringing.

My cultural identity is not a perplexing jigsaw made for you to comment on the presentation of the pieces—Who are you to question the puzzle maker?

After I graduated, from what the locals call the “Wexford Bubble” of a school community and moved to college—it was eye-opening for me to experience such an inclusive community compared to the one I spent years growing up in. I finally felt like I belonged on campus; I was suddenly surrounded by others from many different backgrounds. My biraciality was no longer seen as something out of the ordinary.

“I never want to ride the subway again.”

Although I was born favoring my father’s fair skin, I sometimes wonder what life would be like if I had been born resembling my mother. Simply because I favor the caucasian features of my dad, I feel that I’ve dodged the bullet of the distressing, ever-present anti-Asian and anti-Asian American hate crimes. Yet I still feel fear, grief, and guilt for wondering if my feelings are justified by having white-passing privilege while being Asian American. The guilt of feeling scared for my mother while I myself will never be able to live vicariously through her and ever feel the amount of terror she feels. 

Are only 50% of my emotions acceptable?

Looking at Olivia Rodrigo in her prime today, I see her as an inspiration not only for her talent and success in her singing career but also because I can relate to her culturally. As she is also Asian American—half Filipina, and half Caucasian—I feel proud that she is open about her family heritage and ethnic background to the public. However, there has been an ongoing debate if Olivia is perceived as white-passing or not, to which there is no definite answer. One thing is certain, although she may have some privileges other Asian artists don’t, due to her being half-white, that doesn’t eliminate the Filipino half of her identity.

I still struggle with identity issues with being biracial, but I have come to terms with the fact that my physical appearance is not equivalent to an absence or diminishment of the culture that has been instilled within me ever since I was little. I can confidently say that both sides of my heritage combined have shaped my upbringing and made me the person I am today. By speaking out on my experiences and understanding what it means to have white-passing privilege while still fully embracing my Filipino culture I hope I can serve as a reminder for others to fully embrace their culture and who they are. Coming to terms with understanding my own cultural identity has been a journey from childhood to adulthood, but one that I’ve learned to embrace wholeheartedly.

Edited Sydney Williams and Kate Castello