by Ashlee Monton
[Writer’s note: Once a year, an essay competition is held at CSUN, amongst Asian American Studies and Education majors, as part of an endowment set up by Prosy Abarquez-Delacruz for her deceased mother, Asuncion Castro Abarquez and her deceased sister, Rosalinda Abarquez Alcantara to provide a scholarship grant to deserving students. The essays are then reviewed and carefully vetted by a committee headed by Acting Dept. Chair Dr. Teresa Williams-Leon, Dr. Philip Hutchinson and myself as an honorary member this 2019. This year’s winning essay is from Ashlee Monton, entitled “From cultural absence to cultural presence: Why Asian American studies matter to me.”]
Upon moving to the United States from the Philippines in 2013, one of my favorite places to go to was Vons. I was fascinated by the stockpile of products in a single aisle. Never in my whole life had I ever seen so many varieties of sliced bread. It was not just the massive selection of bread that made me love Vons, but there was also this allure that came with buying American branded products.
Growing up in the Philippines, my grandmother, who moved to the United States in 2004, would send us “ balikbayan boxes” every few months or so. Meaning “box to send home,” a “ balikbayan box, ” is essentially a big package full of American goodies. Ours usually had Oreos, Honey Bunches of Oats Cereal, Nutella, and a generous amount of chocolates. We not only received food items, but we also received clothes and shoes. I remembered being so excited to wear my “imported” clothes, as we used to call them back home. These commodities were a status symbol — my status symbol, and in my Nike Air Force Ones and Abercrombie shirts, I derived my personal value. My parents were also massive American pop culture fans, so I was exposed to American shows, not Filipino shows. They listened to American music, so I listened to American music. There then became this sense of shame for consuming anything Filipino, like music, shows, literature, or delicacies. I was just simply, by default, conditioned to think that anything Filipino was not as good as American.
Despite my desire to frequent Vons at every opportunity, my parents would still constantly go to Seafood City and I couldn’t quite understand why. Why did they still feel the need to buy products from Seafood City when Vons literally had everything? It puzzled me. I did not want to admit it, but I was ruled by this thought of wanting to be more American, which meant leaving all of my Filipino heritage behind. When I would first meet people, I refrained from talking about where I came from. I did not want to be seen as a FOB. It was one of my most irrational fears upon moving here. FOB is an acronym for the term, “fresh off the boat,” generally used to describe immigrants who were quite literally, fresh off the boat from their country of origin. Usually used in a derogatory manner, being described as a FOB meant that you stuck out like a sore thumb in any setting — as if you had your country of origin’s flag tattooed on your forehead. I wanted so badly to be less Filipino as if that was even possible. It was this toxic belief that ate away my identity, which resulted in my hiding a part of myself.
The Philippines was occupied by the Spaniards for 333 years, the Americans for a few more, and the Japanese for a brief period. The hopefulness that came with our independence gradually faded over time, as is telling given the tumultuous, poverty-stricken state of our nation. For this reason, my life in the Philippines was driven by my parents’ promise of getting out and obtaining a better life. My parents ingrained this in me from the moment I was able to comprehend what anything meant. Moving to the U.S. was a given, and it was also due to the many relatives we have who were able to live better lives upon moving here. This type of conditioning that I experienced made me harbor this feeling of cynicism for living in the Philippines. It was like I was culturally absent because I never allowed myself to enjoy Filipino music, shows, movies, and literature. I was set on priming myself to be more American, which included paying more attention to news and current events in the U.S., and being more concerned about anything that had to do with American culture. I woke up every single day looking forward to leaving my home country, which fostered within me a colonial mentality. This is when one believes that the colonizer’s culture is much more superior than their own culture. As a result, they refuse to acknowledge, or take part in their own culture in an attempt to embody their colonizers. This type of thinking was something I grappled with my whole life, even more so when I moved to the United States. It was only until this semester, upon taking an Asian American Studies course, that I began to gain awareness of my own mentality contributing to the marginalization of my own people, and my own individual self.
Upon being introduced to Asian American Studies, I began to self-reflect. I started to hold myself accountable for my flawed perspective. Through my Asian American Studies course, I was introduced to the concept of Critical Race Theory, a key tenet of which is that race is a social construct, in a sense, a human invention. This means that race does not exist naturally; all the attributes that we have attached to being white, black, Asian, and in my case, Filipino, were a result of our own conceptions. Lately, I have only started to unpack the colonial mentality that I possess, and found that it is very prevalent among many Filipinos. I held so tightly to this racial identity that I wanted to have: to be more American, without even realizing that it simply does not exist. Race is a social construct, after all, and in the process of trying to suppress my Filipino heritage, I was feeding into the system that categorizes Filipinos in a derogatory way.
In “Brown Skin, White Minds,” author E.J.R. David explains that the colonial mentality among Filipinos has forced them to harbor a sense of self-hatred that has affected not just their individual perception, but the way they perceived all Filipinos. I started to realize that I was not only marginalizing my own group, but I was also taking part in that victimization. My curiosity for my own toxic behavior would have never arisen if not for my interest in Asian American Studies. It is through these courses that I’ve finally found in myself a sense of responsibility and identity. I started to be more open to talking about my heritage. As a Political Science major, I then found myself including Filipino culture in political thought pieces, essays, presentations, and other class projects. I’ve also just noticed that I have been the only Filipina in the majority of my classes, which motivated my wanting to include a Filipino voice even more. The voice that I suppressed for so long is finally taking flight.
Taking Asian American Studies has helped me acquire a unique lens and perspective on many social issues that I otherwise would not even acknowledge. I’ve begun to critically think about inclusiveness and how that affects an individual’s self-perception. Most classes I have taken simply generalized Asian Americans into one group, and it made me feel invisible. This made it harder for me to actually want to recognize my heritage. It also did not help that in the academic spaces that I have been in, Filipinos were largely invisible in terms of the readings and material. I realized that, for most of my life, I’ve been contributing to the invisibility of my people, and especially, of myself, by being culturally absent, and synonymously, having a distaste for my own heritage. It was through Asian American Studies that I have had the chance to reclaim my identity, one that was always present in me, but never acknowledged.
Looking back now, I do not blame myself for thinking how I used to think, nor do I resent my parents for raising me the way that they did. I realize that there are plenty of other Filipinos who are exactly like the person I was before, and it is my hope that they can find themselves. For me, I found myself in Asian American Studies. No longer did I feel the need to hide the three stars and the sun on my forehead or to question my parents’ choice in frequenting Seafood City rather than Vons. Asian American Studies made me come back to my roots, and helped me realize who I truly was, and be proud of it. As I go further into my education and my journey to graduate school, I am making it my personal mission to make space for Filipinos in every social, political, economic aspect in this society.
This is my way of making up for all those years of being culturally absent — by being culturally present in the most utterly obnoxious way possible. This is me giving back to my people, and giving back to Asian American Studies for leading me back home.
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Prosy Abarquez-Delacruz, J.D. writes a weekly column for Asian Journal, called “Rhizomes.” She has been writing for AJ Press for 10 years. She also contributes to Balikbayan Magazine. Her training and experiences are in science, food technology, law and community volunteerism for 4 decades. She holds a B.S. degree from the University of the Philippines, a law degree from Whittier College School of Law in California and a certificate on 21st Century Leadership from Harvard’s Kennedy School of Government. She has been a participant in NVM Writing Workshops taught by Prof. Peter Bacho for 4 years and Prof. Russell Leong. She has travelled to France, Holland, Belgium, Japan, Costa Rica, Mexico and over 22 national parks in the US, in her pursuit of love for nature and the arts.
