American Asian

Common App Essay

This is a take at 17 on my racial identity. For more on understanding one’s ethnicity through the years, read American Asian from Seven Yrs Later.

            Amid the incomprehensible chatter and tangy aroma, I sit, silent. Smiling occasionally at unfamiliar passersby, I nibble on the edible mystery in my hands and wait for reason to move. As my mother welcomes another stranger from the past, she waves me over; as custom I approach, kiss the newcomer’s cheek, and ready myself for sure interrogation: “How old are you, are you enjoying your vacation, are you in college, and what do you want to be?” After minutes of ping-pong like conversation, the decide-all question is asked: “Do you understand or speak tagalog?” Feebly, I reply, “Sort of, well ... no.” As expected, the person turns towards mom, changing the topic with laughter and native tongue. I return to refuge on the couch, enveloped in a cloud of sticky air and anticlimax. It is another family reunion in the Philippines and I am at an unavoidable loss for words.

            Out of thirteen cousins, I have the only name that does not begin with a J. My mother’s grandmother gave birth to nine kids, who then raised their families with nominal themes covering the letters M, A, and J. When my father and my mother were expecting child, however, he persuaded her to disregard the practice. Instead they called me Nicole, a name more rebellious than it should be. Between the John’s, the James’, and the Joseph’s, I was branded to stand out and the differences did not end. I am a first-generation kid in the states and a Catholic only child with divorced parents; furthermore, not a devotee of Beyoncé, the American Amazon dream. With solely genetics to connect us, it gets difficult to mix with cousins near my age, leaving me to socialize with adults and toddlers. They are amiable enough, but I plainly do not relate to my relations. Despite that, I still recognize myself in the culture they live in.

            For good reason, the Philippines is an unconventional slice of Asia. Filipino life is a combination of Spanish familial and religious principles, Chinese societal standards, and American pop culture. The islands became independent in 1946, after centuries of being the colonial stepping-stone into the east. These countries have left impressions that linger on: Spanish passion for God and family, American addiction to talent and frothy fun, and Oriental respect and expectations. Though I do not hold identical values, I appreciate the constant melting pot of ideas, without reservation.

            This is what it means for me to be an Asian American. It is American to be different from those around me, but it is Asian to be part of something larger. Like the Philippines, my way of thinking will evolve, taking in parts from the fresh and varying experiences ahead. These will affect the infinite opportunities that I will try, and that I will accomplish. The cultural blend has shown me that I can lie in the grass instead of the branches of my family tree. As always, the grass feels good.