Dear Sister, 

Last week at the dinner table, Mom asked me, “I asked your sister this already, but what words do you know in Tagalog?” I paused for a second and racked my brain for everything I picked up from the years of listening to the language. The only words I was able to remember were common words and phrases like “kain na,” “aso,” and “magandang gabi,” but I couldn’t remember how to say good morning or good afternoon. And what good is it to only count to dalawa, when I couldn’t even remember the word for the number one? Dissatisfaction washed over me, but Mom, Lola, and Tita Edith were surprised and proud of how much I knew. I remember Mom commenting, “Good job! You remembered even more than your sister.” I smiled at her, but why is my broken Tagalog something to congratulate? I am “better” at Tagalog than you, but as your ate, I didn’t even know how to call you my ineng. 

I used to blame our parents for my lack of understanding and for not exposing us enough to the language, but we both know that’s not correct. I am the one to blame. We grew up with Lola speaking to Mom or having the titas, titos, ninangs, and ninongs address us in Tagalog while we stared at them blankly. That’s not a lack of exposure; that’s a lack of understanding. We did not only lack the ability to translate the language, but we did not understand the implications of this disconnection. We live in a bilingual household, but we don’t understand the second language. But I’m a second-generation American. That’s normal and expected. 

  Despite the language barriers, we still show respect to family in how we address them, but even with the limited Tagalog I do speak, in school, I still translate the words I actively use at home. It is so natural for me to correct myself. Ever since Brookside, I instinctively translated how I referred to family members. I would go to school and say, “my grandma lives with me” or “my aunt is staying with us from the Philippines.” It is not until I go home that I would speak to Lola and Tita Edith.

  I asked Tita Edith why Filipinos choose to come to America, and her response in her broken English was one word: equality. Out of all reasons –education, family, work– equality is the word she chose. Millions of immigrants have come to America in search of this very thing, but who’s to say that this holds true? Currently in 8th-grade history class, you are taught that the founding fathers believed in making everyone equal, but in response, I ask this: to what extent? As I sit in US History class, I learn the clauses of citizenship and the necessity “to be white,” as stated in the Fourteenth Amendment. Yes, this has long been gone, and either way, we are both born in America, but this does not stop Asian Americans from doing their best to blend in and “be white.” How is it equality if you still need to put effort to be equal? 

Of course, no one forced me to block out the language, and no one told Asian Americans to try to fit in. Why should I put the effort into becoming American if I’ve lived here my whole life? I could easily say the word “Lola” at home, but every time I try in school, it refuses to leave my mouth. But I am American, and this is how I’m supposed to act with other Americans. My friends don’t speak another language, so why should I? America has not told me that I am prohibited from speaking Tagalog, but society has told me not to be different. 

  We don’t need to prove our “Americanness,” but I’m not sure if you remember or truly understood what was going on, but a couple of years ago, I realized that we might not truly belong here. We were walking on the sidewalk next to Five Below when this realization took place. I remember buying some candy from Five Below with you and Mom and then walking outside. I remember a white woman rolling down her window. I remember a big car driving passed us. I remember the woman yelling, “go back to your country!” I remember Mom grabbing us and telling us to keep walking and look straight. I don’t remember every detail of the incident, like the type of car, time of day, exact month or year, even, but I can distinctly remember the look of shock on Mom’s face as we continued our errands as if nothing happened. I don’t think Mom even knows the impact this had on me, but I think of this incident often.  You never truly question if you belong until someone explicitly screams it in your face. Why would an American ever question their place in America?

I’m not even sure what country that woman was referring to, but I do know that country is not here. But she is wrong. We and our parents have been here our whole lives. How do we not belong here? Asian Americans have done their best to blend into American society, but regardless of our efforts, in the eyes of America, we will never truly be American. As I reflect on this event, even though that was the first time I was told I don’t belong, and I have never purposely tried to “fit in,” my Tagalog is my subconscious efforts I was taught by my peers. 

  America may never fully accept us, but don’t forget our pride when we saw the first Asian Miss USA we’ve seen in our lifetimes. The first Filipino Miss USA. I remember your excitement as she was awarded the Miss Universe crown. Never forget that feeling. R'Bonney Gabriel is a first step to our acceptance in America, but let’s not stop there. Let’s continue to yell “Mabuhay!” without us really understanding what it means. Continue to smile any time we see a Filipino person in a TV show. Laugh while I belt out “Akin Ka Na Lang” while having no idea what I’m singing. Like Miss Universe, we can be both Filipino and American, ineng, and we don’t need to try to be either, that is just who we are. 

Nagmamahal,

Ate Alana

(Turned in on February 13, 2023)