cultural-heritage

On the last day of finals this past May, exhausted from all-nighters and seemingly never-ending review sessions, I forced myself to wake up early so I would be able to say bye to one of my good friends whom I knew I would not see all summer. I wasn’t headed to Wallach or John Jay—I was headed to Ferris.

Liga Filipina of Columbia University hosted its annual LASA: Taste of the Philippines event in the Diana Event Oval on April 13 as part of Asian Pacific American Heritage Month.

Here I am on my mat, draped in a forward fold, rising slightly to a half lift, flinging myself upwards for a back bend. Magnified by a microphone, the teacher asks us to “open a dialogue with your bodies” and “to practice self-forgiveness,” to exhale in a “shhhhh” and to inhale until we can’t inhale anymore. She tells us to thank ourselves for “making it to your mats today.” As always, I’m torn between the urge to roll my eyes and the urge to nod emphatically.

As the festivities of Latinx Heritage Month are approaching, I start to remember what it felt like growing up as a Latina in a non-Latinx environment. I was born in Queens, New York, but was raised in Raleigh, North Carolina. In the early 2000s, the Latinx population of Raleigh was minimal at best—the reason I speak Spanish at all is because my family spoke it at home. I remember waking up to salsa blasting throughout the house, knowing that my mother was up early cleaning, and that soon she would come rushing through my door to wake me up as well. I know many of us share these same memories of childhood whether or not we were surrounded by other Latinx families.

I tell Americans that I’m Australian. I say to Australians that I’m American. To everyone else, I introduce myself as Singaporean. The final identifier is usually followed up with my derisive grin and a glib, “Because I look just like what you’d picture a Singaporean to look like, right?” The implication being that, no, I don’t exactly embody the term “Singaporean” by ethnic and cultural definitions.

Growing up, my dad read a lot of comic books. He grew up in Cebu, a province of the Philippines, and went through comics like crazy. Now, as an adult, he can spend hours reading comic books in Barnes & Noble. He can navigate the DC and Marvel universes better than the grocery store by our house. I buy him superhero t-shirts every Christmas; in the summer, I reliably steal them back to wear as pajamas.

Discussions about heritage, dramatic displays, and dumplings kicked off Asian Pacific American Heritage Month Tuesday night, the dynamism reflecting this year's theme of "currents."