“I’ve got sun in my m—king pocket, best believe
yeah, you know me, I
forgive and I forget, I know my age and I act like it,
got what you can’t resist,
I’m a perfect All-American.”
Olivia Rodrigo, “all-american b—ch”, 2023
Two years ago, my friends at the time were reading I Am Not Your Perfect Mexican Daughter by Erika L. Sánchez for sophomore year honors English. The book resonated with a lot of them and explored a lot of topics that had otherwise never really been welcomed into an English class curriculum.
Filipino American History Month was first federally observed in 2009, when I was just three years old, from October 1st through October 31st. Hispanic Heritage Week was expanded to Hispanic Heritage Month, from September 15th to October 15th, in 1988.
In many ways, Filipinos and Hispanic Latin Americans (those from countries in the Americas formerly colonized by Spain) share a number of parallels in their cultural, linguistic, and historical connections. Both groups come from rich, diverse indigenous nations, were colonized by the Spanish, and have since found themselves within the U.S.'s sphere of influence. While the experiences of these communities are uniquely distinct, it feels meaningful that our month-long American celebrations of culture and history overlap to further reflect our intertwined histories and shared struggles.
So when I cracked open the text of I Am Not Your Perfect Mexican Daughter to find, not only traces of my friends’ own experiences with struggling to live up to the expectations of both their traditional families and those of American society, but traces of my own experiences as the first American-born Filipino son on both sides of my immediate family… I wasn’t too surprised.
I could keep going about how Filipinos are often (incorrectly) minimized into being the “Latin Asians” or the “Chinese Mexicans”, both statements that have often been said to me when I talk about being Filipino, but I wanted to talk about me and my own experiences, inspired by how Sánchez told the story of Julia. And in that same way, I hope I can inspire other first-gen Filipino American young people to share their experiences.
I don’t want to be a nurse — but that doesn’t mean I don’t value stability or don’t think of my family.
We’ve all heard the stereotype that all Filipinos are or want to be nurses. While based on the fact that many Filipino diaspora are nurses, it’s simply not true. Filipinos can be whatever they want to be, just as much as anyone else can. And I choose to follow my passion for storytelling.
But it was very hard for me to admit that to my extended family.
“How will you support a family?”, “Kaya mo bang pasukin ang industriya na yan?” (Can you/Do you have what it takes to get into that industry?), “Why don’t you just become an architect or go into marketing, I know you like that!”, and even subliminal messages like “Oh your brother is so good for going into nursing with your mom!” — those are all statements I’ve had to deal with for the last three years.
I was thankfully raised by a very supportive mother that always reminded me that the reason she came to America was so that my older brother and I didn’t have to become nurses to have good lives.
But not all of society, as I’ve come to discover, thinks like my Ma.
But that won’t stop me from telling stories through writing.
You’re either with me for the ride or you’re not. And that’s okay.
“You’re too pale, are you sure you’re Filipino?” — Okay, but if I get darker then I won’t fit the beauty standards back home?
Colorism. Both Filipino and Hispanic Latin American communities carry the weight of a colonialism legacy that instilled a preference for lighter skin—a challenge I’ve grappled with firsthand.
This point is a little self-explanatory, but my whole life, I’ve dealt with not being dark enough for some people’s expectations of what a Filipino should look like. I’ve been taken for Viet, Korean, or (surprisingly) White American more than I’ve been assumed to be Filipino.
But if I get darker from being out during the spring, summer, and autumn, I get panicked comments from relatives saying things like, “Ay ‘nako! (Oh child/Oh goodness), you’re getting too dark.” So am I supposed to be lighter or darker?
Also how do you deal with tan lines?
But for real, colorism and preference for one shade over another is insane. We’re all beautiful, regardless of color.
And you know what, screw the Spanish standards for making little nine year-old Vien think about how he should cover up and stay out of the sun.
Beauty standards and expectations are all things we just have to live with, but I hope that you don’t let it define you.
Now the older Vien embraces being kissed by the sun whenever he can. Just the way it should be.
I don’t particularly like EDM or rave music — that doesn’t make me any less Filipino American (nor does it mean I don’t like to party hard).
I grew up in rural and suburban Stanislaus County, California. It’s a far cry to our neighbors of Santa Clara or Alameda when it comes to partying and even further when it comes to raving.
Our county is at most 10% Asian American (including Asian Americans of mixed heritage). Because of those factors, we aren’t as closely connected to the lifestyles of the ABBs, ABGs, Kevin Nguyens, or all the other stereotypes popularized in SoCal and the Bay Area.
I, like many other Filipino kids of my age, grew up with songs from the 70s to the 2000s. I love my Sarah Geronimo ballads, my Eraserheads rock anthems, my Carpenters karaoke songs, and all the MJ, Beatles, and ABBA you can find.
But that doesn’t mean that I don’t vibe with NIKI, SZA, H.E.R., or thủy. Nor does it mean I can’t sing along to a Selena or Kali Uchis Song.
And that doesn’t mean I only listen to K-Pop and can’t appreciate the classical and jazz influences that I grew up with that influence some of our biggest artists (like Laufey).
If there’s anything I want you to take away from this part, it’s that you shouldn’t have to live up to these or any expectations to be someone you are.
I love to party and party hard, but that doesn’t mean I’m listening to Keshi or Illenium on my commute to school. I love to dance but that doesn’t make me any less masculine than I am. I love being Filipino but that doesn’t mean I’m any less freedom-loving all-American than the next person.
“That’s too gay.” or “Parang babae. (Like a girl.)” — but I’m still a guy, who are you to define me?
And the biggest point of exigence behind this piece. (Write that down if you’re analyzing this in your English classes!)
Touching back on music, I started this piece out with “all-american b—ch” by Olivia Rodrigo. While writing this, I was listening to the sweet tunes of Lyn Lapid, grentperez, and Rocco. But one artist really got me thinking about this: Mad Tsai, someone who’s championed the way for those right in the middle.
My whole life, I’ve never been perceived as an ideal of effeminacy or masculinity. I’ve always presented myself and identified as a boy but always got along easily with girls. I don’t wear dresses or heels. But monster trucks never got me going either.
And people don’t know it, because they don’t know me, but I love working out and being active. But I’m also very emotionally aware and open to others.
People say I’m the type of guy they’d bring home… but is it to meet their parents?
And that brings me back to the subheading. “That’s too gay.”
So what? You’re being entertained by people like Vice Ganda or Bretman Rock but you won’t support that they just happen to like men?
On romantics… Why do we feel like we have to label everything?
And why must we judge?
If I told you that in the past three years, I’ve come to accept who I am as a person who can and has loved people of both different and similar sexes, does that invalidate that I am a Filipino, Catholic, high-achieving, creative, passionate, party-loving, son of God? Does my ability to love threaten you and your expectations?
Does that mean I act the “American” way that you tell us not to act like?
If acting “American” means that I get to love and care for the world as my Lord taught me to, it’s time to glue the blue passport to my back.
I am not your perfect Filipino son.
But I am still Filipino. I am still your son. And I am still Vien.
I hope you, too, can break expectations and find love within yourself and from others.
Editors: Luna Y., Blenda Y.
Image: Unsplash