Am I a fraud?: A biracial struggle

Harlin D Souza (right) with her brother (left) as children. (Harlin D Souza/New Wave Zine)

My mom is Filipino, and my dad is Indian. This is a biological certainty. But having spent most of my life in Canada, I have always hesitated to say the words: “I am Filipino.” It feels uncomfortable on my tongue, like a lie. When I look in the mirror, I don’t see my mom’s facial features. I don’t hear her accent in my voice. It’s a disconnect I’ve felt for much of my life.  

I didn’t notice it until I went to the Philippines for Christmas in Grade Eight. It was the first time I had visited since I was a baby. Though I knew my mom grew up with nine siblings, I didn’t realize just how many relatives I had until 50 of us were gathered to celebrate. It was amazing to be a part of something so big. But then I noticed that of the 50 people present, only two of us didn’t know how to speak Tagalog–-my brother and I.

This was the first time I felt like I was not enough. I know that the word for brother in Tagalog is kuya, and for water, it’s tubig. But other than a few phrases, I don’t understand the language. When I try to speak it, it sounds wrong. Even though I don’t know much Hindi either, at least my skin tone more closely matches my dad’s. It’s a tangible quality that no one can deny. Although my mom’s blood runs through me, I can’t shake the feeling that every aspect of my behaviour and mannerisms tells me that I am not worthy of being Filipino.  

I’ve never been ridiculed for it, but even now, when someone says, “You look nothing like your mom” or “I forgot you are Filipino,” there’s a part of me that feels insecure. They are sentences I’ve heard all my life. I brush it off, but each time, it reminds me of the separation I sense from a part of myself I want to hold on to.  

It is possible this is a feeling that may never fully go away and the distance between my Filipino culture and I may always exist. But it is important to consider that culture is not simply about the perception of others. It is about what I choose to connect with. When I eat traditional Filipino dishes like adobo, pancit and sinigang, when my mom tells me stories about her childhood—even though ours are worlds apart and the way I try to be just as ambitious as she makes me feel closer to home when I intentionally seek to feel closer to home, inspired by her efforts.

As a biracial person, it can feel difficult balancing two cultures. But I’ve come to realize that embracing my identity is not about fitting into a mould. It’s about being secure in both of my cultures and recognizing that the colour of my skin does not determine my worth.