BANANA: YELLOW ON THE OUTSIDE, WHITE ON THE INSIDE
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‘You’re like a banana.’ she said. I looked up from my BBQ stick, its sauce clinging to the corners of my mouth. ‘A what?’ I asked. ‘A banana… yellow on the outside, white on the inside.’ she answered very carefully, as if I would take offence to it. I was confused, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it as I finished eating.
This was the first time I had been to the Philippines as an adult, and a friend I had met through a Harvard University program was showing me around. She took me to the Museum of Jose Rizal, to the University of Santo Tomas, the oldest campus in Asia, and then to my personal favourite: Intramuros, an Euro-architectural heaven smack bang in the middle of the always bustling Manila. We found an eatery on a small rooftop near campus, and I digged into my meal after what felt like months of not eating.
I was a tourist in the very same place my parents called home. Isn’t that bizarre? I’ve always been proud of my Filipino background. I love karaoke and almost every traditional dish my Mama makes for me - even the ones made from guts and blood. I can only understand basic Tagalog, and I can barely speak it, but I never hid that part of me. I mean, how could I? It was on my skin and in my nose and in my voice.
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And I know! I know there’s more to being Filipino than being able to belt Whitney Houston on the Magic Mic, but as I walked through those streets, and watched all these people rush past me, I made a startling realisation. I wasn’t Filipino. I mean, I looked the part, but I didn’t feel it. Being Filipino was such a big part of who I was, but thinking back, I was barely Pinoy at all. I felt like an imposter there, counting my pesos carefully as I paid for my food.
My parents did their best to keep every tradition alive, but in our family’s rush to fit into this new world, many things fell to the side. I was the first of my name to be born here, and I have no memory of the Philippines. Was my friend right? Am I a banana?
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As we enter a world more connected than ever, are we any less of one thing because of the environments we grew up in?
Before I break into a Pocahontas track, I came to terms with my cultural identity a long time ago. I am Filipino, and I am Australian, and my insides are just as much of a melting pot as my outsides are. I don’t have to be either - I can be both. I’ve taken my Filipino hospitality and blended it perfectly with my love for the Englsih written word, to become me.
Wear that banana peel with pride my fellow Asian-children-of-immigrants. We are a new generation of people reflective of the globalised world we live in.