Growing up, I never really felt a strong affection toward my heritage. Society praised me for having white complexion and for a while, I thought myself superior over those who were darker than I. I strove hard to perfect the English language and with every sentence I constructed flawlessly, the people around me applauded and showered me with even more praise. I honestly thought that by striving to become as American-like as possible, I would be a cut above the rest; I would be a notch higher than the ordinary third world citizens that were my peers.

In high school, however, my sense of self had already begun to blossom and while I didn’t realize it yet, I had doubts with regard to the supposed inferiority of Filipinos as a race. I started appreciating the Filipino skin tone but try as I might (perhaps it’s karma), I can’t make my mayonnaise complexion warmer regardless of the number of hours I spend under the sun. Instead of the wonderful bronze everyone would get, I would turn lobster red and then back to my original pasty complexion. Then I started appreciating the Filipino culture. My fantasy of having a Hawaiian getaway was replaced by a longing to go island hopping in Palawan and see tarsiers in Bohol. I ate rice more heartily, loving every grain of subtle sweetness that is showered over my excited little tastebuds. I used the Filipino language more sparingly, I made an effort to improve my pronunciation, diction and sentence construction—although I am still in the process of perfecting my communication skills in Filipino. I became comfortable with the idea that I, no matter how white my complexion is, or how fluent I am in English, am a third-world citizen from an archipelago in South East Asia called the Philippines.

Now, I eat balut and isaw and all the other foodstuff that foreigners dread tasting, I curse in Filipino fluently and slowly but surely, I am learning to love all the aspects of being part of this heritage. I shop in Divisoria, give alms to countless street children and clutch my bag tightly while squeezing my way through throngs of people in Quiapo.

But along with my being comfortable with being Filipino, I am afraid that I am also getting used to the poverty and the chaos that is being linked to our race. I was looking out the bus window and I rarely noticed the level of social deprivation of the citizens. Mangy kids are but an ordinary sight to behold and charity and pity is often denied to them precisely because of them being a fixture in our everyday existence. When I looked around (and I mean really look around) as the bus started moving, I saw gray everywhere. Everything was scruffy and sad-looking, a bit desperate to tell you honestly. The buildings are old and dilapidated, the streets lined with barely standing shanties and makeshift houses, people bustle around looking tired and worn out—it’s hard to remain proud of a race which reeks of social inequity and poverty. The distressing fact is that there is so much change to be done and we are far, far behind schedule.

In the midst of all these, however, there is one thing that never fails to make me proud of our race. No matter how poor a family is, no matter how hard the times are, we never seem to lose hope. Hope that things will get better, hope that the new day will bring about more opportunities and blessings, hope that greener pastures will be available in out own homeland. Smiling, it seems, is the great Filipino hobby, along with singing and eating. Maybe we are immune to the devastation brought about by poverty, maybe we are just a bit crazy being so darn happy all the time but I’m glad that we are a happy race. Without our jovial nature, we would have been driven to commit mass suicide many years ago and the country would be a ghost country, save for a few elites, don’t you think?

So when things get a bit too much for a certain fair skinned, English speaking girl who can’t hold a tan, she does what Filipinos do best: Smile, hope and live life day to day (and maybe throw a bit of karaoke as well). Even if she can’t say nakakapagpabagabag without biting off her own tongue, she’s as Filipino as it gets.