This is me and Tessa, after the Rose Parade in college. Tessa was my first Filipino friend who was not in my immediate family. I grew up as the .6% or so Asian or Pacific Islander in 90+% white Cobb County, just outside of Atlanta, Georgia. Like many newbies to Atlanta, my parents moved for work, in our case my Dad’s job with Xerox in 1979. Growing up, we were the only Filipinos in our schools and church. Being Filipino was something that really only mattered at home, when we’d listen to our Dad show off his Tagalog, cook mom’s favorite dishes (lumpia and pancit!) or when we visited our family in Virginia. Being Filipino never came up at school, with the exception of the occasional book report where we picked a country to research.
I was asked, too many times to count, by other kids in school where I was “born.” I never knew how to answer this, but was pretty uncomfortable with the question because I was pretty sure we weren’t all going around the room trying to see if we were all born in the same hospital. “Florida.” I would answer, sheepishly, knowing that wasn’t the real question they wanted to ask or the answer they were hoping for.
Sometimes I left it at that, watching their discomfort, but if I felt bad, I’d add,”but my parents were born in the Philippines.” No response generally followed, or additional questions. Had they asked, I might have told them the Philippines are an archipelago of over 1000 islands in the Pacific Ocean south of Japan. That the number of languages numbers almost the number of islands, as historically individual dialects developed on each island.
We stood out, for sure- the five Sinon kids. Chris was the oldest and was student body president. Cliff played in the band with me and always kept a look out for me. Matt and Jon were both younger so I’m not quite sure what they were known for, but they were NOT in band, as being baby brother to 2 band siblings meant way too many band concerts and contests. “You must be a Sinon,” older kids and teachers would say. People at the grocery store. “You look EXACTLY like your brother,” they would say. “Great, we have the same parents,” I would sometimes say, wondering if they knew they had just said the absolute worst thing you could say to a teenage girl.
Tessa was the first one to teach me about being Asian. Her family was from the West Chicago suburbs, and she went to a Catholic High School. Tessa knew lots of Filipinos. She was in the campus Filipino Student Association. We met in marching band but otherwise didn’t have any classes together. When Filipinos meet, they are proud to recognize you. “I thought so!” a stranger might say who’s just asked you if you are Filipino. Then they ask you lots of questions, like were you born here or there, do you speak the language, if so is it Tagalog (the primary dialect) or maybe Illocano, another predominant one. Have you been back and if so how often, what are your favorite foods? It goes on an on.
Fast forward 25+ years, and I’ve made my life in a field where I am very much in the minority. Whether it is as an Asian, as a woman, or someone 5’2” or less, I’ve joined all the typical things you do to be successful, go to a good school, get good grades, repeat. By being in the room at places like the Midwest Clinic, I’ve learned to listening with ears wide open, and I’ve worked hard to achieve the level of status that would earn me a job in academia. I’ve had great teachers and mentors who continue to help me grow. But I’ve done most of this from the periphery, trying to fit in, work hard, work harder to be the best I can be for whoever I have a chance to serve.
When Jason, Vu, Viet and I threw around the idea of a session at the Midwest Clinic, it was 2019 and we had no idea what was to come in the Asian community starting in 2020. Asians and Pacific Islanders are the largest growing racial and ethnic group in the U.S. Our average age is 34, so there’s a lot of young people here. And the COVID-19 pandemic has hit our community hard. Acts of hate against Asians has reached unprecedented levels, in part due to a virus that originated in China and has been blamed on Asians, or made us more visible. When several Asian women were murdered in Atlanta in March 2020 it hurt monumentally to have our community targeted in this way. Three of my four brothers are married to or dating Asian women, and these women and the large and diverse Asian community in Atlanta is part of our family. Asian businesses are where many of my brothers have worked for the past 20 years in restaurants, sales and in finance.
As members of the “model minority,” (a term used to denigrate Asians as better than blacks) I’ve found that Jason, Vu, Viet, Jennifer and Cait have all had similar experiences to me. Not sure where to “put” our Asian identity, often mistaken for someone not “from” here, where ever that is where we happen to be. But see, back “home,” or with our families, we are unmistakably American. Our skin color is different, our accents are awkward. We live in this space between worlds.
So all of this is to mark the occasion of our session for the Midwest Clinic, “Beyond the Token: Asian Perspective ms in Wind Music,” where we will talk about our experiences, our music making and what lies ahead for us if we choose to stand together and not blend in; to not stay silent. I feel incredibly lucky to have made friends with these panelists through this opportunity and am thankful to them for their bravery, creativity, and willingness to try something new.
For those of you in Chicago, we’ll be in W176 from 5:30-6:30 Wednesday the 15th.
