When I am asked, “What are you?,” I feel like I’m in a state of confusion, feeling more than on one hand, less than on the other hand, and never equal to. I’ve never felt 50/50, and it’s hard for me to admit it. When I get asked this, I can easily say I’m half Filipina and half white. And yet, it feels easier to state my races than find identity in either one. Even writing this feels foreign to me.
As a biracial person, I’m struggling with my identity. My identity as a Filipina-American feels weakened because of my physical appearance with my whiter skin tone and ambiguous facial features, along with not being fully surrounded by the culture.
My name is Alexandra Holsclaw and I was born in Charleston, West Virginia, the same as my dad. My mom was born in Catanauan, Philippines, and was the third of six children, making her the middle child with four brothers and one sister. When she was a kid, her mother and father left the family for two to three years to travel to America to establish residency. During that time, her grandmother took care of all of the children. When she was 8 years old, my mom and her family moved to Sylvester, West Virginia.
Growing up, I’d often get confused for other races based on my physical appearance with some people thinking I’m fully white, some thinking I’m half Mexican and some saying I look mixed, of which races, they are unsure. Looking in the mirror, I can’t tell who I am either.
Many people experience an identity crisis, where they question their sense of self or identity. I know this feeling all too well. This crisis is happening to me, and it has brought on a feeling of uncertainty and confusion about who I am. While some may have a strong grasp of their identity, others find it quite puzzling to make sense of their true selves.
Identity has two definitions: “the fact of being who or what a person or thing is” and “a close similarity or affinity”. Some characteristics of identity include gender, age, race, ethnicity, culture, sexual orientation, religious beliefs, personality traits, physical attributes, interests and values. I have many different identities, such as being a 21-year-old heterosexual female who owns a small business, values kindness, and likes to read and thrift. Yet, when I get to my racial identity, I pause. I can simply say I’m half Filipina and half white, but I feel like a fraud when I say it. It’s like imposter syndrome, where I don’t feel like I fully deserve it. I view full Filipinos as being more deserving, similar to when you feel like an imposter at a new job and feel intimidated by the people who have more experience than you. I’m sort of coming to the conclusion that I want to seek approval from the “higher ups” a.k.a. “full Filipinos”.
Many biracial and multiracial individuals go through an identity crisis, where they may feel like they don’t belong to a certain race(s) and feel like a “fake”, which is referred to as racial imposter syndrome (RIS). Identity crises are becoming more prevalent today as gender dysphoria, racial imposter syndrome, ego-dystonic sexual orientation and more come at odds with what we identify as.
The multiracial population is exponentially increasing in the United States. From 2010 to 2020, the number of multiracial people rose from 9 million to 33.8 million, which is a remarkable 276% increase in just 10 years, according to the U.S. Census Bureau. The U.S. is becoming more diverse every year, and I’m here for it. With this number increasing every year, more and more multiracial people may feel at a loss at some point in their lives with juggling multiple racial identities.
According to JAMA Network, imposter syndrome is defined as “a pattern of behavior wherein people doubt their abilities and have a persistent fear of being exposed as a fraud.” For many individuals that come from multiple racial backgrounds, their sense of racial identity can be especially confusing and ultimately makes them feel like an “imposter”. They may feel like they don’t know where they belong, whether it’s because they don’t look like their race or have enough experiences of their culture. It’s feeling disconnected from the communities they’re supposed to belong to, something I can relate to all too well.
Navigating mixed racial identities is tough. On one hand, I feel like I’m more white than Filipina, mainly because of where and how I was raised and the environment I was in. On the other hand, I don’t feel like I fully fit into being just white. It’s an internal conflict – a self-identity crisis, even. Sometimes I think to myself, “Oh, you’re too white” or “You’re only half Asian, you’re not Asian enough to label yourself as one.”
It feels like a glass both half full and half empty situation. I’ve lived in Charleston my whole life. It’s home to me, and yet, I still feel like I’m missing the other half of me. The majority of people I’ve been surrounded by are white. West Virginia is a state made up of predominantly white people. According to the U.S. Census Bureau, around 93% of West Virginians are white and only 2% are two or more races. I’ve had trouble finding others similar to me and the research shows I’m not alone. There aren’t many Asian Americans where I’m from, and even among the few, I can only count a handful of people I know that are Filipino. If I ever do meet a Filipino person around, which is rare, I always get a sense of excitement and pride.
Growing up in West Virginia only furthered this identity crisis, especially with the diversity being close to nonexistent. Growing up and even to this day, the majority of my family, friends, school peers and coworkers have been predominantly white. I haven’t been surrounded by many Asian Americans. I haven’t experienced being a part of a community that celebrates Filipino culture. I think to myself and wonder if things would be different if I had been raised in a more diverse city.
Whenever I’d visit my mom’s side of the family in California, the other half of me is fulfilled. I’m completely surrounded by Filipino people, food and culture. Yet, even when I’m surrounded by my other half, I feel like I don’t fully belong. I don’t know the language, Tagalog, traditions or customs. I grew up being geographically closer to my dad’s side of the family, and my mom’s side of the family was spread out across the U.S. with the majority in California, Texas and my grandmother in the Philippines. The only times I feel in touch with my Filipina side are when my mom makes delicious traditional food, when we visit my mom’s family on our vacations or when we speak a few Tagalog words now and then, such as ‘lola’ for ‘grandmother’ and ‘tita’ for ‘aunt’.
My favorite trip was to Los Angeles, California, where I attended my mom’s cousin’s wedding. Not only was it the first wedding I’d ever been to, but it was my first Filipino wedding. All around me were Filipino people, food and overall culture. I even learned about a Filipino wedding tradition called the “money dance” where guests line up to pin money on the couple and dance with them. I was completely mesmerized by how grand the whole experience was, but especially to have been around the people that were part of the other half of me.
I lived for these trips to see my mom’s side of the family, especially because I didn’t get to see them that often. Growing up, being around my Filipino relatives, even if it was for a short amount of time, made my Filipina side feel valid. Waking up to a full house of my family all laughing, and having a good time eating some of my favorite dishes being cooked, such as longganisa, chicken adobo or sinigang, makes my heart full. Even if everyone at the house wasn’t directly related, if they were Filipino, then they were basically considered family. Sometimes I would even pick up on random things here and there that are characterized to be understood if you grew up in a Filipino household, including sitting with one leg on the chair to rest your arm on while your eating, swearing by the walis tambo to be the holy broom and greeting grandparents with a blessing by holding their hand and raising it to your forehead.
Feeling like an outcast between different cultures is quite universal to many multi-racial or multi-cultural people. I especially feel even more secluded living in Appalachia, and I know I’m not the only one. I’ve met others who are experiencing this same internal struggle with our racial identity and I find great comfort in knowing that my feelings are quite normal and that I’m not alone. Take it from Brogan Dozier, a sophomore college student who is half African American and half Italian.
Dozier was raised in Jefferson County, West Virginia, where she was one of the only mixed students in any of her classes. While her parents did a good job at making sure she understood where their family came from and making her feel connected to both cultures, she still had a hard time grasping both sides of her racial identity. And her peers didn’t help. In middle school, she recalls first hearing racist comments about her identity. Peers would say, “Oh, you speak really white, you’re not a real Black girl” or “How white are you?” along with asking what percentage of her race she is. This is when she started asking herself, “Do I need to pick a side?”
“For a long time I didn’t feel like I fit in on either side of my family, but my parents did a great job at helping me find my way,” Dozier said. “When you are biracial, you can identify and learn as much about either culture as you can, but there’s always that little naggy feeling that you don’t quite fit in with either side.”
But, racial imposter syndrome doesn’t only apply to biracial people. Monoracial people, or people of one race, can also know the struggles with self-identity and racial imposter syndrome.
Faraz Shere, a 21-year-old senior college student, grew up with his Indian father and Pakistani mother in Charleston. Raised as a Muslim, he was immersed in his culture as he attended Sunday school every week at his local mosque, celebrated Muslim holidays and ate traditional Desi food. However, Shere struggles with his identity as a brown person living in America. He was always told growing up that because he didn’t learn his parents’ language early on, he wasn’t a true “brown” person and that he was just a white boy. Friends would make jokes and nicknames about him being brown.
“Living in America is different,” Shere said. “I feel like I’m not fully American or fully Asian. It’s tough for me to feel fully American because I have brown skin and the people I grew up with always reminded me of that. On top of that, being Americanized felt like it hurt my identity as a brown person.”
Now, don’t get me wrong. There are still many positives of being biracial or multiracial. Hear it from Dozier. She goes on to describe how she was lucky enough to learn things like the Feast of Seven Fishes from her dad, learn about her great-grandfather immigrating through Ellis Island from Sicily and immerse herself in Italian culture. With her mom, she was able to learn a lot more about her family, their lives here in America and how it traces everything back. “You don’t get that when you’re just one race. I really got to be immersed in multiple cultures. I think that’s a beautiful thing because you get to learn more, you’re not just learning about one culture,” Dozier said.
For Shere, it’s given him an identity to be proud of. His father immigrated from India alone when he was 23 years old, leaving his family, friends and everything he ever knew to have a better life in America. Shere said, “It has given me a whole new perspective on life and how blessed I am to have the life I have.”
Am I a fake for not feeling as much pride for my Filipina side? I long to feel like I truly am Filipina without feeling like a fake or fraud. I don’t look the part, and I don’t speak the part, but I am Filipina. I want to be more in touch with this side that I have not fully discovered. A side that I know will make me feel more whole. Talking about this experience is so personal to me, it almost makes me feel vulnerable, but I know it’s for the better. I used to think that I didn’t deserve to voice these struggles, and I’d label them as “less than,” but I’ve come to realize that what I’m feeling and thinking is valid. Although it will be a difficult journey, it’s one I need to take. I’m in the middle of overcoming this self-doubt that has stemmed from feeling like an imposter. I’m proud to be different. I’m coming to terms with the fact that there is no one “right” way. There’s no “right” way to be Filipina or white. I’m just me. I’d say that’s pretty good enough.
