An Inquisition of Identity

By Meggy Grosfeld

Collage by me

Only half of my ethnicity was embraced. Can you guess which half?

I went to a private high school on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. It was the stereotypical city kids wearing preppy uniforms nightmare. Not only did I go to high school there, but since it’s a K-12 school, I quite literally grew up there. I was always around the same people my entire life, whether that be students, teachers, or even the maintenance workers that roamed around the brownstone building on 77th Street. My school was small, having about 50 students per grade (when I told my college friends this, they were so shocked). It was also predominantly white. In my class, there were only a handful of people of color that were never acknowledged. Only half of my ethnicity was embraced. Can you guess which half? My Filipino ethnicity was disregarded or mocked by my peers which took a toll on my identity as I grew older, so as a teenager, I shamefully disregarded it too.

My classmates would see me as white, and because there was no fellow Filipino or let alone Asian students to relate to or build community with, I would see myself as just white too. Ethnicity, race, or heritage, was never a topic of conversation for my white friends, which looking back on it now, makes me realize how little they care about those important conversations. My school never prioritized holidays like Diwali or Kwanza and never paid mind to celebrating Black History Month, let alone AAPI Heritage Month. To say the least, anyone who wasn’t white wasn’t represented in any way, simply looked past.

A photo of me in high school:)

When will it stop?

There were many instances where my “friends” would poke fun at my appearance about me being biracial. I’ve heard it all before. I always had a more tan complexion than my white peers, despite me being half white, so the classic question of “what are you?” always came up, or the racist assumption that I was Mexican or Latina. They seemed to like that one the most, taunting me with these remarks, laughing as if it were hysterical or embarrassing to be Mexican. It is so damaging not only to my identity but also insensitive to those who resonate with Mexican or Latino identities. By grouping all these ethnicities into a single story, an erasure of race and culture is happening. I brushed the comments off every day, thinking once I get out of there, it will all stop.

"Luckily, I feel more grounded in my identity now, but who knows, if he said that to me farther back in my journey, I would’ve probably felt defeated."

The only pictures I took from the single-car garage rave

Why did I even go to this party?

I was wrong. Just a week ago, my friends and I went to a garage party. I’m not much of a going-out person, but my roommate wanted to go, so I didn’t want her going solo. I tagged along with some friends and when we got there, I simply wanted to leave in the first fifteen minutes; it was brutal. My social battery was dead, it smelled like feet, and it was a single-car garage (are you kidding me?). I wanted to leave the sweaty room of tacky strobe lights and bad music. At this point, my roommate was having so much fun and I didn’t want to be a bore, so I see a friend from my International Women Writer’s class. I’d be super interested in it because it focuses on women writers who weren’t just white and from the US. Also, the students in the class were always insightful and hyper-aware of the discourse around race, ethnicity, and culture across the globe. I approach the student lovingly because we’ve interacted in class many times before. The conversation went like this:

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“OH MY GOD!!! HI MY LATINA SISTER!” Obviously, he was drunk or something, but that introduction, as you could imagine, took me aback. I didn't even get a word out yet.

“Hi! Um, I’m actually not Latina, I’m half Filipino [insert my awkward laughter here].”

“Ok well…um hello, the Spanish Inquisition… it's close enough,” he said and proceeded to drape his arms around me for a drunken hug.

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I guess I haven’t heard it all before. I wish I could say I pushed him off me and dramatically stormed out, but I didn't. He proceeded to do this again at another party over Halloween weekend, but I chose to ignore it rather than cause a scene. I can't do any more than I already have because it's not my job to force people to acknowledge my identity as a Filipino. I have nothing to prove. I told my roommate about it and like all my friends, she was very supportive because she knows my constant struggle surrounding my identity. Microagressive comments like the one he made, along with several other things, take me back to the dark place of high school that made me want to bury myself in my whiteness. And clearly, he has no idea of my struggles, but his drunken words are inexcusable. I would like to think it came from a place of lightheartedness, but I can't lie, I've been thinking about it ever since it happened. Luckily, I feel more grounded in my identity now, but who knows, if he said that to me farther back in my journey, I would’ve probably felt defeated.