Being Culturally Malnourished

"Don't speak to me in straight Hindi," I said to the French guy, laughing.

In retrospect, I realize that was a dumb thing to do, probably because I felt dumb afterwards.

I was at a despedida for a French guy from work, and I overheard another French guy talking to what I assume was an American girl about his travels in India.

"Say something in Hindi," she said to him. Naturally, being half-Indian, I felt the need to assert myself, and inserted myself into their conversation, until I realized he spoke more Hindi than me.

Later on, I was chatting with a French woman, who was telling me all about her travels to Palawan. "Beautiful place, and wonderful people," she told me. Grasping in the air for a relatable hook, I told her how my sister had been there and told me it was a paradise, and not crawling with tourists and yuppies. Of course, I myself had never been there.

Later, she told me how some of them were going to Puerto Galera for the New Year's. "You're welcome to join," she said. But the idea of being the only Asian amongst a bunch of white people, not all of whom are as sociable as this particular lady, wasn't exactly thrilling. So I gave her the classic Pinoy "I'll see if I'm free," which translates to "Titignan ko," which really means, "I'm not coming."

And there's another part of my country she's going to see that I haven't.

Later on, I thought about why white people were seeing more of both my countries and experiencing more of my cultures.

I've lived in the Philippines for sixteen years and I've never been outside Luzon.

And to be honest, even after all this time here, I still feel very, very Indian. Maybe it's because I lived there as a child, and so all my formative memories are from there. Or maybe because I just don't look or sound Filipino. People can go on and on about how you aren't defined by the exterior, but when I look in the mirror, I see an Indian face. And when people ask me my name, I give them an Indian name.

I will always feel more Indian.

So you can see why it would feel almost... degrading to have a white person say something to me I couldn't understand, in what's supposed to be my language.

Just being able to say maderchod isn't what makes you a true Indian, I guess.

And I suppose being able to say "Puta'ng ina mo, marunong akong mag-Tagalog," when you've never even been past Luzon doesn't make you a true Filipino either.

I've never really understood this drive I've had to immerse myself in both my cultures. None of my other siblings seem to have it. But I suppose I won't ever really be content until I've been around both my countries, and have learned to speak to my people in our languages.

But I suppose Westerners in general will always be able to see more of our own countries than us, for the simple fact that their currency goes further. That's not their fault. Or a fault, for that matter.

But, somehow, it still doesn't feel right.

But you know what they say about a will and a way, all that shit. And as I left that party, my head full of the fact that foreigners were learning more about both my countries than I was, and how demeaned I felt everytime I had to explain why English, the language of foreigners, is my first language, I had one thought:

I will not allow this to continue.