My world is multidimensional. Diverse. Eclectic. My “inay” (mother) is Filipina. My “otosan” (father) is Japanese. My “sabase accha dosta” (best friends) are Indians. My school is international.

After over 400 years of rule by various colonial masters, the Philippines is probably one of the most colonized nations in the world. Because of that, many believe that the Philippines has never forged its own true identity. However, as a born-and-raised “pinay” (Filipino woman), I can confidently say that we Filipinos have found our place in the world. But in spite of these myriad influences, the Filipino has emerged with a distinctive and unmistakable identity. There are a number of endearing characteristics that set Filipinos apart. My favorites include: the puckering of one’s lips to point someone in a certain direction; eating rice for breakfast, lunch and dinner; and celebrating Christmas as soon as the months end in “-ber.” But what I feel makes Filipinos truly unique is the culture’s strong family ties, which far surpass the notion of unconditional love, and the preservation of a positive attitude despite the struggle under poverty.

Moving to Tokyo at the tender age of seven confronted me with another dimension of my identity. In Japan, I was an immediate outcast. A chubby tropical girl didn’t quite fit in with the crowd of paper-thin porcelain dolls. I was different. No matter how hard I tried, I could never reconcile my identity. I was eternally caught in the hyphen of a Filipino-Japanese. In Japan, I was a “gaijin” (foreigner). For ten months I ran home crying, struggling with the language that seemed to have a personal vendetta against my self-esteem. However, even though I felt ostracized, I gravitated toward the unmatched nationalism of the Japanese and their value for tradition. I soon found that this unquestionable faith in their nation truly nourished the Japanese culture. Today, I recognize that, unlike the warmth one can easily feel in the Philippines, one must look beyond the steel façade to find the tender soul within a “nihonjin” (Japanese).

Upon my return to the Philippines, I was bombarded with yet another culture shock on my first day at the International School of Manila (ISM). I couldn’t believe I had to yet again assimilate into a new culture. I cried, “When will it ever end?!” In retrospect, after a decade at ISM, I am so glad that it hasn’t ended. I’ve met the most interesting, most powerful, most exotic people I could ever hope to meet. More importantly, I met my best friends, Ayesha and Maansi. Their Indian backgrounds have expanded my consciousness and allowed me to view the world from another perspective. That knowledge has been invaluable for me as an artist.

Although I am torn between the stringent Catholic values of the Filipinos and the apathetic atheism of the Japanese, I have begun to rely on the spirituality I’ve adopted from my Indian friends. That belief in an undefinable higher power helped me to realize that my multiculturalism and multifaceted identity are not curses, but blessings.

My keen interest and ability in art compel me to pursue a profession in visual communications — perhaps advertising or media, both of which are subjects that would draw upon my diversity. Art can be expressed in so many different media and styles, but it is ultimately a universal visual language. That idea is what I aspire to manifest visually in my professional career.

Art has enabled me to harmonize all of these seemingly incongruent perspectives in my life. The world is no longer a blotchy mix of black and white; rather, I see the world as an explosion of color waiting to be expressed on canvas. When will it ever end? I hope it never does.

Realizing my imminent departure from my self-cultivated world in Manila, I am reassured that no matter where I go, remnants of the Philippines, Japan, India, and ISM will remain a part of me forever.

Home is where the “art” is.