I recently had a conversation with my grandma that reminded me she’s white. When sharing my aspiration to study abroad at the University of the Philippines and visit the country for the first time, I was met with perplexity and disapproval: “Why would you want to visit a third-world country?” she asked. As a mixed person, half-Filipina and half-white, I’ve grieved the absence of uniquely Filipino aspects of my identity I’d otherwise be well-acquainted with—visiting the Philippines, being raised knowing the language, and thoroughly comprehending my heritage. Instead, I’ve grown up feeling as if I’m missing something that belongs to me. Much of my interaction with my culture has therefore been self-initiated: I’ve sought cultural clubs in high school and college, studied a form of Filipino martial arts called San Miguel Eskrima, learned to play Mahjong to bond with my elders, and taken Filipino language courses at UCLA. Although my grandma fails to understand how fundamental my Filipino background is to my selfhood, I’ve continually pursued the culture by connecting with ang aking mga kababayan—my countrymen. In my efforts, I’ve become familiar with the concept of "kapwa", a value distinctly belonging to Filipino psychology and identity. Kapwa describes both the individual and shared inner-self, cultivating a collective oneness with others. Such a concept is difficult to articulate, let alone faithfully depict through an AI system. As a Filipina and an aspiring journalist, I believe integrity is a necessary component of writing and understanding the world. AI could never, with integrity, accurately portray Filipino-American identity and experiences—the feeling of being culturally stranded, lacking meaningful connection to one’s roots, and trying to amend such gaps by researching what one should already own. Further, AI, or anyone not immersed in Filipino culture, may never properly characterize a concept like kapwa, which is inherent to the community-based, profound love for, and with, others essential to our identity. Truthfully, I don’t want AI to understand these sacred, wonderfully human pillars of who we are. To have my heritage superficially understood by an AI system is to be divided from it once more. Those who don’t understand it, like my grandma, remind me that being Filipina is a belonging I must guard and preserve. I find that the beauty of Filipino culture is that it belongs to us, and cannot be authentically understood from one who is not invited in, including an AI system.

As a scholar, young woman, writer, and student at UCLA, I now consider many facets of who I am to be my “why.” However, I haven’t always been so strongly connected to my identity; beginning in 2021, both my physical and mental health began a steep decline. My gastroparesis, a stomach condition delaying the processing of food, relapsed around my freshman year. The nausea I ceaselessly endured led to significant weight loss. Feeling powerless over my body, my selfdom, and my identity, I simultaneously began struggling with anxiety. However, I didn’t let these trials hinder my work ethic. During my high school career, I managed to balance my hardships while maintaining a 4.0 and getting involved in Poly Kaibigan, a club focused on uniting the Filipino community at and around Long Beach Poly. As Kaibigan’s Secretary, I uplifted the Filipino community by forging bonds with other cabinet members and organizing service events. For instance, preparing and selling food for Poly’s Homecoming Faire allowed me to partake in a pillar of Philippine culture—the cuisine—while meeting other Filipinos on campus. Through Poly Kaibigan, I coped with the difficulties of 2021-2022 and connected with other women, Filipinos, and my identity. The fulfillment I gained through Kaibigan translated to my 2023 summer experience: To further understand my heritage, I read three books—written by Rosario Mendoza Cortes—covering the cultural, political, and industrial developments of Pangasinan, the province my grandparents immigrated from. These books broadened my knowledge of Pangasinan and strengthened my Filipino pride. Then, I studied San Miguel Eskrima, a form of Filipino stick fighting, under Magtutudlo Ramon Rubia, a greatly esteemed FMA teacher, which allowed me to participate in another dimension of my culture. Presently, as I enter my freshman year at UCLA as an English major, I know my “why”: it is to continue to strengthen my connection to who I am and the communities I belong to. I plan to achieve this goal by taking Tagalog as my foreign language and getting involved with organizations like SPEAR, a Filipino-oriented mentorship program, to connect with other Filipinos at UCLA. Additionally, I plan to join an on-campus magazine like FEM Magazine, centered around female and racial empowerment, to converge my fondness of being a woman, a Filipino, and a writer. My hope, in this next chapter, is to meet hardships with confidence in who I am and my ever-evolving “why.”

“Have you ever heard of derealization?” The first time I heard that question was in a therapy session during my sophomore year of high school. I didn’t realize it then, but my sophomore year would be one of the hardest years of my life and my journey with mental illness. Granted, I don’t have many to compare it to as I’m only seventeen, but I was merely twelve when I began seeing a therapist. From sixth to seventh grade, I attended weekly therapy sessions to help regulate the symptoms of anxiety, depression, and even suicidal ideation that I would continue to struggle with in the coming years. Therapy and other mental health resources provided by my middle and high schools were crucial parts of my support system during times where I felt isolated, hopeless, and unable to open up to others. Around ninth grade, I went back to therapy and began receiving treatment for severe anxiety. Specifically, I experienced a symptom of anxiety called derealization, which occurs when one feels as if they, or their surroundings, are not real. During my sophomore year, I remember looking in the bathroom mirror and feeling completely disconnected from my reflection. It was as if I was looking at a stranger, into the eyes of someone whose body, mood, even thoughts, I could not control. Struggling to feel connected to the world around me and afraid to burden others with my issues, I often felt removed from my sense of self and identity. This is not uncommon for those with mental health issues, and is why I believe the widespread normalization of such experiences is necessary. Though I have healed considerably in recent months, I was left with a dilemma as I entered my senior year: How can I reclaim control of my identity when I’ve felt so removed from it in the past few years? I tackled this issue by deepening my understanding of my Filipino heritage, and achieved that connection in two ways. First, I read three books—written by Rosario Mendoza Cortes—covering the cultural, political, and industrial developments of Pangasinan, the Philippine province my grandparents immigrated from. These books broadened my knowledge of Pangasinan and strengthened my Filipino pride. Then, I studied San Miguel Eskrima, a form of Filipino stick fighting, under Magtutudlo Ramon Rubia, one of the most esteemed FMA teachers in the country. The loss of my selfhood motivated me to learn this style of martial arts and participate in a new dimension of my culture. Practicing San Miguel has given me a cultural outlet for self expression and has provided a healthy way for me to channel physical aggression in a communal setting, combating harmful, isolating coping mechanisms like self-harm. By exploring these facets of my Filipino heritage, I have strengthened my bond with my cultural identity, sense of self, and the stability of my mental health. As I enter my freshman year at UCLA, I will continue to foster my mental well-being through further concentration on my ethnic background: this year, I will begin taking Tagalog as my foreign language. As someone who has lived through intense suicidal ideation, chronic depression and anxiety, self-harm, and a complete loss of selfdom, I know that mental health is important. UCLA has opened a new avenue of possibilities, but also new levels of stress. My hope, in this next chapter of my life, is to meet upcoming challenges with recognition of the importance of my mental wellness, and confidence to nourish my mental health and my sense of self.