I didn't feel like I grew up Filipino, or even Filipino American - I felt like I just grew up American, though I knew there was some unnameable, subtle difference between me and my classmates that I had little interest in exploring. This slight discomfort I felt when in a white-dominated classroom, or the invisibility when I read an American History textbook, was something I tried to ignore - until I came to the University of Michigan and joined the Filipino American Student Association (FASA). Suddenly, I was surrounded by people who had felt the same way as I had. I actively chose to learn about Filipino culture through dance, volunteering, or workshops, and began to understand why I had felt that sense of exclusion growing up, and how it related to my identity as a queer woman. I even began to understand how this alienation factored into my mental health. Before I knew it, I had signed up to dance tinikling in FASA's annual Philippine Culture Night. As I made more and more friends, I became more involved. I learned the dances of the indigenous Talaandig tribe and traveled to Chicago with FASA, where we won the Battle of the Bamboo dance competition; visited our university's Research Museum Center, where I got to see real Filipino pottery, textiles, and weapons from archaeological missions; and began to get more and more comfortable speaking Filipino. Learning about Filipino and Filipino American history and culture was so engaging to me that I decided to run for FASA's executive board as Cultural Chair, and won the position. I believe the disconnect I experienced growing was a huge barrier for me, and is for so many second and third generation immigrants. I know many others felt the way I did until they were given a space to learn more about their culture. I still remember the first time I tried on the cultural performance attire of the Talaandig tribe for an indigenous dance competition FASA was competing in - the pride and belonging I felt in that moment was so incredible and immense, and I wish that feeling for everyone, be it through learning about their own history, culture, the language, or even just being able to talk to other people who know how they feel. This past month, I ran for FASA's executive board as Cultural Chair and won the election. This is a way for me to directly help future FASA members learn about and celebrate our culture; I hope that they, in turn, will pay what they've learned forward. Not knowing about our history and culture - thinking it's irrelevant, or wanting to but not having the resources - is a huge challenge, and one that can be overcome by facilitating discussions, providing resources, and empowering marginalized voices.

Though I grew up in a relatively diverse town outside Detroit, there was only one other Filipino American family at my large high school. Though I grew up learning about many cultures and loving history, I didn't take an interest in my identity as an Asian American until my 10th grade year. As a third-generation immigrant, I didn't connect to my identity as a Filipino woman specifically until this past year, my first year of college. I didn't feel like I grew up Filipino, or even Filipino American - I felt like I just grew up American, though I knew there was some unnameable, subtle difference between me and my classmates that I had little interest in exploring. This slight discomfort I felt when in a white-dominated classroom, or the invisibility when I read an American History textbook, was something I tried to ignore - until I came to the University of Michigan and joined the Filipino American Student Association. Suddenly, I was surrounded by people who had felt the same way as I had. I actively chose to learn about Filipino culture through dance, volunteering, or workshops, and began to understand why I had felt that sense of exclusion growing up, and how it related to my identity as a queer woman. I even began to understand how this alienation factored into my mental health. I believe the disconnect I experienced growing was a huge barrier for me as a Filipino woman. I know many others felt the way I did until they were given a space to learn more about their culture. I still remember the first time I tried on the cultural performance attire of the Talaandig tribe for an indigenous dance competition FASA was competing in - the pride and belonging I felt in that moment was so incredible and immense, and I wish that feeling for every Filipino woman, be it through learning about history, culture, the Filipino language, or even just being able to talk to other Filipinos. This past month, I ran for FASA's executive board as Cultural Chair and won the election. This is a way for me to directly help future FASA members learn about and celebrate our culture; I hope that they, in turn, will pay what they've learned forward. Not knowing about our history and culture - thinking it's irrelevant, or wanting to but not having the resources - is a huge challenge, and one that can be overcome by facilitating discussions, providing resources, and empowering Filipino female voices.

At the beginning of my freshman year at the University of Michigan, I faced the age-old dilemma of figuring out what clubs to join. As a third-generation half-Filipino/half-Vietnamese student, I had planned to take Filipino language already, but when one of my friends asked if I was interested in the Filipino American Student Association, I decided I would check it out. The first event I attended - a potluck in Ann Arbor's arboretum - was an incredible experience. I had never seen that many people who looked like me before; who grew up eating pancit and adobo; and who visited their Lolos and Lolas every Pasko. Before I knew it, I had signed up to dance tinikling in FASA's annual Philippine Culture Night. As I made more and more friends, I became more involved. I learned the dances of the indigenous Talaandig tribe and traveled to Chicago with FASA, where we won the Battle of the Bamboo dance competition; visited our university's Research Museum Center, where I got to see real Filipino pottery, textiles, and weapons from archaeological missions; and began to get more and more comfortable speaking Filipino. Learning about Filipino and Filipino American history and culture was so engaging to me that I decided to run for FASA's executive board as Cultural Chair, and won the position. My heritage has always felt like something I'm removed from, but learning as much as I have this year only makes me realize how essential it is to who I am. I'm only at the beginning of my journey in exploring my Filipino heritage, and joining FASA has been a huge part of pushing me to start that journey. I hope that my time on FASA's executive board can fuel future members' self-discovery, as well as give them a space to learn about and celebrate Filipino and Filipino American culture. This self-discovery is something that I believe everyone deserves to have. Though in a different context, I hope that my work as a novel editor (my ideal career) helps to support authors' own self-discoveries, which will in turn touch the lives of anyone who reads the book. Growing up as a kid who went to the library almost daily meant that a lot of the revelations I had about my identity were spurred from books like Chokshi's Gilded Wolves or Lai's Inside Out & Back Again, where I encountered my first Filipino and Vietnamese literary characters, respectively. The writing of Alice Oseman, Becky Albertalli, and Leigh Bardugo helped me understand my identity as a member of the LGBTQ+ community, and the gorgeous writing of Trenton Lee Stewart, Maggie Stiefvater, and countless more inspired me to take up creative wiring myself. Being a part of this process - helping people readers name that unnameable experience, whether it be due to culture, class, ethnicity, sexuality, or gender, and feel less alone in feeling it - is something I would cherish.

In tenth grade, I made one of the most formative decisions of my life - I signed up to take AP US History. Now, the mention of this class normally elicits a groan, and even a couple of tears, from any high school crowd - it's infamous as the most time-consuming AP class, a ruthless rinse and repeat of outlines, lectures, and vocab. From the first lecture, however, I was hooked. The fast-paced nature of the class kept me engaged, and I loved how much sense all of it made - you could clearly see what social movements caused what shifts in culture, or the effects that foreign wars had on the national economy. I especially found myself gravitating towards the conversations about the social, political, and cultural climates at the time. It fascinated me how much humanity and society could advance while somehow following the exact same patterns for centuries. I could see how these patterns paralleled my own life and the modern world's social and political climate. It's been two years since I stepped foot into an APUSH classroom, but I still attest that it was the best class I've taken in high school. I still use the knowledge I gained daily (whether it be in other classes or just as a fun fact to drop during conversation), and would be lying if I said I didn't miss it a little bit. Being in APUSH made me realize how much I love learning about the sociocultural aspects of humanity, and I hope to continue learning about history and cultural anthropology during college. When I tell most people this, their immediate next question is, "Well, what are you going to do with that degree?" I admit, it's a pretty reasonable question. It's not like engineering or pre-med, with a clear path forward. But my answer to this question is normally that I'm just not sure yet. I love the subject so much that I don't see just one viable future, one singular pipeline. I could see myself working in museums or as a historian, in the classroom as a high school teacher or college professor, or in the field doing research. As long as I'm able to introduce the love and wonder for history that I first felt in APUSH to other people, I think I'll find myself very happy. Thank you for your time and consideration for the Joseph C. Lowe Memorial Scholarship.