My hair is a waterfall that has been following me since I was born. This most recent edition covers moving around Riverside for grad school, teaching in Moreno Valley, and moving back to San Diego. But the bleached ends have been a feature since high school as a compromise between myself and my mother when I wanted to dye my hair every color in the neon rainbow.
My eyes are instant cameras whose quality is always a little out of focus, but that’s their charm. My contact lenses are the addition that helps them create clear images. I have always needed some sort of aid for my vision. I'd like to think it’s because my face was too close to my books growing up and not because I was raised during the internet’s rise in popularity.
My lips are the gates to my family and culture. While they used to round and thin with the words of the English language, they now morph into the shapes of Tagalog, and a dash of teacher. Learning the mother tongue for my mother, who left the Philippines in high school, is a means of telling her, “I see you.” From the, “I love you”s to the, “Uwi na tayo”s (let’s go home) for my mom after a long day away from my room, they represent the Filipina American who is no longer afraid to unabashedly be herself. For her existence is a permanent statement that her culture is alive and matters.
My ears are tape recorders that capture the world around me. Over the years, they have captured less and less of the loud bass booms and high hats of the catchy songs like “DJ Got Us Fallin’ In Love” by Usher and “Just Dance” by Lady Gaga that were the playlist for my formative years. But, the sound waves that matter the most, like the laughing of a crowd or the quiet sob of someone in pain, would never escape the tape. And like many things we call ours, we like to customize and decorate to our heart’s content. While I only have my lobes pierced, I plan to get a few more to wear many earrings like bag charms for when my fingernails were off limits.
My fingernails are the frail branches of my arms that have been pruned for a majority of my younger years. As I grew into the person I am now, I had taken piano lessons. One of my teachers was very particular about posture and playing. She would always tell me, “No long nails and no nail polish. It’s a distraction when you’re playing.” At first, it was necessary for playing which grew into a habit because I was used to doing everything my fingers needed to do without the pain of pulling on a nail. I didn’t have to worry about the oppressive pull of opening a tab on a soda can or taking my debit card out of a card reader. But as I’ve started to reclaim my nails, they have grown flexible, which is never a good sign, since that is often an indicator of poor nail health.
My stomach is a cauldron of the community that raised me. A joke I have for anyone who visits my parents is that they will “never leave the house hungry.” Whether it’s a quick stop to say hello or to stay for a family party, we will always find something to fit your palette. I was never considered a healthy weight for any age and I have made few attempts to amend that. I think it’s because food ties me to the care and love that my family expresses. It’s diced into the favorite dishes made for special occasions. It’s simmered into the hot soups needed when flu season comes around the corner. It’s sauted into the onions and garlic that are a staple in almost every Filipino dish my mom makes to feed our family of four.
My knees are the hinges that connect me to the Southern California hip-hop dance community. My first official hip-hop dance team was in middle school. It was held at the local park where I danced with people as old as high school students to prepare for a performance happening in a few months. I lasted one dance before I decided I wasn’t ready to take the plunge back into the bright lights and bright-colored costumes. I dipped my toes back into dancing during my high school career with the Filipino culture club at my school, but it wasn’t until I reached college that I went back into trying hip-hop. They have held me up when being asked to pretend to be stuck in time mid-squat. They have kept me moving even after I had slammed my right one onto concrete during a routine. While it doesn’t hurt now, if I tap it at just the right angle, the ache of that day is reignited in that knee.
My body is an adventure book of the lessons and people I have encountered. I see it everyday and navigate it everyday. When I look at myself in the mirror, I smile, proud of what it has accomplished. My thoughts have morphed and shifted as I have grown up to something that I find comfort in. I know I am not perfect. But, I know that I am enough.