On Saturday I was the Master of Ceremonies for the 33rd Anniversary Dinner Dance of the Filipino American Association of Upper Chesapeake (FAAUC). My family has been part of this organization since 1996. It’s an integral part of our history and life in Maryland; my parents met many of their closest friends through the association and I grew up with a group of friends many of whom have families of their own now, although we’ve grown apart in recent years. I have hosted this event on and off since I was 16. I’ve lost count exactly how many times I’ve been MC; it all blurs together most of the time. Except for this one.
For the first time, my outfit matched how I felt inside: powerful, grown, self-assured. My hair was styled. I was wearing make up. My cue cards in my hand, handwritten numbers on the top right corner in pink marker (I wrote my script that morning). I was ready to go.
(For those interested, I wore a faux jumpsuit—black, shimmery wide leg pants and a black v-neck satin sleeveless top—with a Filipino kimona, and blush heels. I’m usually not that trendy.)
I shared a poem about balikbayan boxes which was, surprisingly, a big hit with the crowd. I became part of the cultural program providing the transitions between acts–most of it ad lib as I had only prepared the minimal thinking that I wouldn’t have to introduce each dance or singer; in the past the program has been one long medley of songs without breaks. I made people laugh.
For the first time in a long time, I showed who I was and what I could do without giving a thought to my weight or my unruly eyebrows or how I would be perceived. When I featured at Busboys and Poets at the end of March, I still didn’t take up space and was super conscious of how large I must have looked to others up on stage, the lights so intense there was nowhere to hide.
So when someone asked me why I was so beautiful that night, I said, “Because I feel good.”
I took this selfie before I left the house. I usually don’t take a selfie alone. I’m not that comfortable taking a selfie alone. But I made it a point to take one so I could look at my face and not criticize every inch of it, to recognize how long it took me to get to this point of acceptance and love, to capture me at my best, in my element.
I’ve struggled with my weight for a long time, more notably so in recent years. I dread going to the Philippines and seeing family because they’ll always comment on my weight first. Once, a childhood friend saw me for the first time after 15 years and when we were alone, his first words to me were: “Why are you so fat?”
I’m not conventionally pretty (my mom would argue that I am, but what parent wouldn’t?). Cute would be the closest I’d say. Only because of my dimples. It bothered me more growing up when comparing yourself to others is a daily ritual and none of the boys around you seemed to find you attractive. So I focused on academics and writing instead, on developing skills and my sense of humor, on community and working towards social justice, believing that in the end, those things would matter more. And they do.
It is all of those things and talent and stage presence and practice and experience and my support network that created me in this specific moment in time. We carry all of who we are every day and everywhere. And on this particular day, I felt good. Despite certain parts of my life in limbo for the past 11 months and being fabulously broke, I know who I am, I know I am powerful, I know I have a lot to offer. And I wanted to celebrate that.