Being Filipino. (#2 in a series of Dealing with Kristine's Neurotic Tendencies)

So I just finished Anthony Bourdain's No Reservations episode on the Philippines, and it got me thinking.

Not necessarily about what kinds of foods I missed (and the ones I'm glad I missed, ahem, goat head stew) on my trip, but about how the fan he brought along with him had a major problem with cultural identity and struggling to find a side to belong to. And it hit me like a ton of bricks: I mean, who the fuck am I? Where the hell am I supposed to side?

Filipino? Not really. I am nowhere near submerged into my culture as I'd need to be -- I eat rice with my hands. I like fish and patis. I like sabao (soup) to go with my meals. I wear dusters around the house and used a tabo plenty a time (please don't ask). But it doesn't seem like it's enough.
But am I really American? Not ENTIRELY, if we're going by standards because I associate with my Filipino side just about as much as I do with being a Californian / D.C.-ite / regular college kid.

I don't know. Thinking about how I can define myself culturally is one of the biggest mysteries about being Filipino-American (American-Filipino). I'm not an average Pinay. I'm not an average American. I guess I'm just....Kristine.

(Good link.)