For six years and counting, I have been a Chinay. “Chinay” is the combination of “Chinese” and “Pinay,” something that a fellow veteran of Pilipino Cultural Night explained to me when I distressed “But I’m not Pilipino!” In my freshman year of college I was feeling like a bit of a bum. I had a couple of jobs on campus but wasn’t doing anything physically active. I, like many others, am allergic to gyms, so I wasn’t about to prevent the Freshman 15 with the anorexic girls in the campus fitness center.

I was working late at one of my jobs when a club announced tryouts for a hip-hop dance team. It sounded perfect – I wanted to get back into dancing, and I wanted to get out of the tap, jazz, ballet bubble of the ma and pa dance studios I knew.

I suckered a friend into attending that night’s auditions, and we arrived early at the mirrored multi-use room. There were dozens of other people there, some stretching, some goofing off, most talking with each other and wearing whatever clothes they had on that day. I was dressed in my usual uniform of sweats and a fitted tee (For about four years, I didn’t own a single pair of jeans. I either wore nice pants or sweats.), so I fit in, but I felt extremely out of place. Something was odd in this crowd and I felt like I should leave.

Still, I signed my name down on the attendance list, but something was nagging me as I wrote down my e-mail address.

My friend was saying hello to all the other people she knew in the room and as I watched her trade formalities with her acquaintances, I noticed that:

1. I didn’t know a single person in this room. Except for her. – Well, that’s not true. There was one other guy I knew from my job. But he wasn’t really a friend.
2. Everybody in this room was (is) Pilipino. Except for me. (I’m Chinese.)

They taught us a short combo and we were asked to tag on a couple of eight counts of improv when we tried out with our groups. The evening ended and I went home. I knew I would not be hearing from the audition directors because I had never had to learn and perform like that before, and they didn’t know me. There was no chance of them picking up The New Girl.

Over the course of the next week, various people told me how hard it was to get into “Pilipino Cultural Night Modern.” (Oh, is that what this thing is called?) They said choreo was taught fast, and you learned a lot of pieces in it, and it had a tough reputation, and PCNs at other schools always compared each other’s productions based on Modern. I may as well have tried to join some old boys’ club. There was no chance I’d be in this thing.

About a week later, I got an e-mail saying that even though I missed Scheduling, I was still expected at the first Modern practice. It was to be held in the dance building.

What?

It seemed like a joke to me. I had never even been in the school’s dance building at this point. Confused at what Scheduling was and why they contacted me, I went to the rehearsal. By myself.

It was awkward.

Again, I had one friend and one coworker in the room. A whole two people that I knew. Meanwhile everybody else seemed to have built a solid rapport with one another. Inside jokes were flying off the walls and I didn’t even have anybody to fake laugh with. My friend and coworker barely spoke to me and I stuck to the back corner of the room as we learned our first piece. I thought I was gonna pee my pants when they broke us into small groups. I was the odd one out and there was no one to save me.

I walked back to my dorm in the dark, feeling like that nerd in high school with the turtle backpack and unjustifiably hastened shuffle, scuttling from the dance building to my building’s door, trying to beat all the other people with their social circles as the volume of their conversations of “Wasn’t that hard? Oh my God!” started to die away as I powerwalked.

It’s hard to make me feel awkward and alone like that. I’m a generally outgoing person. I’m the greeter at special events, the speaker at graduation ceremonies, and the person they send to help out the loner when icebreakers require breaking off into pairs. I felt so out of place I knew I wouldn’t last long in this “PCN.” I had already composed the “Sorry, I don’t have time for this. Thanks.” e-mail in my head.

All of that changed, however, in a couple of weeks. My own procrastination kept me from sending that e-mail and officially erasing “PCN Modern practice” from my weekly agenda. One night, I was trying to escape the dance building doors again when someone asked me my name. And if I was a Dance Major. Because it seemed like I was one. And then another person asked my name. And asked what year I was. And which dorm I lived in. And, it’s simple, but it was life-changing – I made friends!

I ended up sticking through all of PCN that year. The Modern teachers would make me stand in the front for practices and Run-Throughs, and I would receive gallivanting invitations from my new Pilipino circle. Culture had always been an interest of mine, but here I was discovering a new part of me. A sort of adopted facet to my diaspora identity. Having been so involved in a theatrical event revolving around Pilipino culture, it was inevitable that I would absorb more from this ethnic group. I ended up participating every year for PCN, from the single dance I performed freshman year to cultural dances, skit, and teaching as an alum.

PCN, as an annual cultural club event, could not have taken place without its remarkable network of alumni and community members. Some of the alum I had met while running around (with conviction!) as an undergrad were married and expecting children, and still coming back to campus to play gongs and give dance notes. It was an extended production family the likes of which I never knew.

Some of the alum also sprouted off to create a Pilipino folk arts ensemble with more of an extended reach. It is through this network that I became a part of the Bay Area’s Kawayan Folk Arts. We dance, sing (not me), play music, and promote visual art with a focus on Pilipino culture. And now, we do workshops!

Plug:

“Previous dance and music experience is not required to participate.” – I should also mention that you do not have to be Pilipino, Pilipina, a PCN veteran, or have any sort of understanding of Tagalog to try it out. Though it might be good to know that the Ewoks’ language in Star Wars was based on Tagalog, we really only ask that you come and try it out. And have fun. (And pay.)

Performing with this group is a lot of fun. I am currently the only non-Pilipino on the team, but I expect that won’t be for long. If you’re in the Bay and want an excuse to run around in front of a wall of mirrors, I strongly encourage that you come out.

My path was a long and unexpected journey, but now I am the Philippines, and so can you!