"I Didn't Grow Up Speaking the Language. Can I Still Call Myself Filipino?"

There is a special kind of purgatory that folks like me are sent to every now and then – as much as I prepare or try to prevent the descent to this prickly place, I never seem to win. I could spend hours preparing before a trip to the homeland or the hour car ride to the family party, but my fate remains the same and I end up back where I started. 

It’s “nosebleed” country. And it’s dry down here.

What is nosebleed anyway? It’s the nosebleed you give your Tita when she’s struggling to understand your [insert regional language here] – or lack thereof. It isn’t because you didn’t hear them. Maybe you didn’t quite understand, or maybe you did. But at the end of the day, the words you need are in English, and the gap between what you know and what you feel you should know suddenly becomes the loudest thing in the room.

For many 2nd+ generation diaspora kids, that gap is where the question lives: if I do not speak the language, can I still call myself Filipino?

“Why don’t you speak Filipino?”

Language is often used as the barometer for cultural identity. If meeting someone new, my voice, words, and how I communicate ideas sets a first impression. To the Filipino auntie in line at the grocery store, my small-talk could write a thousand different versions of who I might be outside in the real world. But what that first impression doesn’t carry is the context of my home and community that shaped me.

Prioritizing English

For many households, immigrant parents make a deliberate choice to remove the native language from the home. Some believed that speaking two languages would confuse their kids and an English-first household would make it easier for their child to assimilate at school. Especially in the US where multi-lingual skills are not a priority, the American school system often stigmatizes ESL (“English as a Second Language”) students as low-performing or behind, which is far from the truth.

As someone who grew up in a (lovingly) chaotic household of both Tagalog and English, I towed the line between connecting and rejecting my parent’s language. I was drawn to the drama of the teleseryes (“100 Days to Heaven” being my all-time Favorite Filipino television drama/comedy). I felt connected to both the Philippines and the family I watched with. But, I was also sensitive to a classmate’s playful tease of how a slight accent would peak through every now and then. It’s the micro-experiences of shame and doubt we experience as children that shape how we feel about ourselves. Looking back, I can see how it contributed to how I show up – how moments like these can prioritize how others see us instead of how we see ourselves. 

Prioritizing Other Parts of Our Identity

Looking back on how my siblings and I were raised, there was also a clear shift in priorities as we grew into our teen years. I embraced my queer identity and began to take on leadership roles while my brothers dove straight into their own extracurriculars like wrestling, volunteering, or music. Filipino was no longer the only hyphenate we identified with. For the first time, our identity grew beyond how we looked and the language we spoke; we were basketball players and DJs and best friends to someone. 

I eventually grew into exploring more of my identity and on my own journey exploring the culture through fashion and dance while my brothers continue onwards on their own path. We often meet in the middle and share our learnings with one another. But the caveat here is that we are doing all these new, exciting things in a country that is far, far away from our parents homeland. Our environment dictated the tools and skills we picked up along the way.

Language is a Tool, and Tools are Shaped by Need

It’s often forgotten that language is first and foremost a tool of communication. Yes, it can be a symbol of cultural identity, but at the core of its use, language is a tool.

And like any tool, it gets used when it is needed and can rust when set aside.

Growing up in a place where English is the primary language, you watch your parents speak in  English, hear your friends speak English, you are taught in English. In function, English became the tool you reached for. Not because Tagalog was less valuable, but because English was the tool that functioned in the environment you were living in.

My level of Tagalog is shaped by my experiences. I moved out for college and went into the workforce, so my functional use for Tagalog has shifted and waned. Not because I rejected it, but because my daily life shifted with it. It is important to recognize how our context shape the person we are today. It is not an excuse to be ashamed of, but a roadmap of where we've started and how far we've come.

What Defines Filipino is How It Functions in Your Life

“If I do not speak the language, can I still call myself Filipino?”

At the end of the day, culture is not a test. Culture is a practice.

It is the food that sustains you. The community you build. The language you use, whether that is Tagalog or English or Tag-lish or something else entirely.

Being Filipino is not about meeting someone else's standard because Filipino culture is too vast to be placed on a rubric. Because culture is practice, it is about how you live it.

You get to decide what that looks like.

It is Never Too Late

"I wish I spoke Tagalog." Here is the thing: You still can.

It is never too late to learn your parents' language. Of course it will be harder than it would have been if you learned it as a child. You will make mistakes. You will feel self-conscious. You will probably have moments where you are embarrassed by how bad you are at it.

But the act of learning, the act of trying, the act of showing up and saying “I want this”, that is also Filipino culture. That is you choosing to add another tool to your toolkit. That is you deciding that this thread deserves more space in the larger thing you are weaving.

And if you do not learn Filipino, that is okay too! What defines being Filipino is not whether you speak the language. To be Filipino is how the culture, its history, and community function in your life and the actionable steps to take practice it. Now that is what I call authentically Filipino.

Image #1: portrait of 4 siblings: Joshua-Erik, Aaron-James, Nicole-Jocelyn, Isaac-Jacob (from left, counter-clockwise)

Image #2: Joshua-Erik Sanchez dressed in San Jose State University graduation attire, wearing custom Niana Barong stole (2024).

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Niana is a Filipino-American fashion brand based in the San Francisco Bay Area. We make everyday wear rooted in the Filipino diaspora experience, taking what was once reserved for special occasions and making it for everything else.