When I was a lot younger, I used to tell people that I was Chinese.

Elementary school kids knew what China was and maybe what it could mean. So when they looked at me and asked if I was - despite the initial annoyance that came from everyone assuming that my black hair and my eyes immediately made me Chinese - I wouldn't correct them. Why? I don't know. Maybe on some level that's what I wanted. I wanted to feel like I could connect with a culture that was at the very least knowable and familiar to the rest of the world.

So, being my younger, stupid self, I was ashamed to say I was Filipino.

Well, Fil-Am, as they say. Or Filipino-American. Or Pinoy. Or Whatever.

Growing up, I felt like I was the only kid who couldn't relate to what we learned in any of my history classes. We learned about the how the influence of China and India were spread around the mainland. We learned about the the various tribes and kingdoms across the African continent, and of the emergence of civilization in the Middle East. We learned about the Native people of the Americas - and of course, we knew the Europeans from which all history centered around anyway.

But where was my history? Where was my culture? It seemed like the Philippines barely existed in any textbook I'd ever read. And at the time, it felt like the Internet could barely help me either.

What I did know, however, was the Magellan-thing. And how the Philippines was conquered for 400 years by the Spanish. And then we were controlled by the U.S. And then Japan. And then World War 2. And sh*t happened. And eventually I guess we destroyed ourselves with a dictator and a bunch of corruption or something.

I'd remember having conversations with my mother about how amazing and how beautiful our country is. About how the Philippines is so rich with natural resources and other things that you can't find anywhere else in the world - but I guess that's something for foreign countries to take advantage of instead.

We're a growing tourist attraction now though. That's cool.

I suppose that the way I saw it, regardless of how many times my grandmother's television would say "Proud to be Kapuso!" (I don't even know what that means, for that matter), I couldn't find much reason to believe that I should be. All my life I was told that I should be proud of country, but why should I? I knew plenty of people who didn't care about heritage or background, and I was born in the U.S. Anyway. Why did I have to be any different?

I think a lot about how I used to feel back when I was younger. Since then, I've joked about parties my family would throw, and how between the alcohol-induced laughter and the Magic Sing on the TV, if you weren't being asked a million times whether or not you've eaten, you probably weren't at a very fun party. I've told stories to my friends how Filipino adults never actually grow up, as I've learned from watching my dad completely turn the car around on the highway just because my Titos and Titas really wanted halo-halo at Red Ribbon. I've laughed at how much cornier my parents' jokes are compared to everyone else's parents'. I've definitely bragged about how much better our food is than everyone else's food. I've cried over finally hearing about my country's history, instead of just another story from everyone else's history.

Really, it was the little things about my life and how they made me smile that made me so happy to be who I was. And I knew that part of my learning to love and appreciate those little joys came from that.

There are a lot of things that I've grown to be proud of with my culture. But out of all those little things I've noticed on how great and how fun it is to be Filipino, what I've learned to be the most proud of is how amazing and how strong of a community we build.

Growing up in America, part of a 1st generation group of kids whose parents decided on the way here that they would be friends forever, I was raised in a Filipino community - in the same way my cousins were raised back home. I had, like ... five dads. And five moms. And 10 siblings who would all just play together, fight together, and watch TV in the same room. Then I moved. And I had four more uncles and four more aunts and a bunch more cousins to add to the mix.

Though, admittedly, it has been a bit hard describing someone as a cousin who's also not actually your cousin - being Filipino has taught me that anyone and everyone is a part of my family.

My family, my extended family, my extended non-family, my friends.

That means everyone eats, everyone laughs, and everyone's included. What better of a picture of love and brotherhood can we make but that?

On one hand, maybe I make way too big a deal out of this culture-thing than I should. But on the other hand, I can't imagine anything more vital to my identity than all the people who made me who I am.

I am proud to be Filipino (or Pinoy, or Fil-Am, or what have you) because I am proud to say that I am part of one big family.

If you want to join, pick up a plate. Laugh a little. It'll be fun