Belonging as a Verb: When the Body Speaks Before We Do

What does it mean to take up space?

 I asked some questions to dance and fellow Filipino adoptee, Liz who openly shared her experiences and perspectives on belonging. I wanted to understand how dance had shaped her sense of community not only as a dancer, but as a Filipino adoptee living in the diaspora.  

As a kid, Liz grew up learning ballet, tap, and jazz. Today she uses that knowledge and applies it to her current focused style, whacking (or waaking). The genre originates from Los Angeles' underground LGBT disco scenes in the early 70s. Born out of queer pain and oppression, gay men of color created safe spaces through this new form of movement. 

 Liz describes it further as, telling your story with the vocabulary of arm movement, focus on musicality and posing (originally inspired from the golden ages of cinema).

"Every time I perform, I try to remember those who danced before me and those who will come to dance after me.

I feel like one of my most authentic selves while performing. I enjoy the aspect of telling a story without having to use words; to speak in a language that everyone can understand," 

Liz tries to express her experiences with abandonment, abuse, co-dependency and relationships, acknowledging a sense of power in being able to channel a complexity of emotions in these performances.  What couldn't be said out loud, found the means to articulate itself through movement. 

"While my queer pain and oppression is different, I still relate to having been rejected in one way or another - whether it be by my birth family, my community, my adoptive family,"

The dance itself becomes a language of its own, bringing a different sense of freedom Liz could only describe as euphoric, a shared release between dancer and audience. 

"It is a pure form of expression, sharing to see how you can transmit an emotion or energy to other people, whether it be your comrades or the audience, is so addicting and beautiful. It feels like a communal therapy session. 

Movement has the power to communicate across languages and dialects. That is one of the most beautiful things about dancing and using our bodies to express a thought or tell a story,"

However, taking up space was counterintuitive to what she was initially taught.

"Growing up in a conservative, white, household belonging to the 'model minority', I was encouraged to be small and to never take up space.

Waaking and dancing in general, is a form of resistance to that upbringing.

My body is unable to withhold things that maybe I wouldn't dare speak aloud. My body is able to use dance and movement to release some of the trauma that was stored within. My body is more honest than my words most times," 

By the age of six, Liz finds out she was adopted and initially associated the concept with rejection, abandonment and selfishness. She recalls hating the idea back then, though her perspective has since shifted as she got older. 

"I think that it's important when adoptive families are educated about their child's birth culture and country, it can be beautiful. 

Adoption can be beautiful in a way, but I think it can easily be tainted by human nature. But that is the case with all things in life,"

Dance has changed how Liz understands her identity, but it got me thinking how else trans-racial adoptees are able to connect to a culture they were raised outside of, how do Filipinos in the diaspora need to prove they were Filipino enough?

"I think feeling Filipino in the diaspora takes time from an adoptee's perspective. We have so many challenges to our identity that it's not as simple because we're often raised by people outside of our culture,

I used to not feel very Filipino - but I think that's because I was surrounded by white people telling me who I should be and how I should act,"

She recalls those Filipino gatherings where relatives would try to converse with her in Tagalog. Being unable to respond would garner the visible disappointment followed by the remark, 'Oh, I thought you were Filipino," 

"That can be difficult to hear and feel sometimes, this part of the disconnect, however it also serves as more motivation to learn the language and understand the culture on a deeper level.

It took me a long time to want to learn Tagalog - and to this day, I am struggling,"

When Liz gets into the university of Tennessee, she joins the Filipino American Association (FAA) where her curiosity and connection only grew since then.

"I finally started feeling curious and connected to these people and this place I'd never been to,

We can oddly all sing, dance, and are fiercely creative. I wish my younger self had understood that sooner,"

 

 Music would become a medium to connect Liz and these spaces.

"The way we all share the rhythm and engage with each other - it's a bit surreal. I'd say the creative and talent side of Filipino culture is something resonates with me,"

Culture wasn't something naturally inherited through her upbringing. It was something she had to seek out and discover for herself. In learning where she came from, Liz was also learning what it means to find a place where she belongs.  

"I think going back to your roots can mean going back to the source, but it can also be something you created yourself. You grow (or grew) where you were planted.

Maybe you didn't have any other choice, but like plants, we can be replanted and grow elsewhere.

I think it's about understanding and seeing if you can be flexible and malleable enough to also grow in your 'native culture/land' as you would have flourished in where you were planted.

Can you absorb and continue to grow into another beautiful and powerful version of yourself in a land you don't know? With people you don't know? 

But yet, you're supposed to be a natural part of this landscape,"

As I write this, Liz recently made plans to visit the Philippines and is currently in Manila for an upcoming project. 

"I feel like I'm on the edge of a cliff about to dive into something profound and beautiful, I just don't know what's waiting for me at the bottom,"

Belonging ultimately comes down to something more personal. 

"I think it's being accepted for who I am as a queer, Filipino woman who has had to actively make the effort to get to know the people and the culture as it wasn't just given to me,"

For Liz, her body has always been a part of that work, but finding her footing is only the beginning. As she continues to work towards belonging, she hopes for other Filipino adoptees still hesitant to express themselves to do the same. 

"We all have a beautiful story to share and tell, and think of yourself when you were a little kid; do you need someone that looked like you, that had the same life as you, that could relate to you growing up as a role model? 

I think for all of us, the answer is yes, now it's our opportunity to be that person for someone else,"

Belonging does not have to be a destination.

It can be practiced in motion, the act of taking up space, speaking up, learning the language, finding community, returning, questioning, growing and allowing yourself to become. 

"That's something I have to work on within myself - being enough. But I think this will come with time.

 I am working towards progress on this subject, not perfection.

And one day, I'll be able to tell the tito in the laundromat who asks why I don't speak Tagalog 'Pilipina ako!' but with a lot more vocabulary and lyicism!"

 

As AdoptedPH continues to develop its voice, it cannot shape the platform alone. We want to shift from being just a page for awareness to a movement through many.  

 

It could start with the notes on your phone, a memo recording of the day, or even a creative project you've been postponing for a while now. Tell us what have you been working on, let's get the word out together. 

 

If you'd rather join the conversation, you can also find us on Reddit.

And if you're interested in future meetups, community activities, or connecting with other Filipino adoptees, you can fill out our Community Interest Form.