How I Learned to Write the Truth
It starts with Resistance and ends with acceptance
I’m an aspiring writer, but I haven’t written anything in over a year.
Why?
Because I’m afraid I’m not good enough. I’m afraid of being different. And I’m afraid to tell the truth because I’m afraid of what people might think if I do.
Be a little brave for a second
According to The War of Art by American novelist, Steven Pressfield, Resistance is a negative universal force that acts against creativity, with one purpose: to keep things the way they are.
Resistance, Pressfield states, is fueled by fear.
Ever since I was a child, I’ve always wanted to write. It all started when I read the first Harry Potter book in fifth grade and became addicted to J.K. Rowling’s magical world.
It was then that I began to understand the power of the written word — how it can inspire, free the soul, and change how we think, act, and view the world around us.
But as I grew older and became exposed to the opinions of others, I found that I was unable to write. And for a long time, I didn’t understand why I felt this Resistance every time I tried to tap into my creativity.
Years later, I’ve realized the truth: it’s because I was afraid.
What are you afraid of?
When I was in middle school, I met my first girlfriend. Her name was Natalie, and she didn’t really want to date me in the first place. The torrid affair lasted a grand total of seven days and afterwards, I found out she only dated me because her friends told her to.
When I asked one of them later why she didn’t want to date me, they said it was because I was “Asian.”
Let me preface what I have to say next by letting you know that I don’t consider most of the people I grew up with to be racist.
But as teenagers, we are ignorant to the realities of the world and it’s easy to get caught up in what is “cool” about a person, rather than see them as unique individuals subject to the same decency and respect as any other human being.
Sadly, Natalie didn’t understand this concept. And technically, she was only half right about me being “Asian.”
A Little background: I was born in Southern California. My parents are from the Philippines. So I’m a first-generation Filipino American. Sure, you can consider Filipinos a class of the Asian culture, but ask any true Filipino what race they are and they’ll say, “Pilipino!”
We’re a proud culture, devoted to our families, traditions, and the legacies passed down by our elders. To go against this way of being is paramount to blasphemy and usually results in a bamboo reed across your backside.
Suffice to say, I grew up in a predominately white town, where I was one of two token Asians in my friend group (What up, Jun!).
Back then, I wouldn’t have considered myself hated, nor, despite Natalie’s misguided notions of what was cool, even purposefully ostracized.
Quite the opposite. In middle school and high school, I had a lot of friends. I played sports, hung out with the popular kids, and went to all the cool parties.
Still, I never felt like I was fully accepted or respected by my peers. I was always made aware of the fact — subtly, and usually with a shrug, a nudge and an “I’m just messin’ with you” — that I had different colored skin, different eyes, different parents, different ways of thinking, acting, and being.
So naturally, I felt out of place; I felt different. Which, if you’ve gone through it, you know can get you killed — or, at the very least, pantsed.
I don’t know if you’ve ever had someone come up behind you and pull your pants down in front of an entire group of people, but it’s not something you want to experience as a child.
This wasn’t something that happened to all my friends; no, it was something only I (and maybe Jun) experienced.
Why?
Because there’s a very cruel stereotype associated with Asian males that my friends enjoyed pointing out whenever the chance arose — you know the one.
It was something that made me afraid to be different; it was something that fueled Resistance.
What’s true?
As you can imagine, there’s a lot of Resistance where my creativity is concerned; I’ve been afraid of being different for most of my life. And until now, I’ve been afraid to tell this truth.
But as writers, it’s our job to speak the truth, even if it’s hard — even if it goes against everything we were conditioned to believe.
Yet this is something I’ve struggled with because for most of my life, I wasn’t entirely sure what the truth was — I wasn’t entirely sure who I was.
Sure, I knew the basics: male, straight, Filipino, aspiring writer.
But what was underneath all that? What made me who I am today? What made me unique?
Looking back, I was a confused child. An angsty teen straddling the line between two worlds: my Filipino family and my white friends.
On the one hand, I come from a diverse cultural background, which instilled in me the values of a proud Filipino heritage.
But on the other, I wanted to be accepted by my friends — more so, at the time, than I wanted to be Filipino.
But by giving into what my friends thought for most of my life, what made me unique actually made me feel different.
What I failed to realize back then, is that accepting who you are and where you come from is far more important than seeking the acceptance of your peers.
It wasn’t until I moved to San Francisco in 2014 and met the first love of my life, Jess, that I began to understand this.
Unlike my previous paramours, she was Filipino — the first person of my own heritage I’d ever dated.
It was when I met her and was enlightened by her perspective of the Filipino culture — one of love, pride and joy for who she was and where she came from — that I began to appreciate where I came from.
It was thanks to her appreciation for our culture that I experienced a newfound respect for my family, our heritage, and what that meant for me as an individual.
Sadly, we parted ways a couple years later. But it was because of her that I began to realize that after all these years trying to fit in, it’s what makes us unique — our heritage, past experiences, hopes for the future and what we do in the moment — that defines us.
Knowing this, I’ve come to learn that I have nothing to be afraid of anymore. I may be different, but that doesn’t mean I’m not good enough. So I do have something worth saying, worth being heard.
Unfortunately, it took me a long time to begin to accept this; and it’s something I’ve only recently come to terms with as writer.
Why?
In short: because I’m stubborn, and I think I know what’s best all the time. But I don’t. Not really. And it took me burning the last bridge I had left, back in 2019, to realize this.
It was then that I began to understand that I had to get to the heart of who I am because if not, I was never going to be happy and I was never going to write the truth.
Yet it wasn’t until I moved to New York City in 2020, smack dab in the middle of Covid, that I began to explore this.
It was here that I was able to separate myself from who my friends thought I was and accept who I truly am — an ambitious Filipino writer who knows his worth.
It hasn’t been easy, and it definitely hasn’t happened as soon as I would’ve liked, but since I’ve learned acceptance, I’ve been able to let go of Resistance and write the truth.
And it all began with a thought: I am good enough.
A single notion that can lead you out of the darkness and into the light. You just have to be brave enough to think it.
Onward and upward! Follow me on my journey as I explore life, writing, creativity, and the struggles we endure for our art.