How Ramen Noodles Helped Me Get Over My Imposter Syndrome

I was born in Quezon City, Philippines to a low-income family and as a child, I saw our financial situation as a burden. When I was two years old (just months after my parents had gotten married), my dad needed to migrate in order to support us financially. When I was eight years old, I had to temporarily stop school and leave all the friends I’ve met and made memories with as I prepared to migrate to the United States, following my dad who I have never seen in so long that even after moving to Hawai’i, I felt a disconnect between him and I. My only connection with relatives and friends is through Facebook, but who knows if they still know me by now? I haven’t been “home” since 2010.

Moving to an entirely different country was difficult. I remember walking to class with my “Hawaiian” shirt and Spongebob backpack and being teased because my accent was too heavy and I couldn’t pronounce my ‘f’ sounds properly. Hawai’i was pretty diverse in the sense that there was no white majority narrative. Most of the people in Hawai’i were people of color that all share the struggle of being low income, but still, I was out of place. I found a lot of Filipino kids, but most were from provincial areas and spoke Ilocano. I spoke Tagalog and was known as the “city boy” who was privileged. I mean they were not wrong. I did have it easier than them. I grew up with the support of several relatives who were already abroad at the time, but it doesn’t mean that I had it easy. I grew up with the word “enough” being embedded in my brain. That’s enough. We only have enough money for food. That new toy you had when you were six? I probably didn’t get it. My mom used to tell me that a note pad and pencil were my ideas of playtime.

At eight years old, I experienced my first plane ride and a new culture and a new language that I barely knew definitely made my new life difficult. Am I an American now or am I still a Filipino knowing that the people around me did not speak the sound of my tongue or shared the customs I’m used to? Do I fit in? Why am I here? At eight years old, I had my first symptom of imposter syndrome. That feeling of overwhelm and realization that you have a shot of a better life while knowing that you are one of a few handfuls of your people to have this opportunity.

I was ashamed to say that my mom works as a macadamia nut harvester and that my dad works in landscaping. Unfortunately, that feeling remained with me as I got to Georgetown, where a lot of…

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