Growing Up in Angeles City: My Filipino-American Story
My Story Begins in Angeles City
Before I became the person I am today, before the relationships, the struggles, the work, and everything that eventually happened in my life, there was a little girl growing up in Angeles City.
I was born to a Black American father and a Filipina mother from Cebu. There were three children in our family, and I was the second child.
My father was a retired U.S. Air Force member, but what I remember most about him wasn’t his military background. It was the fact that he chose to stay in the Philippines and be there for his children.
He was a stay-at-home dad. He was always around us.
That is one of the things that made my childhood special.
My mother would later tell me that we had a good life when I was young. At the time, I probably didn’t fully understand what she meant. Looking back now, I understand that some of the things I took for granted were actually very important.
But my childhood wasn’t always easy.
Growing Up Different in Angeles City
When I was in elementary school, I quickly learned that being different could make you a target.
Because my father was Black American, I had darker skin than many of the other children around me. My classmates would tease me and call me “baluga.”
I was young, and I didn’t know how to process being treated differently.
So I fought back.
Literally.
I would get into fights with the children who teased me. Because of that, my parents were frequently called to the school.
Usually, my mother was the one who showed up because my father stayed home with us.
At that age, I didn’t think deeply about what it meant to have a father who was always there. I simply knew that Dad was home.
As I’ve gotten older, that memory has become much more meaningful.
My Parents’ Problems Changed Our Family
For a while, our family had what my mother described as a good life.
But eventually, things began to change.
My father encountered problems connected to his service, and my parents began arguing more frequently. Eventually, their relationship broke down and they separated.
For a child, seeing your parents separate changes the way you look at your family.
I didn’t have all the answers. I only knew that things weren’t the same anymore.
Those experiences became part of the foundation of my life. They taught me early that circumstances can change, even when you think your family is going to remain the same forever.
Why I Wanted to Finish School
When I entered high school, I became determined to study.
I wasn’t thinking about having some huge career or achieving something extraordinary. My goal was much simpler.
I wanted to finish school.
Even if high school was as far as I could go, I wanted that diploma. I also wanted to work so that I could help my parents.
That motivation stayed with me.
I eventually graduated from high school, and my father was extremely happy.
He prepared something special for me because, in his eyes, I was his favorite among the siblings.
That memory remains important to me because of how much I loved my father.
The Father Who Chose the Philippines
One of the biggest reasons I loved my Dad so deeply was simple:
He chose to stay.
He was an American, but he never returned to America. He remained in the Philippines because of his family.
As a child, I understood that as my father choosing us.
That meant everything to me.
He wasn’t simply someone who happened to be my father. He was someone who made a decision to remain close to his children.
That is something I have carried with me throughout my life.
My First Job in Angeles City
After graduating from high school, I decided it was time to work.
I got a job as a waitress at the ABC Hotel Poolbar. I worked there for almost a year.
It was an important transition in my life.
I had gone from being a student who wanted to finish school and help her family to becoming a young woman entering the workforce.
But my life was about to change again.
I became pregnant and had to stop working.
During my pregnancy, my father continued to support me. He paid my expenses and never abandoned me.
He was there for me.
That support became even more important because I would soon experience something I never expected.
Losing My Father
In 2014, I lost my Dad.
It was one of the most painful experiences of my life.
It felt as if the whole world had collapsed around me.
I didn’t know how I was supposed to continue living without him. He had been such a major part of my life that losing him wasn’t simply losing a parent.
It felt like losing a part of myself.
I tried to go through the grieving process and accept what had happened, but healing took a long time.
There are some losses that don’t simply disappear with time. You learn how to carry them.
And I carried the loss of my father with me.
The Beginning of Another Chapter
After my father’s death, my life continued.
I eventually had another relationship. I’ll call him Poytu.
We eventually had two children together.
At one point, he decided to help me investigate my citizenship. Because my father had been an American citizen, I had always wondered about my own status.
I remembered something from childhood.
My father had taken me to the U.S. Embassy when I was young to work on my papers.
I didn’t remember every detail, but I remembered that something went wrong.
I remembered my father becoming angry and yelling at someone. Eventually, he was banned and could no longer return.
For years, I wondered what had happened to my papers.
When I later tried to resolve the question of my citizenship, I was told that I wasn’t a U.S. citizen.
I was also scammed during the process.
After everything that had already happened in my life, I eventually lost hope and gave up.
At least, I thought I had.
I Eventually Discovered the Truth
Years later, I discovered something that completely changed the way I understood my own life.
I was actually a U.S. citizen.
Suddenly, memories that I had carried since childhood took on a different meaning.
The teasing at school because of my skin color.
My parents separating.
My father’s decision to remain in the Philippines.
His death in 2014.
The questions about my citizenship.
The disappointment.
Being scammed.
And finally, discovering that the answer I had been searching for was there all along.
At 36 years old, I realized that my story was far from finished.
Maybe everything I had experienced wasn’t the end of my story.
Maybe it was the beginning of another chapter.
My Story Continues
This is only the beginning of my story.
I am sharing it on RedStreet.ph because the people behind the places we visit have stories too. Before someone becomes a worker, a parent, a business owner, a therapist, or simply another person you meet while exploring Angeles City, they have a history that brought them there.
Mine began with a Black American father, a Filipina mother from Cebu, three siblings, and a childhood in Angeles City.
It continued through school, family problems, my first job, motherhood, the loss of my father, and a question about my identity that followed me for years.
And now, at 36, I am finally telling the story.
This isn’t the end. It’s where the next chapter begins.
Frequently Asked Questions
Who is the story about?This is a first-person story about a Filipina-American woman who grew up in Angeles City with a Black American father and a Filipina mother from Cebu.
What was her childhood like in Angeles City?She grew up with two siblings and remembers having a good family life when she was young, although she was also teased at school because of her darker skin and would sometimes get into fights with classmates.
Why is her father important to her story?Her father was a retired U.S. Air Force member who chose to remain in the Philippines rather than return to America. She remembers him as a father who stayed home with his children and continued supporting her, including during her pregnancy.
Future Stories From This Series
My First Job in Angeles City: From High School Graduate to Hotel Waitress
Losing My Father: The Hardest Chapter of My Life
How I Discovered I Was Actually a U.S. Citizen at 36
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