Between Compliments and Slurs

I have lived in Poland for twenty years now. Long enough to feel rooted, and yet long enough to feel suspended between who I was and who I am becoming.

People often compliment me with my skin color, my hair, how “cute” I am. They tell me I don’t look my age. Some joke that I am immortal, a vampire who does not age. I am 48 this year. Yes, I almost 50.

I know these words are meant as compliments, and sometimes I try to receive them that way. But there is another side to them one that presses quietly on my chest. My mind whispers: Keep up. Don’t disappoint. Stay young. Stay beautiful. Stay worthy.

That pressure is real, even when wrapped in praise.

There is no doubt that in some phases of my life here, I questioned my identity, myself, and where I should be. I often defined myself as stuck in between.

I was born and raised in the Philippines, yet I have built a life and a home in Poland. For a long time, I didn’t know where I truly belonged.

Living here widened my perspective. Being far from where I came from taught me how to see the world with softer eyes. I learned to love myself more deeply and to appreciate life more honestly. Whether I look back to my origins or around me now, I still believe the world is beautiful.

Because yes, the world is also harsh. And sometimes, cruel.

There was a moment I will never forget. A stranger told me to “go back to China.” Then came the words that cut deeper: Chinese prostitute.

I felt myself drop and then, strangely, I laughed. Not because it was funny, but because it was absurd.

How could they be so sure I was Chinese?

Do I really look like one?

Yes, part of my bloodline traces back to China through my grandparents. But blood does not define worth, and ancestry does not justify insult. And certainly, it does not make me a prostitute. Not all Chinese are prostitutes and of course, this goes for any nationality. My words are not meant to discriminate, only to reclaim my own identity from ignorance and hate.

That word was foul. Violent. Dehumanizing.

I carried the sting of it, but I chose not to let it define me. I reminded myself that this hatred comes from a small, loud minority of people who have never looked beyond their narrow borders, people unaware of the vastness of the world and the people in it.

Their ignorance is not my identity.

Over time, I realized something gentler, something freeing: home is not only a place on a map. Home is where your heart is. It is where you feel at peace.

Living between cultures did not erase me, it expanded me. I am made of many histories, many places, many truths. And even when the world tries to reduce me to a stereotype or a slur, I refuse to shrink.

I am still here.

Still learning.

Still loving.

Still becoming.

And I am me.

No one else....only me.

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Disclaimer: This post is based on my personal experiences and thoughts. It is not meant to offend or generalize any individual or minority. If you can relate to this post, feel free to share your thoughts in the comments and I would love to hear your perspective.