Editor’s Note: This article was written for Mosaic, an independent journalism training program for high school students who report and photograph stories under the guidance of professional journalists.
In Tagalog, utang na loob means “the eternal debt of gratitude” or “debt of the heart.”
One of the Filipino culture’s most enduring values, it’s a tradition of paying back one’s elders, and it has sustained generations of families across numerous cultures. But while it is intended to honor the older generation’s contributions, the way of life can become a blueprint for suffocating expectations for the younger generation.
As a 17-year-old Filipino American, I’m expected to be an adult. Especially as the eldest daughter and child, I’m supposed to be the role model, the other caretaker for my sister, an academic exemplar, and a family-devoted individual with little time for myself.
The strong emphasis on family ties and commitment within Filipino culture can create a profound struggle for anyone who wants to branch out from the family and its rigid definition of success.
Since I was in kindergarten, my elders have repeatedly reminded me that they won’t live forever. This means that I need to prepare myself for a future without them. So as a kid I was pushed to do extracurriculars such as ballet, martial arts, and piano all while going to school and handling basic housework. I had so many responsibilities, but hardly any privileges.
When I finally mustered up the courage to be honest and explain that I wanted to quit both piano and ballet because I was feeling burned out, my feelings were interpreted as a sign that I wanted to become lazy. I was urged to continue because my mom didn’t participate in extracurricular activities in her childhood. I was told to be grateful and commit to the activities.
My non-Filipino friends had the freedom to watch YouTube, enjoy social media, hang out outside after school and play online games together. But many of these “normal” pastimes were off-limits to elementary and junior high me. And even now as a senior in high school I continue to have limitations, to “respect my elders.”
For example, I must not treat my home as a “hotel.” Hangouts with friends are until 5 p.m.. at the latest. When I’m out, I receive non-stop texts asking when I’ll be home. Going out twice in a week is seen as too much, and I’m even discouraged to apply to colleges other than Stanford, which my family sees as the best of the best.
Whether I want to agree with them or not, in their eyes this is the agenda to success.
Of course, I’m extremely thankful for the opportunities that my family has provided for me and the struggles they needed to endure. But it’s challenging to develop enough confidence to be successful in such a competitive and demanding place as the Bay Area — even without the added pressure of utang na loob.
In America, the values of independence and individualism clash with traditions like utang na loob. Other Filipino Americans in my high school find themselves in the same situation, struggling to be both someone the older generation wants us to be and someone that we want to be.
“It’s hard to speak out because they always guilt-trip you about them having it harder than you,” said my friend Angelo Idanan.
Yet the more I’ve dealt with the demands of utang na loob, the more I’ve realized that there is an unintended benefit to this tradition. It gives me the opportunity to improve my ability to tackle any potentially difficult situations that arise and to help everyone feel better.
Now, as I approach our discussions, I push myself to be more mindful of my family’s perspectives. I work to appreciate their point of view and I work to more clearly explain my own feelings. When those feelings are directly and calmly shared, it normally doesn’t result in extreme reactions. Instead, it diffuses the tension.
I try to use it as an occasion to find common ground with my family and to make sure both parties feel heard and understood.
So, maybe the biggest lesson utang na loob has taught me is that, after all, family are people, too.
Jasmine Sessoms is a senior at Silver Creek High School in San Jose.
