Biracial Australian's Journey to Reclaiming Filipino Heritage

For years, KA Rung has felt like she existed in a "middle space" as a person of Filipino heritage living in Australia.

When the 37-year-old from Perth/Boorloo was recently questioned about the colour of her skin, it led her on an unexpected journey in connecting with a community of other biracial Australians.

These are KA's words.

People would ask my mum if we were her kids

My mum is Filipino and my dad is white and British.

Obviously, I don't look Filipino.

I have known that my whole life and I have spoken openly and honestly about my experiences about what it's like to be biracial.

Recently, somebody left a comment on one of my social media posts saying, 'you look beautiful, but brown skinned, really?'

She was a darker-skinned brown girl.

My initial response was to be really disappointed, upset, angry, frustrated and quite defensive.

There was nothing wrong with her point of view at all.

I think where she failed to understand me was that my point of view was never ever going to erase her experience as a brown-skinned person.

After all those initial feelings surfaced, it has now settled into a point of sadness that has kind of stopped me in my tracks.

My whole life I've felt that there's nowhere for me to exist.

My sister made the valid point that the only time we've ever been identified as Filipino is when we're with our mum. And even then, it was questioned.

There were specific points of discomfort when people would ask my mum if we were her kids.

I remember being in a shopping centre once and Mum ran into a work friend, and she asked, 'where are your kids?'.

And Mum was like, 'these are my kids'.

Knowing that I could be in a crowd of my family and be seen as not a part of my family is a troubling space to occupy.

The biggest act of reclaiming my culture

My parents separated when I was 11 and we moved to live with my dad.

We were stripped away from our mum's culture overnight.

It caused a trail of destruction.

I was a brat.

I danced with addiction.

I didn't have any Filipino mentorship.

Now I'm clawing it back, trying to dig through the emotions and trauma, and finding the puzzles that my ancestors have left.

I know that although I've let them down in so many ways, the reason I'm here is because I allowed myself to listen to their songs.

Now it's a way for people to see me and know that I'm from the Philippines and that I carry the islands on me so proudly.

My sister has a beautiful collar piece, and I look at her and I just see the warrior in her.

What I'm doing now is realising that in hard moments where my identity is questioned, the Philippines whispers my name.

It reminds me no matter what my skin colour is, I will always be Filipino enough for the Philippines.

It's not beautiful. It's a tough journey

Ever since openly admitting the difficulties around being biracial and being a light-skinned Filipino, I have opened the doors to a community that I never knew existed.

As much as that comment about my skin threw me, it has led me to such a space of deep understanding.

I don't get why all people see is the beauty of reconnection to culture.

It's not beautiful. It's a tough journey.

If you're biracial and you don't have a space to exist, I totally see you and I feel you.

And the pain that you carry is the pain that I hold.

Someone left a comment in my social media messages that said, "You are breaking the cultural curse".

I'm so grateful for it.

But why did my ancestors choose me to be this person?

I think if anything, they're reminding me that there's a healing pathway down this route.

I've had a couple of parents reach out and be like, "I'm raising biracial kids and want to understand how I can nurture them and what I can do better".

It's better for them to grow in their culture, knowing why their heart beats to a rhythm that no-one else's does.