I was born in 1961 in Quezon City, Philippines.

I’m an actress for theatre, film, and TV. I do voice-over for cartoons. I write plays. I used to sing, write songs, and release original albums. I’m coming back to it, slowly but surely.

Our family came to North America when I was eight. We spent a year in Berlin, New Hampshire, thinking that we’re settling in the United States. But my stepfather found a job, teaching English in a French high school in Laval, a suburb north of Montreal. Moving to Laval, my little ego was hurt because my new school brought me back to Grade 4 instead of Grade 5, where I should be at. My brother and I were very advanced in math and reading. My stepfather got to prove that to the school, and we were reinstated back.

My parents put me into ballet classes because I missed doing ballet in the Philippines. Ballet instructors would also move me up ahead. But every time I had that opportunity, I had to justify why. Well, I learned the correct technique back then. Learning ballet means you have to learn your music too. I must have had great teachers when I was small.

Learning French was my only setback. One picture test showed a picture of students. Remembering the sign in my school bus, I answered, “Écoliers.” They marked it wrong – the correct answer is “étudiants.” I justified myself: “If it’s wrong, why do they have ‘écoliers’ in my school bus? What does that mean?” They said, “Students.” I shrugged in disbelief. That’s when I started learning the notion of different French variants.

The hard bullying started upon moving to Quebec.

My brother and I were the only children of colour in my school. On Day 1, a teacher called me up to do work. When I returned to my seat, I saw that someone put a thumb tack there. I didn’t know what to do at first. Finally, I went to my teacher and said, “I found this on my seat.” The teacher addressed it but didn’t bother to find out who did it and why.

Come lunch time at the gym. My brother and I sat down together and opened our lunches. Phoof, the smell of adobo and the sight of spoons and forks were looked at! The kids nearby turned their tables around to face away. Someone threw a sandwich at us. Back home, we asked mom, “No more rice, spoons, and forks. Can we have sandwiches?” But my mom was raised within Filipino standards! What’s a sandwich?

Instead of peanut butter and jelly, she bought Fluffernutter marshmallow spread. Because we liked it very much, we asked mom to put in a lot! An inch and a half of Fluffernutter between two white breads. The kids looked at it the next day. Again, they threw food at us.

My stepfather intervened that night. “You take bread, then you put butter, mustard or mayo, lettuce, tomato, and a piece of cold meat.” But what is “cold meat?” For a year, we had baloney sandwiches because mom only saw bologna sausages under the sign “Cold Meats” at the store. She didn’t even look at the ham, the salami.

When I reached Grade 6, I saw this guy.

Blond hair, blue-eyed. How do I talk to him? Do I look good for him? Well, Daniel did notice me. We started talking. My classmates started having “boyfriends” and I wanted one too. One time, I wore my favourite dress and was standing beside him. I had the guts to brush his hand lightly. But he took a step back. He pushed me. I fell and scraped my elbow. He said, “Don’t ever touch me again. I don’t want to take another shower. I already took one this morning.”

Fast forward to years later. Daniel is back in the same high school as I am. He saw me at the cafeteria. I already knew it was him – still gorgeous, even more gorgeous. I guess he forgot what he did. But I remembered. I saw him recognize me and snap his fingers. He picked up his lunch tray, walked towards me, and sat beside me. Leaning over, he asked, “Are you Carolyn?” I answered, “Yeah, you’re Daniel. Fuck off.”

Why do I have to prove myself again and again?

Although I’m smiling through my memories, I had to justify myself in every step I had to take in life, in my art. Frustration became a big part of me, turning into anger. I could have acted that out and been violent. But the Filipino in me calmed it down. I turned it into a manageable anger. Fine, you’re going to bully me? One day, you’ll see that I’m going to take your space. Compared to my white colleagues who always took their space, only now can I do it as a “late bloomer.” I’m a proud Pinay. I have class as a Pinay. I’ve earned my place, because I had to justify every step I took. I’m not budging if I don’t want to.

Even artistically – up until my early 50s, I wanted to be liked and accepted. But now, I’ll simply do my art. Do you like it? Good. You don’t? It’s no skin off my back. Others will understand it. You’re curious? Ask questions. There’s the hope that it will challenge white, colonial prejudices. My art is changing as well. The plays I write seem white, but the subtleties of brown are there. I’m not here to explain it to the white person. They’re here to find out about it, because I had to find out about them. It’s their turn.

Alongside being Lola in the children’s TV show Blue’s Clues and You!, I also do the voice of the postmaster – a Philippine eagle grandmother – for the cartoon Work It Out Wombats! While the Filipino representation is present there, you’ll also see a hint of Filipino in me when I take character roles onstage and on the screen. Whether as a piece of jewelry or part of the costume, I’ll always request it from the director. I want my Filipino-ness to show.

Carolyn in Uncle Vanya, Crow’s Theatre, Toronto, 2022

“Ang hindi marunong lumingon sa pinanggalingan ay hindi makakarating sa paroroonan.”

“He who doesn’t know how to look back won’t reach his destination.” I want the English translation to have the words “know how to.” There are Filipinx folks nowadays who borrow Black culture with rap, blues, or RnB. If you’re going to participate in someone else’s culture – even in musical theatre or pop – better know how to appreciate it with your culture. How do you appreciate it? Look beyond our colonized eras, even beyond the Spanish influences. Know how to ask the right questions to find out who we are. Bring it through today’s forms.

It’s good that we’re moving forward. But we should be well-anchored to our origin in that it won’t budge. If that foundation budges, everything collapses. Strip it to the bare bones and look at it for what it is. That’s the “how.” We’ve been in the entertainment industry for so long, but we’ve also erased ourselves. It’s time to look back. Look at it, learn it, understand it, be it before you move forward.

I want Filipino Canadians, for a lack of a better word, “normalized.” The ideal that we don’t have to justify ourselves anymore. Sure, the justifications create our art. But what if we didn’t have to anymore? What if we are free and as privileged as the white person? That’s what I want. Every step each Filipino artist takes will always be a struggle until we reclaim our place and say, “I’ve earned this.” So you, white person – look at me. You will appreciate my art. You will pay for my art. You will be there for my art.