LITERARY| The Virtual Mongreal

LITERARY| The Virtual Mongreal

by: Jennica Lianne

It’s 2021, and we’re still in the middle of this Coronavirus pandemic. “Damn,” I thought. “I guess this is what some inmates feel like when they’re serving their time for a crime they didn’t do.” But enough of my whining. Just between you and me, let me introduce myself.

I'm Macy Xiu. Yes, as my name implies, I'm of oriental descent. I'm Filipino-Chinese, 18, and barely hanging in there, to say the least. I've always thought moving back to the Philippines after living in China for so long would be such a bad idea. I never really believed in my Filipina mother's long-standing philosophy of "Filipinos stick together beyond the family tree." Ambivert instinct, I guess.

For those who didn't know, or somehow forgotten, in most parts of the world, such as the Philippines, people blamed the Chinese for spreading the Coronavirus back in early 2020. Numerous posts on social media would bring my race down to the lowest of the low. And as my freshman year at university was about to begin for me in my mother's homeland, I already knew what to expect.

I guess I had face masks and face shields to thank during the enrollment period, having to sign up for all of my classes while being barely noticed. "It would've been better back in Guangzhou," I thought to myself.

Really, people back there wouldn't care what they thought of me without me ever having to hide who I was. And that, to me, spoke about the "Beyond Family Tree" philosophy better than anyone else could.

Weeks passed, and regular virtual classes were starting. I'm not at all happy in any way about this pandemic and all the academic adjustments everyone has to make.

Still, if there was anything I was grateful for, it was the fact that students could either turn on their cameras or not, depending on the circumstances.

Mine could allow me to. But suppose anyone finds out about my identity. In that case, I might just put up an online business until I could earn enough for the next flight back to China without my parents knowing.

“Macy? What can you say about the Great Depression?” I heard my professor speak into her microphone.

"Fake it till you make it" would have to be the most cliché yet most applicable mantra for my life while I'm here. I would have to blend in with the other kids who don't have stable internet connections and type in my answer to my professors' questions.

I just couldn't let my whole being get out into the open. Why can’t I just let myself be me? It's harder to make friends; it's harder to make impressions.

It's harder to speak; it's harder to breathe. Everything, just everything, is more complicated when you're not one of them. And in my case, I'm not entirely one of them.

I stare into my Meet Icon. Just a plain letter M, for Macy. And M, for Mongrel, a word I remember from a book I read.

Someone of mixed descent. It's a word that may sound fascinating to people unfamiliar with this term but trust me, it summarizes everything else that's going on, other than a multi-variant disease.

It reflects the people who have been discriminated against for their race.

Those who have felt like me, afraid and abashed to reveal who they are to the rest of the world, are a manifestation of two different worlds molded into a single person.

You might want to know what I look like, huh? Would you really want to get to know someone like me? Please. People like you make your own pandemic. So what do I do? Isolate.