I think a lot about what it means for food to be authentic in the diaspora. Reading from the Critical Filipinx Reader made me sit with that question. Food isn’t just nourishment—it’s performance, it’s history, it’s how we express ourselves when we’re far from home. Food is diasporic, constantly evolving, and so am I.


I’m Filipino and vegetarian, which throws some people off. But it forces me to be creative, to be crafty. I think about the legacy of canned meats in the Philippines—a direct result of U.S. occupation. Food tells the story of how empire moves, how it leaves a trail. But through the diaspora, we get to augment that story. We make it our own.


In the early years of being vegetarian, I had a rule before family parties: eat before I leave. Not every Filipino gathering was vegetarian-friendly. But over the years, that changed. My family showed that they cared for me by making sure there was always something I can eat and enjoy. The invitation wasn’t just “come over,” it meant there would be food for me. Even now when I host dinners, I try to be intentional about curating the experience across different tastes, interests, and needs.


A kamayan, or a boodle fight, is one of my favorite forms of food gatherings. Everyone eats with their hands (no utensils) on a table lined with a variety of food on top of banana leaves. It’s an iconic form of Filipino cultural practice rooted in the ethos of connection. When I’ve hosted kamayan, it’s been vegetarian and vegan. And there’s always a moment of pause, a kind of queerish, secular gratitude. Not a prayer, necessarily, but an intentional breath to give thanks. Ostensibly Filipino with my own queer, diasporic spin on things.


So, how do you eat through the form of culture? That’s the question I’m exploring. And every meal is a chance to get closer to the answer.