“Your Mr. MUFASA 2024 is…”
I’ve never truly felt like a man. I’ve never truly felt Filipino. I’ve never truly felt American. Every waking moment of my life, I’ve tried to mold myself to these identities, but each attempt leaves me with more identity crises than I started with. How can I call myself a man if I barely see myself as one? How can I say I’m Filipino when I don’t even speak the language? Why do I get to call myself American when all I did was be born in this country? Of all the questions I could ask, there was only one with a clear answer: Who is Mr. MUFASA?
“…Allen Macaraeg!”
I’m Mr. MUFASA. I’m representing the Montclair Unified Filipino American Student Association. I should be happy; I should be proud. But how can I be Mr. MUFASA if I don’t even feel like I deserve the title of “Mr.”?
For 19 years, I’ve chased the image of what a “man” is. I cut my hair, I started binding my chest, I started hormone replacement therapy. I read the post over and over again, hunched over in my chair. Every day, I put conscious effort into being a man, while there are guys out there who just wake up. They don’t need to worry about whether people see them as guys because they’re just guys. They don’t have to lower their voices to feel like real men. They are real men. No one gets that. No one really understands the weight put on my shoulders until I show them. No one knows the struggle of being transgender until it’s in front of them. Tears stream down my face, the waves of insecurity push me back and forth. Will this be worth it?
“HI MR MUFASA.”
An outpouring of support floods my notifications. Here I am doubting myself, while hundreds of messages of support wait for me. The ones at the top were from my best friends, reassuring me I wasn’t alone. Even if they didn’t know all my struggles, they stood by me. They asked if I was okay and how they could help.
At that moment, I knew what I wanted to do for this pageant: I wanted to tell a story that often gets overlooked. A story about a trans person in the middle of a cisgender community. A story of a Filipino American in the middle of constant debates of what it means to be Filipino or American. The theme of this year’s pageant was the Filipino word “kapwa,” meaning “kindred” or “community.” I wanted to tell stories of my communities in the hopes that people would finally know – even if they didn’t understand. I wanted to tell my story so people knew they weren’t alone.
This started with my “allentourage,” my best friends, all with unique visions and talents. They are my kapwa. Each of them deserved the chance to put their stories on the stage. That was my goal. They held some of the stories that I want to tell and the talents to tell those stories on the stage.
It continued with my fellow representatives. I remember entering my first rehearsal, scared that I wasn’t enough or that I wasn’t ready to spend so much time with them. They showed me more support than I could have ever imagined, and they helped me feel more solid in my own masculinity. I never felt awkward or inadequate around them. We were all just guys selected to represent our clubs. We were just guys who gave it our all.
Even though I needed help to see it, I finally feel worthy of the “Mr. MUFASA” title. I truly feel like a man. I truly feel Filipino. I truly feel American. I remember walking through the crowd after putting my story on the stage and watching a wave of people come up to me. Friends, family, strangers. They walked up to me to tell me they were proud of me. They said they cried. They said they resonated with my story. Even if I didn’t place in the top 5, I was “Mr. MUFASA.” That’s all that mattered. I put a story on stage that people connected with, and that’s all I could ever ask for.
To my allentourage, to MUFASA, to my fellow representatives and to everyone who listened to my story, thank you for letting me be your Mr. MUFASA. You are loved, you are seen and there are people who are proud of you no matter what.
