Agnes Teodoro (they/them) is a creative with a background in theatre, and film and TV, based in Brampton, ON. We met during the fall of 2020 in Brampton and spoke about the challenges of growing up with two first generation immigrant parents who work full time. We also chatted about how discovering our sexual and gender identity can be a long journey, as well as mental illness.
Content Warning: suicidal ideation and suicidality, being kicked out.
My Chances Were Slim
I loved watching films when I was kid. Before my brother was born, when we were in the Philippines, both of my parents worked full time. So I was left alone a lot. Whoever was babysitting me apparently just left me in front of the TV. So I watched a lot of media. For a while, my parents thought I was mute because I didn’t talk. But turns out I just didn’t like talking because I liked watching TV. I learned how to speak pretty late in life.
I started theatre classes when I was 10, back when I lived in Windsor. My first play was Macbeth. I played Banquo. I only lasted a few scenes, then I died. And then in high school, we had a big theatre program where we did three plays per semester. We did the full week, so five shows, and on Thursdays and Fridays, we’d do night shows too. So I knew both the acting side of it, and behind the scenes. I was starting to pursue costumes and props and crew stuff, too. That love never really left.
Photo credit: Eileen Liu
I was in the TV broadcasting program at Seneca@York. I did the two years. I was on a Christmas movie. We were filming in May. It was really weird seeing 80 plus extras wearing jackets in May, like winter jackets. I was a production assistant for a while; it’s mostly hands on stuff. I’ve also done some post stuff, mostly through an internship. I worked at a VFX studio. And I’ve done some of the business stuff. I got to know about budgets and stuff really young.
But after my bit of experience on indie films and on a commercial or two, I just went, wow, this isn’t a great idea. The lack of diversity is so real. There’s clearly a separation between actors and crew. I didn’t like that.
It’s not that they’re not accepting, because I’ve been lucky enough to meet people that are very nice. But I didn’t see a lot of people of colour on set. I didn’t see a lot of people who were openly out. It also didn’t seem like I had a good chance of getting into the industry.
I didn’t see a lot of people of colour on set. I didn’t see a lot of people who were openly out.
Agnes Teodoro
In 2016, I was working on an indie web series. I worked for two weeks and I didn’t get paid for it. But I had a good time and got to learn stuff. The only thing I asked was for them to pay for transportation. We had the wrap party and I remember I gave them the slips to at least pay for transportation. I felt like that would be the one thing I could reasonably ask for. But I didn’t hear from them for weeks.
I knew they had a Kickstarter, they had a budget. And they did say yes to paying for transportation, in the beginning. But then halfway through, they changed their mind. I didn’t like that. Like, if you’re going to not pay me for transportation, I would have stayed either way. I would have preferred they told me straight up, rather than lie to me. I heard from them after a while, and they said they could afford to pay for my transportation.
Something clicked in me. I don’t like people bullshitting me about stuff like that. They could have just said, no. After that, I didn’t know if I wanted to be in an industry that doesn’t treat people—that they don’t pay—very well.
And then I started getting depressed. The depression forced me to come to terms with certain things. I haven’t been on a set in about five-ish years. Now I have a retail job just to make money, and I’m back in school for project management. I might pursue film again. But I’m still kind of like, should I go back? Should I not go back?
Photo credit: Eileen Liu
The Long Road to Queerness
I’ve known I’m queer for most of my life. But I didn’t realize how much I had repressed certain aspects of my own personality and who I was. I wasn’t the most aware. Let’s just say I had to do a lot of growing.
I was 16 when I started questioning. Although, I think I was aware when I was younger, but I didn’t understand it. I had a crush on this girl. She was dating a guy at that point and I was always the third wheel. I never acted upon it, but I realized, oh shit, I might not be straight.
I had a conversation with my mother once, in the car while she was dropping me off at school. I don’t know where it came from. She said, you were talking about gay people, that’s not right. And I was like, why is it your business? And she’s like, it’s just wrong. At that point, I was already starting to question, but her comment made me shut down. It was almost instantaneous. I didn’t realize it at the time because it wasn’t the biggest priority for me. I was pursuing acting and just doing what I wanted to do.
After that conversation with my mom, I repressed my feelings. In college, I started meeting more queer people. My best friend came out to me a year after we met. My other friend from high school was bi and I knew about that.
I had a crush on this girl. She was dating a guy at that point and I was always the third wheel. I never acted upon it, but I realized, oh shit, I might not be straight.
Agnes Teodoro
Then two years later, I was in another relationship. Just before we broke up, I came out as bi because I just knew. We broke up and that was a mess in itself. My first thought after that was I wanted to meet more queer people. So I started going on dating websites. My friends make fun of me about it all the time. What did you expect going on a dating website? Well, I met my current boyfriend through a dating website.
The year after I came to terms with being bi and I realized I’m non-binary and thought, I’m going to have to go down that rabbit hole again. It was the same thing with being bi—I kind of knew, but I never had a word for it. Or the terminology for it. That’s why I say I feel like a teenager again. I’m exploring again and learning to be okay with it. I’ll probably never make a medical transition. Because even just pronouns feels like a lot.
When I came out as non-binary, people came to me so quickly. Like, other people that are non-binary or even trans. They started talking to me more. It was the weirdest thing because I didn’t announce myself or anything. It was like they had gaydar, but for transness.
When I came out as non-binary, other non-binary and trans people started talking to me more. I didn’t announce myself or anything. It was like they had gaydar, but for transness.
Agnes Teodoro
I’ve met some good people since then. I’m also newly polyamorous. When I met my boyfriend, he was dating another guy. I think he started dating both of us about the same time. I also had another partner. We were both really new to it. But it turned out that it worked for what we had. It didn’t work out with his partner, and I didn’t work out with my partner. So now we’re dating in a pandemic and being both queer and polyamorous.
My mom recently found out. Just by chance, because we had an argument. Tensions were super high. So my mom knows, but I don’t know if she told my dad. When she found out, the first thing she said was, so you can be with a man and woman. And I thought, yes, but I’m not going to tell you about the polyamorous part. She couldn’t even handle the bi part.
I just want to get through this teenage phase and live my life and have a career. I feel like I’m becoming more of the person I want to be, the person I should have been way in the past. My friend asked if I regret coming out as queer? No, I’ll bitch about it because I bitch about everything. But it is what it is. It’s never a choice.
Photo credit: Eileen Liu
I’m lucky. It turned out that pretty much all my friends are queer. I think that’s the case with a lot of queer friend groups. We all find each other and come out at various points. They’ve helped me make some sense of a lot of this stuff. But when it came to my own journey, I was pretty much on my own. Luckily, I’m a really curious person and I like learning about things.
When House Isn’t Home
The first time I got kicked out, it was the stupidest thing. I was 18. It was probably a day or two after we came back from the States. We were there for Christmas. I got into an argument with my mom about my Facebook. She had the right to be mad because I said some shit about my parents on there. The kids of our family friends saw it and told her. She asked me for the password to get onto my Facebook. And I was like, no, you don’t have the right to ask me that.
Then that night, she kicked me out. She forced me out with my luggage. My brother was ten at the time. All you could hear was a ten-year-old boy crying because he didn’t understand. So I got kicked out, luggage and all. Luckily, it wasn’t too snowy that day. I went to my friend’s house that was only a few blocks away. My friend’s dad said I was free to stay, but that he wanted to tell my parents where I was. I was okay with that, like, he can have the conversation with my dad. Have fun. Here you go.
My brother was ten at the time. All you could hear was a ten-year-old boy crying because he didn’t understand.
Agnes Teodoro
And the next thing I knew, he told me my dad was coming to get me. I was really confused, because my dad and I don’t talk. And since our personalities are so similar, we don’t mesh very well. But he brought me home. Luckily, I was only out for a few hours. But it stayed with me and I’ve been dealing with that ever since.
The second time was last year. I was finishing my second semester. And I lied about where I was staying because my boyfriend lives much closer to school. I told them I was at my friend’s house for a few days. They believed me because my friend didn’t live at home at the time. But then, my mom called my friend. I don’t know why she’s so paranoid. It was 11:30 at night and my friend called me to tell me that my mom had called her. I was going to take an exam the next day, so when I talked to my mom, I told her the truth. I was too tired and didn’t feel like lying.
She was upset because I was at a boy’s house. But I’m 26 at the time. I was like, mom, what the actual fuck? So I went home and packed up my stuff. For a week, I lived at my boyfriend’s. But we’d only been dating about four months, so it wasn’t comfortable for me. It was too soon. Then I moved in with a friend, but her roommates weren’t comfortable with me being there either. So I had to call home; there was no other way to avoid it.
She was upset because I was at a boy’s house. But I’m 26 at the time. I was like, mom, what the actual fuck?
Agnes Teodoro
My mom came to pick me up. We had a “conversation.” We tried to have a conversation. It was really me being lectured for… for what? Living my life? But my parents took me back and it’s been about a year. I’ve also been dealing with that ever since.
I feel like those were the stupidest reasons to kick your own child out of the house. It’s pretty much messed me up since then. Like, kick me out if I killed somebody. Sure. Reasonable. Something more extreme than not letting them onto my Facebook or because I stayed with a boy for three or four days.
What Makes a Good Parent?
I’m not very close to my parents. That’s probably the nicest way to put it. You think I’d have at least one parent on my side. But my dad and I have very similar personalities. We can’t talk without somebody getting mad.
My brother also has the same temperament. But unlike me who doesn’t lash out physically, my brother lashes out physically, not necessarily towards people, but towards things. There’s about three holes in our house. One on a pillar, one on another wall, and one on the living wall.
Photo credit: Eileen Liu
My brother and I, we’re pretty close. I’m almost a decade older than him. I wasn’t completely there for him. But I was already a teenager and he was still a kid. I could only do so much. Like most people who are the eldest in their family, I had to grow up really quickly. I was a kid who didn’t get a chance to be a kid. I’m feeling it now. I feel like I’m a teenager again. Because I’m starting to come to terms with who I am.
My mom asked me recently whether she was a good parent. I was like, if we’re talking about parents who let me survive and made sure I had opportunities and stuff, then, yes, obviously. They’ve made choices as first generation immigrants for us to have a good home. But if we’re talking about the emotional side of it, whether she’s a friend? Not so much.
My brother and I had this conversation. It isn’t so much what my parents have done that’s fucked us up. It’s what they haven’t done. I don’t blame my parents for making survival choices. I blame them for the possible negligence and the lack of support. Even before we moved to Canada, they were both working parents, so I was left alone a lot. I feel like they don’t understand that.
It isn’t so much what my parents have done that’s fucked us up. It’s what they haven’t done.
Agnes Teodoro
I would love to reconcile with my parents, but I don’t think it’s going to happen. We’re all too stubborn. They think I’m immature. And yes, in so many ways I am. Because I feel like I haven’t had a chance to fully grow up.
At the end of the day, I feel more like an investment than a person. When my parent retire, they expect me to take care of them. They expect so much shit from me. They’ve given me so many opportunities, but the things I specifically went for, they didn’t push to make that happen. I’ve had to do that myself.
So many Asian parents live vicariously through their kids. But I’m a totally different person from them. So I don’t understand why they think it’s okay to control me. At the end of everything, I’m just an investment. They do think I’m a person, but a person that can be controlled.
The Real Home
I understand Tagalog fluently but I can’t speak it. If someone speaks to me in Tagalog, I’ll reply in English, but I’ll know what’s being said. I was born in Manila, the capital. But four months later, we moved to a smaller town near my mom’s older sister. We were there for about five, six years before we moved to Canada.
We lived in this little bungalow, it was a gated house with a big driveway. I think we were the only people with a car on our street. My dad was a post office worker and my mom was an accountant. I remember the post office was a really big marble building. There was a convenience store to the left of our house. It was a little sketchy looking, but you could get a bit of everything there. It was super hot and the beaches were super nice.
Photo credit: Eileen Liu
If we hadn’t moved to Canada, I think things with my parents would have been mostly the same. Except I would have even fewer resources than I have now. I wouldn’t have as much information. We are the product of the country we live in and I think most of my sensibilities are more Western. But even then, I wouldn’t have been able to avoid questions about my sexual and gender identity, and then the depression on top of that. I’ll be honest, I don’t think I would have lived as long as I have.
I would love to go home, but I’m also unsure. Because once I’m out there, I can’t take it back. But I do think our stories need to be out there. It took me a little over a decade to figure out my sexual identity. And then another two or three years, and even now, to figure out my gender identity. I’m fucking tired of hiding. I really am. I’m not hurting anybody. I’m not pushing my beliefs down your throat. I’m just really tired of hiding.
The Truth About Mental Health
I’m going to be super real with you. I don’t know how I’ve been alive for this long. It’s been a weird journey. How am I still alive, despite not wanting to, and having tried to kill myself before. But at the end of the day, I want to see something better than what was yesterday. I want to live long enough to see what’s going to happen next. It doesn’t have to be revolutionary and I don’t think I’m going to be in the history books. But if I can leave the world a little better than what it was, then that’s what I want.
Photo credit: Eileen Liu
At the end of the day, despite having suicidal thoughts, you’re choosing to be here. I think that’s what people need to hear. Like, yeah, I have those thoughts all the time, but if I thought I would actually do it, I would have done it by now. But I haven’t. Which means that I’m still fighting to be alive, I want to be alive at the end of the day. I’ve proven to myself that I want to be here, I don’t need to prove that to anyone else.
In the last year or two, I’ve discovered that I might be on the autism spectrum. I was supposed to get help from my school to get diagnosed, but that’s out the door now with Covid. I started opening up about it with my friends. Two people I was briefly dating were both on the spectrum. They looked at me and were like, are you not?
It took me until 23 years old to get diagnosed with depression and anxiety. I had to fight to get that. I was suicidal; it was really bad at 23. It didn’t help that I have a really dark sense of humor, a really sarcastic sense of humor. But I can’t understand other people’s sarcasm. I realized I can’t read people. I’m just playing it off really well. I also realized why I was tired all the time; it turns out I’ve been masking.
Younger me will see 27-year-old me and be like, oh, I lived that long? Is it any better? Debatable. But I’m still here.
Agnes Teodoro
What I’d tell myself is that it’ll be okay. Despite how you feel now, it’s going to be different. Younger me will see 27-year-old me and be like, oh, I lived that long? Is it any better? Debatable. But I’m still here. I can’t guarantee anything, but every day is a new day. All you can do is keep going and try to understand. Don’t deny the challenges of life, but try to understand them. I think that’s a really hard but necessary lesson for most people.
