Between worlds, within one self

Independence is not isolation. Independence is not assimilation.

I have come to believe that, whether for a nation or for a person, independence is the disciplined ability to engage others on our own terms, with an eye not just on the present but on the generations that follow, while remaining rooted in who we are.

This idea is neither new nor radical. An independent foreign policy is explicitly enshrined in the 1987 Constitution, which places national sovereignty, territorial integrity, national interest, and self-determination at the center of our relations with other states. What remains is the harder work of giving that principle cultural and lived meaning.

I write this as someone born to a Maranao Muslim father and a Catholic mother, raised in Manila in a predominantly Catholic household, and later anchored by Islamic teachings. That background did not present itself to me as a choice between worlds. It presented itself as a lesson in how coherence is built without uniformity.

The Philippines, in many ways, lives the same reality. Our families, food, trade instincts and surnames carry Chinese currents. Our civic institutions, education system and political vocabulary carry American influence. Our Muslim communities carry a memory and a practice older than both. This layered inheritance is often described as confusion or contradiction. I see it as capacity.

Looking back, two former presidents help illustrate this temperament. Fidel V. Ramos believed in maintaining a strong alliance with the United States while keeping channels open with China. Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo, even in recent regional forums, has emphasized engagement, cooperation and restraint in moments of rising tension. Their approaches differed in execution, but they shared an instinct: Foreign policy is not theater. Strength is not measured by volume, but by steadiness.

That instinct resonates with anyone who has grown up between cultures or traditions. You do not survive by erasing parts of yourself. You survive by learning how different inheritances can coexist without surrendering your center.

Somewhere in the middle of this reflection, it is worth saying that my father served in government during the Ramos and Arroyo years and knew both leaders personally. That does not place me inside policy rooms, nor does it confer authority over foreign affairs. It simply means these questions have lived in our household longer than most, discussed not as abstractions but as responsibilities with real consequences.

As we step into a new year, I find myself thinking less about choosing sides and more about building capacity. Independence, whether personal or national, only makes sense when measured across time. What we decide today should not merely win approval now, but preserve room to maneuver later. Balance, I have learned, is not passive. It asks for constant adjustment, patience and restraint.

This applies as much to identity as it does to diplomacy. The choice is not to isolate or to assimilate. It is to integrate with purpose. Many Filipinos carry histories that cross fault lines of faith, region or influence. When handled with discipline, that complexity becomes a public good. It allows us to translate rather than inflame, to hold more than one truth without dissolving into relativism.

You do not need to be an expert in foreign policy to engage in these conversations. Engagement begins with curiosity and a willingness to sit with complexity, rather than rush toward easy binaries. Nations, like people, weaken when they confuse loudness with clarity.

My own choice was never to pick between faith and culture. It was to let faith be the compass and culture the map. My hope for the Philippines is similar. Let our many inheritances remain visible. Let independence guide us. And let engagement, practiced with dignity and foresight, shape how we move forward.

Quiet ownership. Grounded truth. Unafraid.