To carry a national identity is to bear centuries of stories—-of celebration and contradiction. 

For many Filipinos, the word itself uncovers a complex mix of belonging and discomfort. It is a badge of honor worn with pride, yet also a reminder of colonial inheritance. In a country still clinging to its past while reimagining its future, language becomes both a mirror and a battleground—reflecting who we are, and challenging who we might become.

A Name We Didn’t Choose

Since the Philippines began rebuilding its sense of self after centuries of colonial rule, we’ve wrestled with questions of language, tradition, and justice. In every conversation, we stumble over where to draw the line—especially when outsiders suggest new ways to make our identity more appropriate. 

To understand the tension, the term Filipino traces its roots to King Philip II of Spain, under whose reign the archipelago was named Las Islas Filipinas. Post-independence, Filipino became the official label for citizens of the republic—a reclaimed term, yet still tethered to colonial legacy. In a post by Doctor Kevin Nadal,  he stated that “it’s hard to decolonize a word like Filipino when the root of the word is screaming colonialism. I can’t say #Filipinx is decolonizing when the term still pays homage to King Philip II of Spain (who never once set foot in the Philippines).” 

Inclusive or Intrusive?

In recent years, FilipinX has surfaced in diasporic circles, borrowing from Latinx to crack open the gender binary in Filipino/Filipina. For queer Filipinos abroad, it promises a new space to belong—an invitation to reshape language for amore fluid, multifaceted broder-crossing identity.Yet for others, the very act of stripping away the “o” and “a” feels disruptive to our linguistic DNA. “Ang FilipinX ay uri ng ‘morphing’ dahil tinatanggal ang ‘o’ at ‘a’ sa Filipino at Filipina. Makapangyarihan po kasi sa atin ang letrang ‘o’ at ‘a’ sapagkat kapag ‘yan ay inilagay mo sa isang salita, nagbabago ang kasarian nito. Lalo na sa atin ang ponemang ‘o’ ay nauukol sa lalaki tapos kapag ‘a’ naman, para sa babae,” Komisyoner Benjamin Mendillo of the Commission on the Filipino Language (KWF) expressed.

However, Tristan*, a third-year AB Communication student,, who is also part of the LGBTQIA+ Community, said that the Filipino word itself is “gender=neutral.” According to him, the word Filipinx and its intention screams redundancy in the context of language.

“At least in my experience, I haven’t witnessed such a circumstance that discriminates against a certain community in terms of the Filipino term. Most of these clamours are coming from a Westernized perspective or society; it’s quite difficult to pinpoint if it’s really a lived experience faced by the people,” he stated. 

His insight doesn’t dismiss calls for change, but it does remind us that not everyone feels excluded by the word “Filipino.” At the same time, the very existence of these debates sparked by external critiques shows why the #Filipinx conversation still matters: it asks whether a small tweak to our historic name can bridge the gap between global discourse and everyday Filipino life.

Filipino is founded on identification with the Philippine nation, whereas Filipinx dis-identify themselves from the heteronormative and white supremacist American state. To identify as Filipino or FilipinX is to walk a razor’s edge between tradition and transformation. It has implications for how we make sense of our past, what we seek to decolonize in the present, and with whom, as well as toward what we will build in the future. 

We ask ourselves: can our language expand without losing the nuances that make us who we are?  The world we seek to create will not come about in our naming alone, but also through connecting the myriad struggles that we face, wherever we may be located, to those bearing the most brutal marks of ongoing colonial relations.

This turn toward our own histories doesn’t erase the debate over Filipino or FilipinX, rather it redirects it towards a way forward rooted in voices that predate the “O,” the “A,” and the “X.” Perhaps  this path will lead to a deeper sense of belonging, where naming—and being named—finally feels like coming home. 

Editor’s note: Names marked with asterisks are pseudonyms used at the request of the interviewees.