In Song and Self: How Queer Pinay Duo AstraLogik Finds Belonging Through Music

On a warm evening in a backyard tucked into a North Oakland neighborhood, people sipped drinks, sat on outdoor cushions and blankets, their heads turned toward a small stage strung with lights. At the center were two women, one singing, the other strumming a guitar.

“We wrote this song 13 years ago,” said Charito Soriano, before launching into the opening chords of “Be,” the first song she ever wrote with her musical partner, Chen Conlu. “It still applies today. Our music is like a self-help book for me. I hope it self-helps you, too.”

As AstraLogik, Soriano and Conlu have been performing together for more than a decade. Their music blends R&B, soul and spoken word with themes of healing, self-acceptance, and identity.

They met nearly 15 years ago through a mutual friend who insisted they had to connect. The first time they played together — Soriano singing, Conlu on guitar — something clicked. Soriano later wrote “Be” during a jam session with Conlu, scribbling lyrics on a napkin as Conlu played the guitar.

“I’ve never done that before,” Soriano said. “I’ve never been so inspired by hearing someone play that I was just like, ‘Oh, I want to write all this stuff down. I’m going to sing on top of it.’”

That chemistry sparked not only a musical partnership but a personal one. The two eventually became romantic partners and creative collaborators. Through music, they found a way to understand themselves more deeply, as individuals and as a couple.

Soriano said she often felt the weight of her family’s expectations growing up in an immigrant household, where success often meant chasing a version of the American dream tied to social status and constant productivity. But through her relationship with Conlu, she began to question that pace and the pressure to always do more.

“I was always chasing something, trying to be the good daughter, thinking about what I had to do next,” Soriano said. “But Chen was one of the few people that showed me that it’s okay to slow down, to sit still and not think about tomorrow.”

Their name, AstraLogik, reflects the roles they play in each other’s lives. Conlu is the “Astra” — the dreamer. Soriano is the “Logik” — the planner. Through their music and partnership, they’ve learned to slow down, listen inward and be present.

As children of Filipino immigrants who grew up outside the Philippines, both have wrestled with what it means to be Filipino in diaspora.

Conlu, raised in Guam, said she often felt out of place among her Chamorro peers.

“I honestly didn’t identify as a Filipino in school,” Conlu said. “I was trying to understand, how come this family speaks different languages from my family? When I was younger, I was always questioning my whereabouts and who I belonged to.”

Her relationship with Filipino culture deepened after moving to the United States after high school. She learned Filipino martial arts and was exposed to home-cooked Filipino food through her cousins in Seattle.

Soriano, meanwhile, grew up in the Bay Area but still felt disconnected from her heritage as a kid.

“I lived in the ‘suburbias’ of California,” she said. “I almost didn’t feel Filipino for a long time. Most of my young life, when I was a child and an adolescent, I was trying to be what I saw on TV, which was pretty white people.”

Her experience is far from unique. Anthony Ocampo, a sociologist and author who studies the Filipino American experience, said many Filipinos raised outside ethnic enclaves often grow up ashamed of their heritage.

“I’m seeing more and more Filipinos trying to assert their American-ness or their sense of belonging,” Ocampo said. “Part of that is actually othering and marginalizing people in their own community.”

Ocampo tied that internalized shame and obsession with whiteness to nearly four centuries of Western colonization in the Philippines — first by Spain, from 1565 to 1898, and then by the United States until 1946. And that colonial legacy still affects many Filipino Americans today.

But he also sees a growing number of Filipino artists using their work to reverse that trend and embrace their heritage with pride.

And that’s exactly what AstraLogik is doing.

“I think the awareness of how colonialism has taken hold of our culture, our internal programming since birth,” Conlu said. “I think it’s acknowledging that, being brave to step out of that matrix.”

AstraLogik’s music has become a vessel for that reclamation. Through lyrics and community performances, they create spaces that affirm their intersecting identities — queer, Filipina and children of immigrants.

Coming out queer wasn’t easy. Soriano struggled with the fear of losing family support and being judged by her community.

But performing and making music with Conlu allowed her to show up authentically.

“Having music to continuously be together and show ourselves, and to see how the response was that we are embraced,” Soriano said. “It’s the only reason that we’re still getting gigs today. People accept us how we are.”

Through music, they’ve found a way not just to express, but to build a community. Their songs have become affirmations of identity, resilience, and love. And in a time of rising anti-LGBTQ+ legislation across the country, including bills targeting gender-affirming care and inclusive curricula, creating a space for joy and connection feels more urgent than ever.

AstraLogik performs mostly at community-based shows across the Bay Area, like the backyard concert in Oakland. Conlu said intimate spaces like these are where true connections happen.

“During these crazy times, I just hope we can still gather in community,” she said. “And still find joy in the sadness that we’re all going through.”

I-Yun Chan is a recent graduate of UC Berkeley Graduate School of Journalism and an audio producer covering mental health, human rights and the LGBTQ+ community.