Waking Up to the Struggle
“You need to wake up! You’re a dalaga now, a young woman. Back in my day…” These were the words my mom constantly woke me up with, blocking the doorway of my bedroom talking in her naturally high pitched loud voice. Starting out my day with another story of how fortunate I am, how I should be ever so thankful, another story to nod my half-asleep head to, so I can just get through the door and head towards the bathroom. None of the stories ever clicked in my head, I was stuck in my teenybopper, know-it-all stage of life, where only I knew what was best for me. I set my own obligations, I worried about things that I thought were important to me and I knew only it was going to be me, myself and I who were going to tell me what I should do. Don’t get me twisted, I had this mentality but I never broadcasted it towards my elders, I was still raised with the foundation of respect. I guess you can place it on that it was just how my personality was; my head racing with my own thoughts but never exposed out of me, just to avoid an argument, or another story.
You Are What You Eat
“Culture is fluid. Culture is smoke. You breathe it. You eat it. You can’t help hearing it…” -Richard Rodriguez, 23.
“Back home if you were brown you were looked upon being poor! The only reason a person would be brown would be because they would be working in the fields all day…”
I am a pacific islander; no I am an Asian American, wait! I don’t know what I am. Growing up filling in those bubbles to take a standardized test all I knew to fill in was oriental, or Asian American. Then going into middle school everyone’s talking about how, we aren’t part of Asian we are Pacific Islanders, so I rode that bandwagon and put my fist up for that. It was up until my senior year of high school when I took an ethnic studies class for Asian American Studies. Our teacher was Ivan, I heard about how his class let’s you take a step back, and toss the book out, let’s you realize what’s in front of you; but I took it because it was just a require A-G class I was suppose to take. I was stuck in a state of unknown, and an identity crisis I put upon myself. Little did I know, in that semester I would learn more about myself than I would have within a year. I dissolved that ignorant view of what I had about my tao, my people, and finally saw how my culture was and has become. I am a Filipina.
My mom would get so angry during summer about why I loved soaking up that California sun and being browner than I needed to be. I was stuck in a rut. Why not show my true colors and have that natural brown glow of a Filipina that I loved so much? For a fact, through all the stories my mom has told me, that her and her nine sisters grew up in the barrio, with a not so wealthy life style, so why would she have that trend of thought? She wanted to identify herself with that westernized aspect that Philippines brought upon, “the whiter the better.” My culture has lost its sense of originality after being raped around the world, stripping us from our true identity throughout the years. The fact that during the San Francisco Giants Filipino heritage night all that Filipinos seemed to be about were lumpias, and Manny Pacquiao bobble heads, which by the way had blue eyes, really?! As a woman in my culture I want to explore and learn about my true roots, before the raping of the Spaniards and the colonization of the U.S. I want to climb the green hills of the Philippines and see what the true native, the Igorot, used to consist in my family’s country. With having my education I will be able to afford to travel around the islands and find out for myself what my country is made of.
Flying Myself to Hell
“It applies to needing and wanting to belong of seeing from the outside and wondering how to get in and then, once inside realizing there are always those still on the fringe” –Manuel Munoz, 8.
“Anak, child, only you can make your decisions in life, that is what you have over your own katao, body.”
I was sick. Sick from the abuse I gave to my body, torturing my own spirit only bringing myself to a deeper slumber of pain. I lost a good friend and a cousin this year. Disappointments shooting like darts left and right. My family panicking by the threats of lay-offs running around blind sited, just like how ants would when they would get lost once their trail gets disturbed. I was questioning my faith, why would my God do this to me? I found myself numbing the chaos around me putting myself in my own little world, with my best friends Mary Jane and Stacey. It was an outer body experience where everyone loved everyone and there were no worries except for that sudden rush of hunger. There I was escaping the pain and heartache of losing my two brothers, ignoring the worries of my family and losing my faith. I was a coward. I wasn’t strong enough to fend for myself instead I hid behind my own haze and that puff-puff pass motion drowning it with some orange juice to make it even “better.” I was stuck in a lifestyle that could of led to even better highs.
It was up until that one night when I overheard my mom having a conversation, asking what she was doing wrong, why was she a bad parent? Peaking through, tears were streaming down her face with her rosary in her hand, talking to the best guidance I once knew, God. But what I didn’t understand was why was she blaming my actions as if she had done them. She took the blame of the way I was acting. That night was a reality slap to clear the fog in my head and see that I turned my back on my real best friend, my Mom. The next day I finally saw the change in how she looked at me, she looked frightened. I saw the hurt she’s been keeping inside but too scared to hear the truth from my own mouth. It was time for a change, before I tried to go too far up that it would be too late to be placed in my own body. I wasn’t going to fly with Mary Jane or Stacey but with my true girl, my mom.
If It Can Shut Then It Can Open
“Well, querida, we’ve come too far and suffered too much to lose hope now, especially of our dreams. But you must Open you heart and be strong! And then the full moon will always be your special friend’”- Victor Villasenor, 266.
“Be patient anak, God has a special plan and in due time he will reveal it to you little by little.”
Throughout my high school career I was the best student I could possibly be. Working hard, taking “zero periods” to accomplish more credits to get into San Francisco State just like my older cousins have. I found myself pushing more every year because I knew once I did it would pull through with all the freedom and independence I knew I would enjoy moving out to college. Finally hitting my senior year, I felt it; this was going to be the year of all years to finally celebrate all my hard work and just to wait for the date when we walk across the stage with our oversized red togas. It became an even better year when I got the acceptance letters from CSU East Bay, San Jose State, and most importantly San Francisco State! Then my bubble burst when my mom told me the wonderful news of my brother going back to school; choosing from the ultimatum my parents gave him of going to school with their full financial support or not going and their support disappearing as well.
Like I said I’m not one to speak out my emotions so I just gave my brother a smiling face and a thumbs up and excused myself to my room. I cried of course from anger, resenting my brother’s decision. Yeah, I was happy for him, I had to be; he was my brother. But he wanted to turn his life around now?! When it was my turn to actually start my life, great. I was bitter for a while but I eventually got over it. I used it as a motivation to make sure during my college years I wouldn’t turn out like him, it could even be a phobia. There wasn’t any use in crying over it, but to move forward and working as hard as I did in community college to get into an even better university. Going to community college gave me a better respect for the broad opportunities it provides to have an even more stable and better future. Like the saying goes when one door closes another one opens!
Now I beg my parents to tell me another story of when they were younger. Bringing back the first day my parents met in elementary school; to the days where my mom would cry because she got kicked out of her university for not having enough money for that terms tuition. I listened attentively to their stories of struggle from their stories of success. I use these as tools to remind me I’m not only going to school to become whatever occupation I want to pursue but to carry on the sacrifice my family went through to get all of us here today. I’m going to college to represent the tears my mom shed from her struggles. I’m here before you today to stand up for my grandparents being vilified in the plantations of Hawaii. I do believe in my faith having my own mission for me to accomplish in my lifetime. Relying on the fact that what didn’t kill up in the past only made us stronger today. I am a college student.
