It’s been a pretty emotional week for me.
My family immigrated to the United States before I was born. They took a ship from Vietnam to the Philippines where my grandfather apparently saved the lives of hundreds by fixing a mechanical issue that no one else on the ship could diagnose and repair. He did this in the midst of one of his children, my aunt, falling ill to the conditions of the ship. After he finished mending the broken parts, he held my aunt and my family close together, huddled in a small corner until they reached land. The trip didn’t take long (I forget how long) but my aunt was pretty weak and my mom recalls him asking people to just leave him be so that he could just be with his family.
In the Philippines, my grandpa continued to sport his guardianship and bravery. They took shelter in what seemed like a local campground for new arrivals waiting to depart to the United States, something I still need to look into. While they were sleeping one night, some Filipino men tried to sneak in and rape my mom and my aunts. They screamed and my grandfather heard. He got out of bed immediately, scared them off, and my aunts and mom never slept alone again afterward.
Eventually, they flew into the United States from the Philippines. With the assistance of some program (again, something I need to look into), they eventually found themselves a home in Worcester, Massachusetts. They found a place to live; they found jobs; they bought cars; they started families, and I was born. September 26, 1992, around two in the morning. Sometimes my dad teases me and tells me my mom wanted a boy instead of a girl, but the true story is that she was too tired to hold me when I was first born so she gave me to my dad to hold immediately. He tries to use it as ammo when he’s trying to get on my good side, but I already know the full story.
Today marks the 6th anniversary of my grandfather’s death. Two days ago, it was Mother’s Day. I guess I’ve been really emotional because my grandpa brought this family from the ground up. He didn’t know a lick of English, and still found the courage to come to a new country in hopes of providing a better life for his children. He rocked me to sleep in a hammock when I was a baby. He dropped me off at the corner store in the morning and gave me a quarter to buy a bag of my favorite chips, Funyuns (yup I know, gross) (when they actually cost a quarter). He gave me and my best friend money to go to Wendy’s next door when we got tired of playing. He taught me how to care for dogs, and I’ve grown up with dogs my whole life. He made the best lobster stir-fry. And he picked me up from school in his little red jeep. He was honestly the man. A man of little words, but honestly, the man. Everybody respected him and his presence demanded it. He just had the aura about him.
This man raised my mom, Lindy. My mom is the most selfless person I know, and I know where she gets it from. Dear momma, you throw the team on your back day in and day out, for every single day you’ve been alive. I stand on the shoulders of giants every day and I am better because of that.
You are one of those giants.
My mom beat breast cancer. She comes home from work every day, beat to all hell and cooks for my family. She helped put me through school even when she was going through cancer treatment a year after my grandfather passed. She sent me abroad on my first international travel to Paris, despite money issues, making sure I never miss a beat of this life we’re given. Even when she was out of work from treatment, even when she needed me most. She always puts herself last. My love for this lady makes me weak.
I just want to say thank you to my roots for making this life possible. Grandpa, we miss you everyday. You will forever be the heart of our family.
Thank you for being my giants.