My mother came to the United States in 1992. She came here to finish her degree and get a job. While she was here, my brother was back in the Philippines because she couldn’t afford to bring him over yet. About five years later, my mom got married and brought my sister and me into the world.

There were things about my mother’s life that I never knew about either because I didn’t ask or because she didn’t tell. There was a lot of closed doors behind closed doors that I suspect is common in a lot of Asian cultures. There was a lot of time that I spent being angry at my mom for what I considered her shutting me out. She took this quite patiently as all good mothers do and suffered my vitriol in silence while I ranted and raved about what I felt she was denying me.

When I was younger, I resented the fact that we didn’t have as much money as everyone else and that the other kids got to do things that I wasn’t allowed to do. We weren’t like the rich Asian immigrant families that you typically see and many of these we were even friends with. And then I was too Asian and not American enough to fit in with the other kids. At some point, I think I just rebuffed every attempt my mom made to try to teach me about her culture in an attempt to be more acceptable to my American friends. When she speaks to me in Tagalog, I sort of understand what she’s saying but I think I’m deluding myself a bit there. I constantly have to ask her what she’s saying and I just kind of nod like I understand, but a large part of me is so ashamed that I can’t completely understand her. Her language is so much a part of her identity and I can’t even share that with her.

Something that you don’t forget is when you see your mom cry. And once you figure out why she is crying, you don’t forget that either.

I’ve seen her cry after my brother ran away from home after he got between my parents in an argument that got really bad.

I’ve seen her cry when she had to run to the kitchen to grab a knife because she was so afraid of what was going to happen to her kids.

I've seen the tears in her eyes when she had to let my father come back because she thought she had no choice.

I’ve seen her break down screaming because she thought that she hadn’t done enough for her kids.

I can probably count the number of times that I've seen her cry from pure happiness on one hand.

I think that my mom doesn’t cry because she refuses to let herself do so. She’s never allowed herself to do much of anything really. She has more work clothes than normal clothes because that’s what she spends most of her time doing. I remember at almost all of my basketball games as a kid, she would be surrounded by her notes with a tablet in hand to fill out paperwork yet she would still be there. She would have to pick me up late from school because she was still working. I’m convinced that she somehow does work in the little sleep that she allows herself. It's always an uphill battle for her and I'm worried that she thinks that she's always losing.

I used to be angry about the things that I had to give up because I never thought about what she had to give up. When I wanted to be mad at her, I didn’t think of the life that she left behind in the hopes of making a better one for a family. I would forget the times that I told her what I dreamt of becoming and she would just go with it instead of telling me that I couldn’t. I once complained to her that all of the kids were afraid of her because she was so involved with everything that I did.

She once told me about the family that she used to have. She made a choice that cost her everything, but she has told me numerous times that she never regretted it because of what it gave her: her family.

At my graduation party, a wise person told me, “Don’t wait to call your mother until you wish you had.” I wish I could make up for what I put my mother through growing up and what I most definitely put her through now. She once told me that she wanted to retire in Hawaii with my (in actuality, her) dog, so I told that I’d buy her an island. She probably thinks that I’m joking about that, but I’m going to give her an island. Out of all of the people that I know in this world, she deserves it the most to be happy.

Mom, it’s not that you weren’t enough. It was never that. I hope that what I do with the life that you gave me is enough. Sana ipinagmamalaki mo ako. (“I hope you take pride in me.”)