Happy birthday to the kindest, strongest, prettiest woman I know, whose sacrifice, wisdom and love are examples to all.
Maligayang Bati, Mom!
Showing posts with label mom. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mom. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Risky business
Dress (as top): LOFT; Sweater: Target;
Shell earrings: from Philippines, gift from Mom.
When a girl wants to add some thrills to her life in a small town, she can either rearrange her entire scarf collection by color and astrological sign, or take some risks with her outfit photos. I'm trying to do some new things with my picture-taking (because all of my scarves are clearly Libras).
I've mentioned before on the blog that I've gone to some semi-extreme lengths to get some of these shots on the beach, namely putting part of my tripod in the water to get the right angle. It is always a bit of an adventure when I do so, because the whole situation really depends on how the water/wind conditions are. I usually ground the tripod with something heavy slung over the top of it, like my bag, so it's got extra weight keeping it stable.
I know this all sounds like a sketchy set-up, having all of my belongings teetering over a lake. But I promise it's pretty rigged, and I have the reflexes of a very large cat (cheetah, not Garfield) in case anything begins to sway. On windy days, I have to play it safe, because then the whole structure is about as precarious as a Jenga tower.
I know this all sounds like a sketchy set-up, having all of my belongings teetering over a lake. But I promise it's pretty rigged, and I have the reflexes of a very large cat (cheetah, not Garfield) in case anything begins to sway. On windy days, I have to play it safe, because then the whole structure is about as precarious as a Jenga tower.
I suppose that's the only risky, thrill-seeking behavior I've engaged in around this town, so no need to worry, friends.
But when I start eating my peanut butter sandwiches with the crusts still on, you'll know it's time for an intervention.
But when I start eating my peanut butter sandwiches with the crusts still on, you'll know it's time for an intervention.
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Sunday, July 4, 2010
Pledge of allegiance
Whenever the Fourth of July comes up, it doesn't take long for it to conjure up thoughts of what being an American means to me. I think of my mother.
As a young Filipino woman, she came to the U.S. in 1985 to marry my father, an American naval officer, in his hometown in Alabama. Moving to America meant giving up everything and everyone she had known --- her small village, her family and the country she had grown up in. My mother loved my father enough to start a whole different life with him.
Through the many moves around the Philippines and the U.S., she raised us three kids, who all were automatic American citizens based on our father's citizenship. She learned English through watching television. She wanted us to learn English too, and didn't speak as much Tagalog with us in order to do so. She learned to live in another country and raise a family -- without the nearby support of her own family and friends who were back home.
When I was four, I came home from preschool and said the Pledge of Allegiance, which I had just learned that day, to my mom. During my recitation, my mother cried softly. They were the same kind of tears she would have sometimes when she perused my "American Girl" book collection.
Growing up, I often took my citizenship for granted, and forgot how much my mother had sacrificed for us, and how she sometimes struggled. How often people would hear her accent and assume she wasn't speaking English and would ask me to translate, even when she spoke the language perfectly; how often people would see the color of her skin, and think she was Hispanic, or Indian, or anything else non-white that can be considered "exoticized." How hard it was to forge friendships in the region, when, even after the civil rights era, biases still showed in random environments: the workplace, the supermarket, the parent-teacher conference. How hard it was to raise three children with one value system-- the one she was raised with-- while being confronted with another.
She was strong through it all. And still is.
When I was 11, my mother took her citizenship test and was sworn in during a ceremony in downtown Atlanta. My family -- the five of us -- spent the entire day in a government building, as my parents filled out paperwork. We took a pit stop lunch to McDonald's at one point. In the late afternoon, after what was a long day, a judge swore in my mom and a few others as American citizens. Afterward, he shook everyone's hands and congratulated them. He came to my mom, shook her hand and mispronounced her name. She cried a little, but it wasn't because of the judge's silly mistake. It had taken almost 13 years, but the struggle had been worth it. She could take official ownership to being an American. She was finally an American citizen -- like the rest of the family she had helped create.
Happy Fourth of July, Mom.
As a young Filipino woman, she came to the U.S. in 1985 to marry my father, an American naval officer, in his hometown in Alabama. Moving to America meant giving up everything and everyone she had known --- her small village, her family and the country she had grown up in. My mother loved my father enough to start a whole different life with him.
Through the many moves around the Philippines and the U.S., she raised us three kids, who all were automatic American citizens based on our father's citizenship. She learned English through watching television. She wanted us to learn English too, and didn't speak as much Tagalog with us in order to do so. She learned to live in another country and raise a family -- without the nearby support of her own family and friends who were back home.
When I was four, I came home from preschool and said the Pledge of Allegiance, which I had just learned that day, to my mom. During my recitation, my mother cried softly. They were the same kind of tears she would have sometimes when she perused my "American Girl" book collection.
Growing up, I often took my citizenship for granted, and forgot how much my mother had sacrificed for us, and how she sometimes struggled. How often people would hear her accent and assume she wasn't speaking English and would ask me to translate, even when she spoke the language perfectly; how often people would see the color of her skin, and think she was Hispanic, or Indian, or anything else non-white that can be considered "exoticized." How hard it was to forge friendships in the region, when, even after the civil rights era, biases still showed in random environments: the workplace, the supermarket, the parent-teacher conference. How hard it was to raise three children with one value system-- the one she was raised with-- while being confronted with another.
She was strong through it all. And still is.
When I was 11, my mother took her citizenship test and was sworn in during a ceremony in downtown Atlanta. My family -- the five of us -- spent the entire day in a government building, as my parents filled out paperwork. We took a pit stop lunch to McDonald's at one point. In the late afternoon, after what was a long day, a judge swore in my mom and a few others as American citizens. Afterward, he shook everyone's hands and congratulated them. He came to my mom, shook her hand and mispronounced her name. She cried a little, but it wasn't because of the judge's silly mistake. It had taken almost 13 years, but the struggle had been worth it. She could take official ownership to being an American. She was finally an American citizen -- like the rest of the family she had helped create.
Happy Fourth of July, Mom.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Happy Mother's Day, Mom
Me and Mom, circa 1988
Me and Mom, May 2009
Thanks for everything. Love you.
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