My Family - Original Writing

Seven years earlier, I migrated to Hawaii when I was twenty-three. I had flown away from my mother and my life in the Philippines. Like young adults and being rebellious, I wanted to live on my own away from my mother 's roof. I left the city life I grew up with in the Philippines in hope of a better life in another country.

The first time I took a risk, I was eighteen. I was sitting in my grandmother’s kitchen. A large painting of “The Last Supper” hung on the wall, next to it, rosary beads hung reverently and with care. The beads swung softly as the fan circled lazily above me. My grandmother, mi abuelita, my second mother sat in front of me. She has always been smaller than my siblings and I. Standing at below five feet, we often had to bend at the waist to hug her, kissing her cheek in welcome or in thanks. But in that moment, I had never felt so small and young because here I was about to come out to my grandmother. Here I was sitting in this small kitchen covered in Catholic imagery, her religion the most important thing to her, with the fear of wrecking this relationship..

Everyone was very patient and kind with me when I while I am mourning the loss of my mother until my Aunt Laura decided to come to town. My Aunt was older than my mother she was fifty and would never admit to being older than 45. My Aunt Laura always ignored me and almost never visited. She would acknowledge my presence or even be nice to me so it was very strange to see her here so soon before the funeral. She came in in an all-black attire. She had a black lacy dress with a black boa and a black hat with a veil. My aunt has very dark reddish brown curled hair and over caked on make up to hide her age. She hugged my maid and cried “Oh Amelia what a shame your mother has passed so young.” I looked at her with a tilted head and was like I am Amelia. She quickly came over and repeated her actions. She wiped away some imaginary tears with a laced hanker chief to make herself look dignified and told me “Well that’s enough of that, can you show me to my room?” My aunt had seemed to pack her whole house into one car. I hoped this stay was temporary but it had seemed like she had plan to stay forever. All my aunt seemed to care about was when the reading of the will would be arranged. My grief had kept me from even starting any of the funeral plans so I left it to my maid to start. My Aunt seem to laugh at my idea and insisted on arranging the will plans for tomorrow.

Everyone knows how it feels to be exiled. No one has been in on everything they wanted to when they wanted it. I wanted everything in my life to be forced. I cannot control everything in my life not now and especially not when I was young. I tried so hard to get everything done the way I wanted it when I wanted it but then my life changed and it changed fast. When I three years old my mom and dad got divorced. After that my brother, mom, and I moved around a lot for the next two years. The neighborhoods we lived in didn’t happen to be ideal. My mom eventually got remarried when I was five. Not even a year later my father died. In this short time span I didn’t really comprehend what was going on and that I really lost my father. I didn’t

My palms were as sweaty and heart was in my throat. My mom and I were currently at Hartsfield Jackson Airport, waiting for his arrival. I knew my mom was feeling as nervous as me because she almost ran someone over this morning. She was boring holes into the sliding glass doors, as if she glared hard enough, it would open. I held my breath as I saw the doors slide open, only to sigh when I saw a woman with Wal-Mart on her luggage cart. After a few dozen people, a 5’6 male figure with a pair of jeans, blue t-shirt, and socks and sandals made his way over to us after my mom basically yelled out, ”Bao!”, his name, and waved like her life depended on it. He’s here, my older brother.

I lived in a neighborhood called Shadowbay in a small town called Willis, Texas. I lived there for twelve years, it was all I ever knew. My parents got divorced right after I was born and I lived with my mom and my two sisters. My mom was tall and skinny with tan skin, dark brown eyes and long brown hair. I felt like I never really knew her growing up though because she worked often. I was always left with my two sisters and occasionally with one of my mom’s many boyfriends. I was the youngest of my sisters. Eventually my mom found a decent man. His name was Steve and he was tall, built, bald and covered in tattoos. I would be afraid if I saw him on the street but I knew him and he was the first decent man my mom had ever brought home.

When I was younger, my mom would rent out our basement room to single people she would work with in the military. I personally loved it because it meant that there were more people around I could harass into playing with me. However, I was always confused when I would hear my grandparents berate my mother for letting “those people” into our home. I remained confused, until I asked my mother what they meant, and why they were so angry. She described to me how “old fashioned” my grandparents were and how they didn’t believe in surrounding not only the family, but me in particular, with people who identified as ‘gay’. I sat quietly for a long time before my mother asked if I felt it mattered. I responded that I truly didn’t, and carried on with my activities for the day.

A few years ago, I finally decided to have the have the guts and ask my mom the question I had been wanting to ask her. Growing up I had strict parents but not that strict as if I were a prisoner in my own home. Almost every parent appear to be strict others on the other hand are not strict. Entering high school would be the most scariest chapter in my life, I going to meet several new people in my life. Biting my nails as I’m walking in on my first day of highschool, I turn my head left and right as if I were an owl. Seeing every girl looking like they are barbie dolls or Miss Universe. All the girls with their fresh makeup done like a professional makeup artist did their makeup while I am looking like a dead rat. My mother never allowed me to wear makeup for the reason being that I’d get acne.

A nudge was administered to my shoulder as my eyes crept open. Slowly, a giant man came into my line of sight. He was a tall man with a thick beard and a toothy smile. Between the fold of his lips was a burning piece of cancer puffing out clouds of smoke. Coughing, I bolted up from the metal bed, looking at the mammoth of a man. He started to chuckle while blowing out more smoke. The room filled with laughter as I noticed the other four tattooed men around the room.

It was a normal day in Paoli, me and my mom were walking to EL Compadres from the library. My brother was currently going to his band competition, and my sister was out horseback riding with her friends. As we walked by the new deck a small chubby kid with a face full of ugly smudged freckles waddled out of El Compadres and stabbed me with a vial of green liquid. He yelled “ Get out of my way!” and smacked me in the face. My mom grabbed his arm and swung him onto the ground. He cursed at us got up and ran off.

My mother always told me that in the end, everything loses importance. All the things we’ve worked for, spent our time on, the things we desire the most lose the light that inspired us at the beginning. I believe it to be different or at least hope for it to be different. I want that light to be there forever because I don’t want to lose everything I’ve worked for. I’ve built this world in my mind; a vision of what I want my life to be like and who I want to live it with. In that world, he stands, and everything revolves around him. He is the embodiment of that world. It has been built in his honor because he is what I aspire to be.

The date was October 30, 2006, a crisp but clear night in the streets of Waiuku. Our next door neighbours were having a Halloween gathering filled with drinks, an overload of food, and deafening music. Seeing as the neighbours were also my mum’s mum and her sister, a whole heap of my extended family were there. This included my cousins Grace and Mark, their parents, a few distant family members, and some I hadn’t even met before. Even though the house was overcrowded, I had a lot of fun.

All children would do anything to have a pet, I had it, but I had to endure the heat, mosquitoes and tiredness, even so my happiness did not last long. It was early morning in my home town Guayana city. My dad was preparing the car with enthusiasm, he had a happy expression on his face. I knew why, because we were going to do his favorite activity; Go fishing. Even with 10 years old I could notice how happy everyone was at that moment.

When anyone thinks of a perfect family photo, they imagine a family with fancy clothing, a bright sunny day, green grass and faces that have been enhanced. When my family takes photos they are not quite that picture perfect family that’s advertise but a family that goes deeper than perfection.

Recently, I heard some rather grim gossip about my old babysitter which made me think of a particular summer morning, bookmarked in my long-term memory.