“Mother”

To my mother.

On Independence Day, my mother walked miles in the hot sun at the zoo and then went into labor. She was heavily pregnant with me.

My mother bore me on the evening of July 5th, 1994, at 1:19 in the morning. She likes to mention that she purposely held me in so that I didn’t end up being born on Independence Day. Otherwise, my dad was going to name me “America.”

My mother said I was a quiet baby. I didn’t cause too much trouble, and I only cried when I really needed my diaper changed.

My mother used to smell like spices and dietary supplements whenever she came home from work. Before she left, she would carry me down the steps of the complex before she went out the door, hand me off to my dad, then he took me back up to the apartment. When she came home in the afternoon, she reeked of the stuff, and it made me choke. She worked in the warehouse of this company that focused on vitamins. I was disgusted by the smell when I was growing up, and I hated the smell when I worked in the same warehouse as an intern through college. I had to wash it out of my hair twice.

Now, when I walk into the vitamin shop that sells those goods, I smell the spicy supplements and think of her. I became fond of the smell. I go often to the vitamin shop because she gets a nifty discount, and I have to pump my nearing-30-year-old body with vitamins to keep it from falling apart. She worked there since 1997 and is still the inventory manager. The company is big now and has expanded across the country. Their goods are sold on Amazon, and her income is still three times the amount of my pitiful teacher salary.

My mother worked hard to get where she is now. She put blood, sweat, and tears into everything she did, especially for our sake. She would cut off all of her limbs for us. Often, she would come home brutally exhausted and would just want to curl up on the couch and watch Filipino soap operas. She would usually end up passing out, and she really deserved that rest.

My mother bore my older sister when she was nineteen years old in the Philippines. She was in the middle of earning her degree, I think. Then she migrated to the United States to babysit the kids of a Jewish family and picked up some Hebrew. She met my dad, and they dated for six months before they got married and had me. After she got her citizenship, she sponsored my older sister, and my older sister came here when she was eleven years old and I was only three.

My mother drove me everywhere. She drove me to school, to lessons, to places I needed to go and grow. She didn’t really like to drive, especially on the highway, but she did it for me. She did it for all of us. I remember when my dad wasn’t home and we had to pick up my older sister from a hotel closer to Chicago when we lived out in the western suburbs. She was nervous to drive on the freeway in the rain, but I helped her by navigating with my phone and watching the road.

My mother went to all of my performances. She sat through performances of other children so that she could tell me I was next to go, especially because I was too nervous and self-conscious to watch them perform. She was very proud of me.

My mother housed me and my sister when we needed to move back home. She gave us space to sleep, and even gave up their bedroom for some time. She fed us and provided for us, and still does so to this day when we need it.

My mother almost lost me one night when I was losing myself. She fought for me, supported me, and let her walls down to give me the comfort that I needed. I remember when I first told her about my struggles, I was too nervous to talk to her about it because she was so stern. I typed up everything in a letter and had it printed to her bedroom. After she read it, she came into my room, embraced me, and told me that we would get me help.

My mother puts us first. Although she faced trouble and heartbreak of her own, she supported me through mine when I was cheated on, used, and emotionally abused by former partners and friends. Although she had stresses of her own, she was willing to push me to my feet and help me fight the fight.

My mother is fierce and fearsome. She has the heart of a tiger and the terror of a mother bear. I inherited this from her and use my ferocity to discipline the students I teach. Her discipline instilled the passion and practice that I have for my work and performance as a musician and teacher.

My mother continues to give everything she can for us. Even through blood, sweat, tears. Even through tumors, cancers, and surgeries. Through all hardships, our mother put us first.

I am forever grateful for my mother and all that she has done. I hope that someday, if and when I am a mother, too, I will be a mother like her. Fierce, loyal, strong, intelligent, and bold. Caring, loving, kind, and firm.

I will carry on the legacy of my mother.