I would not let Papa lose.
My heart, my mind, my body, and my spirit ached too long as a child to want to accept this as being his end.
Working toward victory was the least I could do for the sacrifices he made to give up so much of himself so his children could have a better chance at life.
I recall Papa sitting on a chair at my nook table as I was moving about in the kitchen of our first home.
At that time, I was barely starting to just make it out on my own with my husband, both of us breaking ground as the first college graduates from both sides. I, truly just going with the flow of energy my husband’s continued hard works would take us with our growing family.
I was writing songs, working to publish my first book, sewing costumes and clothes in between raising our first, second, to third child before even thinking to activate my teaching degree-anything to keep my mind going.
Embedding science and art classes within our schedule at home created a satisfying cerebral activation for me without the tampering of the world.
Back in those earliest years, I can reflectively admit now that I had seemingly always felt I was still running- running from the stagnant years I had endured for so long.
“At least the people I helped didn’t get to see me like this,” Papa blurted, as he watched me busily tending to food preparations in the kitchen.
I knew what he meant.
My childhood in the only home I recalled to have owned, back in the Philippines, collected one of my earliest years of memory I am grateful to have had as an established foundation.
Before the wailing tears of my aunts and cousins as we left before sunrise to leave, what I somehow understood as, for good, our home town, I at least was leaving behind a home that I witnessed being built from the markers placed inground to the rooftop until move-in. (I literally recall fixated many times with just the enjoyment of watching!)
Too short of a time but the solid memory was thankfully planted.
To get here, what I blessedly know as my meant home, America, had many sacrifices before even arriving.
Our beloved brother, an American citizen, having been born here during Mama and Papa’s first visit, had already accompanied my grandmother a year earlier, that action of which caused my parents many arguments until relentlessly, Papa surrendered to follow.
Papa had several businesses during his first two decades with Mama: a dormitory, bakery, and gas station, before finding himself as a janitor here in America. He had been a respected man, a feeling any head of a household I wholeheartedly feel should know and receive.
He had no regrets for his children as he told me. America became our promised land. Any of his expressed or verbal regrets were, without saying it or directly telling me, regrets of his own attempts to succeed.
He had tried. I was a witness to his efforts.
Owning no credit cards, Papa’s savings were all that he had, having sold some of his inherited land back in the Philippines.
His last attempt to financially grow what seed money he had was to open up a deli. This ended the moment they came to realize their cash savings had run away with a woman who was supposed to use that money as down payment for a much bigger restaurant location.
I witnessed the defeat in Papa’s eyes. He had grown tired of trying.
Soon enough, by the time I was in high school, Papa surrendered to receiving disability, his lungs never being the same after working with chemicals as a janitor for a hotel.
Coming home to see him watch whatever sports or entertainment he could find through basic channels on television or driving around just to get out of the home was my high school memory of him.
My heart, my mind, my body, and my spirit gathered my clothes and a bag of pictures and awards as soon as I felt the right chance of opportunity to become one less burden.
I had been an eagle in training to fly away for some time; the collected energy pushing me out were the very strength I needed to test out my wings.
When a child must witness the one they truly looked up to for strength and security trying best, day in and day out, to not become defeated, the hurt inside deepens as each day grows into years.
Although Papa showed to be resilient in incredible spirit, finding laughter and joy even in most simplest moments, I saw the transformation of try to surrender in just less than a decade of memory living under his care.
The hammering attacks were there for a silent child to just witness.
Too young, I could only watch as my parents were looked down upon, paired with the many discriminations from those around them, some from even of kin who found power in hurting instead of helping.
Even the small want to feel big at the sense they can.
A child, I would surrender to some of the unloading.
I could not help lift my parents from the bottom of the barrel they found themselves in, watching even those who could have held out a hand to guide them up and out but didn’t.
I could not create the environment I witnessed my other classmates to have had growing up because even the movie, Annie, would suggest for me to give up my father for some fictitious other who could give me so much more. No, not I.
I could only get up, walk out and away, when I saw the chance, driven with hopes that by freeing myself from surrounding restrictions, Papa would see me continue to rise to greater victory.
Given that Papa had been the one to have received favor and inheritance from his parents, it now seems that perhaps I naturally took the torch from Papa’s hand while there was still any fire left.
All you need is a flicker of light to create a blaze. Thankfully, the generational fire had not completely gone out.
I could not choose my home environment growing up, but the free will to choose my surroundings was given me at school and the friends I inadvertently selected.
To one of my greatest decisions, I chose to place myself in the Humanities program entering high school.
Although I had left 8th grade with straight As, I knew my erratic instabilities at home would not guarantee me academic focus to ace myself through the honor classes, a hunch that the rigor would be in homework- my heart, mind, body, and spirit grew to detest in time only because stable support to excel were beyond my own control.
I had already a job at our neighborhood supermarket that would take at least thirty hours of my week. Studying had to mainly rest upon chance and gamble.
Upon reading about the Humanities program, a more open-ended set-up where students would engage in discussions from readings with past and current issues, I was drawn to such envisioned dynamics before I even stepped foot into my first class.
To this day, I know that had I not been surrounded by the mindsets of those around in my classes, I would not have gained the very stronghold of open-mindedness I carry today about the world.
To hear daily engagements of great minds around, my peers who not necessarily cared so much about doing tangible work to thus, get the perfect grade, but more so, just allowing the mind to speak so that it could be heard, were staggeringly motivating to me, impeccable in every essence.
Every day. From my freshman year to my senior year. Voices around me that drew me to speak my own.
“You need wisdom to choose the dreams.” -Yuval Harari
This very utterance spoken during one of Yuval Harari’s invitational talks pinpoints my very fortunate journey.
Abundant wisdom encompassed me like manna. All I had to do was gather what I could and eat.
My peers, having come from families clearly carrying a library of knowledge acquired from generations of literate savants, were Timothies before me.
This is where I have to interject happily learning, being globally renowned for decades now as one of the greatest successes, Bill Gates, admitting regret upon reluctantly leaving Harvard after just three semesters, due, of course, to the understandable urgency of his part within the rapid technological growth.
As a mother and teacher, this type of regret was an important message for many young minds.
Pursuit for greater knowledge is a great hunger I sense he had been surrounded with growing up. Though a smidgen of such avenue, I relate to the enjoyment of being around great minds.
I imagined the walls, hallways, and rooms of his childhood to have echoed a library of knowledge he had already started to acquire before even uttering his first word.
I picture this of any erudite as I had envisioned how my classmates’ homes to have organically engaged with one another.
Perhaps it wasn’t that my classmates held incomparable brilliance (although, I should hope some would beg to differ). It was rather being in a room where an exchange of input and output of free thoughts were collectively growing within each of us, each time we dared question or listen to one another.
The dreams I chose to eventually live out were not merely array of made-up thoughts implanted in my head while I slept; being around my peers whose family backgrounds were far more stable and knowledgeably formidable than my very own allowed me the entry to live such each day from minds knowing such foundations.
Minds coming from law, finance, medical backgrounds, and business ownership literacy surrounded me each day, the philosophical and psychological pieces unavoidably inserted in between.
Sure, I walked out of those classrooms and back into my neighborhood, my home, and even my neighborhood market where I worked.
However, I got a four-year membership to come back to those classrooms every school day.
It was only whenever I was absent when I came to find myself slipping back into the hardships around. But, that membership of open knowledge allowed me back in until I was able to find my way to college.
To my gratitude, I never had to move within those last four years prior to finding my way into further education.
No scholarship to receive because I truthfully had no guided understanding to even know these existed; I had just financial grants allowing me to complete my first two years in community college to then, student loans, to transfer to a private university to receive my Bachelor’s degree and certification in teaching.
With the great and mainly, sole help of my husband who was, to my fortune, finishing ahead of me, I had made it out and into a new life.
Angels had surrounded me, one day at a time.
I was catching up into the life my high school classmates had already been living. It would not be me as a child to live but now, it would be my children to receive the opportunity.
I think back to myself about my great-grandfather.
A “Don” who had been aided by his helpers to escape to another island after learning he would be taxed to be left with nothing by the Spanish conquistadors for all his workers and land he owned.
What left he owned and further acquired, he passed down to each of his children to where they could pass down to their own, adhering to the biblical principles of passing down inheritance to your children’s children.
But, what of an inheritance if no trade or financial literacy were passed down? My husband, truly standing by the divine decree, wittingly noted this to me, opening my eyes to further expansion of possibilities what will be past our time.
It only takes a few generations down before those who had help can become the help.
First generation success is very dangerous. -Alex Karp
An utterance swiftly spoken by Palantir’s mogul that I believe was noted in that interview, creates an understanding for me that no matter how big or small the success, the first to have made the efforts out of belief and determination, faces scrutiny, doubt, and inevitable attacks.
I think of all the groundbreakers, those who are not just making dreams come true for themselves but others.
Surely my great-grandfather awakened each day to be grateful for his growth and prosperity, envisioning his heirs to know and understand the same.
Perhaps not he to have started the great journey but that first generation success being far the greatest struggle which helped pave the way for the following generations.
I think of all the successes that arise from the belief of one who found another to believe in them, the catalytic converters to all world’s problems in means to making every focal point usable and effective.
Those were my classmates around me, essentially catalytic converters of my surroundings to their world of enriching possibilities.
Those comments they made. They voting for me to act out leadership roles, believing in me.
I faked the heck of myself into anything by just saying I could learn but then, out of driven determination, showing those who awaited that I could.
It was by the time I found partnership with my husband where I would receive my greatest test. I no longer could just wing it to get it. I was in.
Now, all was a matter of doing things right while being surrounded by some of those who I discovered were hoping you wouldn’t.
Unfortunately, many more are experts in failing rather than succeeding.
When surrounded by those who have already made it or know of those making or breaking ground, sacrifice to success is known and familiar. All those around only have encouragement to give.
All of a sudden, upon your own successes, you find yourself thinking to encourage those around who have yet to do or know the same.
And, yet, when the mind is poor, the actions are, too.
Tyler Perry once noted that there are those who aren’t on the boat to sail with you. Instead, they poke holes.
I think to myself those in the inside of AI and quantum growth. I quietly wonder who of the many of us are not rooting for these frontiersmen already having birthed their so-to-speak children.
How many out there are in the scheme of things but don’t really want any of those advancing to succeed.
Is it perhaps that the comfort is in the struggle as in the movie, Million Dollar Baby? (Why didn’t you just give me the money? 2:30)
Fear constantly moves toward doubt, not faith.
How many will want to take the ill credit to say, “I knew it!” if and when tragedy, trips, and falls take place?
Contrarily I add, how many of us will be pushing those in the frontlines of this zeitgeist immense growth to keep going until all is right?
Instead of wrecking the child, how many of us make suggestions to resolve any issues we see today so that the child may grow to be of their greatest potential?
Instead of arriving to where, think about it, all of us will find facing the problem child together, create any form of support to help the child now move toward the right direction?
Just because one is in the room should not entail they are part of the team to grow.
Just because one questions or opposes a direction of development doesn’t suggest wrongful intent either. Yes?
Thus, Solomon asked for wisdom and was granted. I, on the other hand, have asked for myself and hoped for others, discernment to know right from wrong.
Arriving to be first at this time of developmental phases could suggest so many facets of possibilities.
I can only imagine those working arduously together to get advancements right while simultaneously fighting off the voices of those suggesting to be of help but no help at all.
And, yet, which voices are being listened to? More importantly, which ones are actually right?
I get that the great minds are being funded by the great investors right now.
I get that when the fridge, so to speak, has endless supplies, everyone can work on a full stomach.
I just hope that the focus on raising the right, obedient, respectful, and respectable child is still the focus, even if the fridge starts to thin out.
Let us not give up on a child that could easily be orphaned to another.
After all, the child will grow to its full maturation soon enough.
My lasting memory of Papa is where I can recollect him sitting in my first home, expressing gratitude for what I had become.
Surrounded by right, I did not lose for Papa during his end.
Surrounded by right.
