YOU START, i stop. you stop, i continue.

Friday was a good day. What did we do, I forget...cleaned up our house. Ate together at the table, enjoying the food Nicole's dad made for us. Got ready to run errands. Jenny came. We all went to Target to buy stuff we needed for Bid Night. Went to KFC, bought some chicken and potato wedges. Then Bid Night.

I now regret not going to ours a year ago. I wish I had, and you know I should have because I don't remember what I did instead.

And you know, I can't believe that after bid night when we were tryna have fun, some shit was said to ruin the night for some people.

Well, now at home...

WE'RE SO BLESSED.

When I got home, I just kind of sauntered in, as I do. The garage door open, I greeted my dad who smiled when he saw me, and I just walked in the house as if coming home from the store. The ride home I was thinking that maybe I should stay a weekend or something, but my family keeps needing me. But anyways, I say we're blessed, because I sat down with my parents today and I asked them to tell me a story. Tintiangco's assignment is to retell a story of your family's. So I let them tell me stories, as I asked too many questions, as I wanted to know everything.

My mom's family. See, this is where I get all the "be-grateful-lalalalala" crap from, ya know. She explained, my grandma and grandpa met in high school and fell in love. They married after the World War 2 and in 1951 had my eldest uncle. My grandpa had a small piece of land he inherited from his family. He cultivated it himself and saved, and eventually that small piece of land became a large piece of land and other people worked on it. Eventually it expanded to a welding shop. Eventually it expanded to include a jeepney. So my mom's family was quite fortunate, one of the well-known families in her province. Her brothers and sisters were sent to private schools and college in Manila. And when they came here, they gave up that privilege to a life of working all the time. I asked my mom, why move here when they had such a good life there? She said it's better here. I guess.

My reflection- I feel so bad that my mother and her family moved here from such a fortunate life in the Philippines, only to come here to work just to get by, to work for her whole life. I could tell she misses it there. I want so badly to make them happy. I want to make that whole move and transition worthwhile by succeeding and giving them everything they deserve for wanting to provide everything for us.

My dad's family had it rough. In 1932, my great-grandfather came here from the Philippines to work in the fields. He left before my grandpa was born, the youngest of 11. He left his family there to give them a better life, so his wages went to those he left behind. In the War, my grandpa was about 10 and his family had to flee to the mountains to avoid the Japanese. Most of his brothers were killed at this time, either by disease or the Japanese themselves. In the shuffle fleeing to the mountains, my pang's mother died from disease, and so his only and oldest sister had to raise him from then on. Meanwhile, his father, who we call Grandpa Candido kept sending money, and the remaining brothers and my grandpa were able to go to college. One was an accountant, one was a doctor, and two were engineers, one of which was my grandpa. My grandpa married my grandma in 1957, a year later having my uncle William. We asked how they fell in love and my dad said "They were neighbors" and laughed. Why he laughed? I don't know. Hahaha. But yeah, so my grandpa only met his father once, because his father only went back to the Philippines once. I wonder what it was like to meet your father, after spending your whole life being raised by your sister...was he happy? Did he ask a lot of questions? Grandpa Candido died in 1990 at the age of 105, I think I remember it. I remember him going into a seizure when we were there to visit, and my dad running out of the room asking for a nurse. Unless it's a dream.

My reflection- WOW. That's struggle. I immediately think of Carlos Bulosan and American Is In the Heart, how his story is part of mine. And his story is his, but not his alone. And to think, my grandpa had to watch his mother die when he was a young boy...I think about my grandpa, how he comes out the cuts with his pipe and a smile, how he yells so much and laughs, and I think, damn, what has he gone through? What does he feel? It occurs to me that I'd like to ask, but I don't know how, and I'm afraid he will yell at me. My grandpa and I share the same birthday. For his birthday this year, I hope I make him proud of me. So that he doesn't see his grandchildren as making a mockery of his father's sacrifices and his life experiences.

You know...people say you gotta know where you've been to know where you're going. PUSH FORWARD. There's a reason for you standing here right now. There was blood shed to make those feet, and your beating heart. There were tears and sacrifice. Make the most of life and do your best. Because look at what the Lord has given you. Look at what your ancestors have given you.

This is my stop. Gotta read and stuff, two midterms this week, a book to be read, and a reflection paper. Plus gotta schedule a damn interview. GEEZ. peace out.