Sometimes I feel like the only thing we share in common is her mitochondrial DNA.
She’d often say, don’t waste away your youth with frivolity. Work hard while you’re young. Build wealth and conquer the world later. I on the other hand believe in the complete opposite of that. Don’t waste away your youth by being a slave at a job that you probably don’t love. Enjoy it now and conquer the world while your body is still capable.
She was born at a different time. A time when people don’t have much. When they have to work hard to own anything. I on the other hand was born in the age of colored TV, Star Wars, Ready-To-Wears, fast-food, instant cocoa, instant noodles, and instant gratification.
She was 2nd of 8 children. She was the shortest. The sickliest, too. Living in a small farm as child with all sorts of allergies and unknown maladies, would cause her mother to worry about her. Would she survive the cruel world? Would she be able to do anything around the farm without her having hives or nave her wheezing? Would she be able to find a suitable husband when she grows up? These are just a few of the questions that kept her mother up at night.
Although she was frail in body she was strong in mind. She finished grade school at the top of her class. Her little world in that small town was too small for her ambition. She moved to the city to attend high school. She was only 17 when she met my dad — A rugged man with good nature. They got married when they were 18. Though happy and content with her marriage she continued on with school and became the only one in her family to get a college degree. I was only 2 years old when she walked up that stage to pick up her diploma.
Life in the tiny city in a small island was going great for her but a bigger world was beckoning for her to conquer. She left for the states when I was 7. She was sent to compete in an international hairstylist competition in Las Vegas, Nevada. She was the lone representative from the archipelago nation of the Philippines. She’s always had the “Midas” touch, anything she touches always ends up being gold. Although she didn’t win the competition she finished in the top 12, which was good enough for her to land a job at a prestigious beauty salon in Los Angeles. Not content on working for somebody else she eventually opened up her own shop after building up a reasonable number of clientele. And as always her Midas touch hasn’t failed her and the business flourished.
Every time I’m reminded of this success story it makes feel all warm and fuzzy inside, because this success story is my mother’s — from a poor farmer’s daughter to an extraordinary entrepreneur. This is the story that keeps my motor running. Every time I’m introduced to one of her clients I often feel proud, too proud in fact, to hear the words: “this is my son“. I’m her offspring. The one that swam around the amniotic fluid of her womb for 9 months. The one that fed off from her placenta for 9 months. The one that still carries her mitochondrial DNA — a biological signature that will forever be part of me and will always bear her name.
As she dropped me off at LAX on that cold December afternoon of 2007, I opened up the trunk of her car, pulled out my guitar and two of my suitcases, and loaded them into the trolley. I stood in front of her and said, this is it, I’m finally moving to Hawaii. She held back the tears. She reached out for me, gave me a big hug, and whispered in my ear, Make a name for yourself son.
I hope to make you proud of me one day, Mama.
