Building Her American Dream

My Filipino Mother’s immigration journey

Whenever my mom comes home to the Philippines, I always hear friends and family ask the same thing. “How were you able to raise 5 children in the States?!” Honestly, I didn’t understand the gravity of this question. Like, what do you mean how? She just did.

When my mom turned 24, she decided to start a life in the States; a foreign country where she only had a handful of relatives and not very many friends. I admire her for taking that leap of faith.

A few years later, she fell pregnant with me. Her family was so disappointed because they didn’t approve of my dad. They knew of his bad-boy history and felt like he wouldn’t be a good fit for my mom. They urged her to move back home to Pampanga so they could take care of her, but she made it a point to stay and make it. This was the beginning of their Filipino-American family.

MY FILIPINA MAMA

Yes, I referred to her as a Filipina, because that’s who she is. Not that Filipinx bullshit. (Ok, glad we got that out of the way.)

Raising kids is hard enough as it is. Now, let’s add Filipino children raised in America (where freedom is highly encouraged) by my born-and-bred provincial mother. We were free to act, free to speak, free to be. Well, guess what? This woman wasn’t having it.

When my sisters and I were teens, not only did she deal with hormones, she dealt with assholes! Yes, I said it. We were complete assholes. The threats to ship us to the Philippines because of our bad behavior was constant. It’s normal for parents to have to deal with the insanely ruthless teen years, but doing this, plus trying to insert traditional values, was my mother’s worst nightmare.

She grew up in a place where you could say anything to your child and all they could do was take the heat. In America, if you tell your child you are going to smack the shit outta them, your child could threaten to call the cops on you. Of course, my sisters and I would never do that. We knew better. But I will admit, that once, during a huge disagreement, those words did slip out of my mouth. I was put in check real quick. If you have a Filipina mother, you already know what that means. I won’t go into detail, but I know I deserved it.

LET’S TALK CULTURE

Talking to articulate feelings wasn’t a thing at our house. Talking to fight back was all we knew. She was fighting for her children to understand. She was fighting to protest us. We were fighting for a Friday night out with our friends. It was as if we were all speaking different languages, and the more I think about it, we kind of were.

In a literal sense, she most definitely spoke a different language when she was cussing us out. I mean there’s just no better way to express yourself than in your native tongue.

She struggled to keep us close, rooted in the culture she grew up with. There was no way she was telling her family back in Pampanga that her kids had turned out to be uncultured spoiled brats.

TWO LANGUAGES ARE BETTER THAN ONE

When I was about 14, my Lola came to visit, and we took her to an upscale mall. She and my mom were speaking in their dialect, and they overheard two young teens making fun of them; mocking them and pretending to speak Chinese.

My mom walked straight up to those girls to let them know that she could hear them, and that they should be ashamed of themselves. She told them that they should be laughing at themselves, because they can only pretend to speak another language. My mother, on the other hand, was privileged enough to know several.

I was very proud of my mama on this day.

WORK WORK WORK WORK WORK

My mom has worked in retail her entire life. Both my parents did. The mall was our second home growing up. In the earlier years we didn’t have much, which meant they worked 6 days a week. Like I mentioned earlier, my mom has 5 kids. She never did the whole 3 months maternity leave. She either always wanted to, or was asked to come back early. This meant working til the day she gave birth (even with my twin brothers, who she had when she was 36) and taking only a month off until she was back to work again, full time.

That was the longest break she ever took; after having my brothers. She nearly died giving birth, and on top of that, the younger twin was in the hospital for a month due to health complications. This was the only reason she was able to “take time off”. When she did get back to work, there were days she had all 5 of us in tow. As kids, sometimes, stock rooms were our playground.

Years later, I remember crying during a parent teacher meeting about how I felt like she was never home. She then started applying for work that didn’t require her to be gone for 10 hrs and would give her at least two days off. She landed a job soon after that, with a company that valued her, gave her benefits, and most importantly- a place where she wouldn’t be taken advantage of.

This woman has spent almost 40 years in retail. Working on her feet 8 hours a day, 5 days a week. Due to Covid-19, the company she worked for decided to shut down for good. I believe this was a blessing in disguise. After all those years, she can finally kick up her feet and slow down. (Even if she doesn’t want to.)

AGAINST THE ODDS

In a recent conversation, she mentioned how she never considered herself as an OFW. Those were the ones who went to the Middle East, or other parts of Asia, and sent money back to their families. But as she reflected on her life now, it dawned on her that that is exactly what she was doing. She moved her life across the Pacific to provide for her family. To build a life she could call her own.

To “grow a backbone” is a term we like to throw at people when we think they should stand up for themselves. This is exactly what my mom had to do several times in her life. She made it look easy, but a layer I feel that most people miss is the fact that there were so many odds stacked against her.

She took a leap of faith when she moved, and went against her family’s wishes when she married my dad. Before it was gentrified, she took a job in Oakland and had to stand up to customers that were ready to cuss her out. My mother had to learn to put her overly Americanized children in their place, and sacrifice seeing them grow up because providing was the priority.

People took advantage of her kindness and hard work. She was made fun of because of her English or her accent, and at times, was made to believe she didn’t belong.

When someone migrates to America the instant thought is, “wow, they made it!” In a sense, they did. But what people don’t see are the struggles immigrants go through in trying to “make it”, day in and day out.

A TRUE O.G.

My mother is a warrior. She has done everything in her power to provide her family with everything she saw fit, and more. When I hear the word strength, I think of her. No matter how much she grew accustomed to American traditions, she has Filipina blood running through her veins, and no one can ever take that away from her. No one.

So, when asked, “How did you raise 5 kids in the States?”
My mom usually gives a little head shake and laughs it off. But what I would say, is that she did it with a relentless yearning to live her American dream. When there is fire in a woman’s eyes she cannot be stopped, and it is ignited by her immeasurable love for her children. That fire lives in my mother and it cannot be taken out.

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Featured Images courtesy of the Dizon Family archives