The Immigrant

My mom was an immigrant. She was born and raised in the capital of the Philippines with eight other brothers and sisters in a small cramped house. My mother would always share stories about how they would sometimes beg in the street so that they can afford a few cans of sardines to share for dinner. She met my father when he came to the Philippines and a month later they were in love. I once found their letters of love that were sent back and forth for over a year and my mother snatched an envelope from my hand exclaiming, “Oh! Not this one!”. After a year of waiting, they finally got married and the next thing she knew she found herself in the United States of America, where the only person she knew was her husband. Shortly after that, my older sister was born, then me, and then my two little brothers. My mom was an immigrant but she is the most patriotic out of all of us.

My mom embodied the very spirit of the land she has called home for over 30 years. She was a hard worker, taking care of her four kids with the utmost love and compassion. She did not take any crap from anyone and if someone ever bullied her kids, lord have mercy on their souls. She has always held fast to her beliefs, like a mountain, even if she may be wrong sometimes but in the end she always ends up being right. She taught us what it means to be a good neighbor, to be a good human being, to love one another. I remember seeing her cry when Hilary Clinton lost the recent presidential race and I barely see her cry. The next day, she came up to me and asked me if her response on the Hilary Clinton Facebook page was grammatically correct, “Just stick with what is right and good for everyone in our country and all over the world.”

With this ban that was put into place a few days ago preventing people from various Middle Eastern states from entering the US, a lot of moms are now unable to enter a country built on the hard work of immigrants. A lot of moms are now unable to give their kids a place they can call home. A lot of moms had their hopes and dreams for themselves and for their families shattered with a simple stroke of a pen. One of these moms could have been my mom. So I stand against this ban and you can bet your bottom dollar that I’ll be there at the next protest, standing against tyranny so that a wonderful mother can ask her kids if her response on Facebook is grammatically correct, or how to turn on their computer, or how school was. I actually told my mom that I was planning on going to one of these protests, and she told me two things,”be safe,” and “have you eaten yet?”. I love you, Mom.14495319_10209379184969314_1464651409406266062_n.jpg


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