I was born on a cold seasonless night, in my native, Balanga Bataan. I do not remember much of my early childhood, but my mom informed me that I was very much active. I learned how to walk, well not necessarily walk, but rather get around by simply scooching my glutes all around the house. I was a very active, curious and communicative child. I would ask my parents as well as my siblings’ dozens of questions; questions that would reflect upon my surroundings, as to why the sky is blue or simply what's for dinner and I would not stop until I get an answer that will suffice my curiosity. I suppose this is why my parents exposed me to several things such as books and educational clips as early as my fourth birthday. They also exposed me to instruments. When I turned five, my mother introduced me to an odd-looking woman. I would later find out that she’d be the one giving my childhood joy; that she’d be my piano instructor. I still remember all those hours. At first, I hated it. I was only allowed to read and learn music theory. For several weeks, I was not allowed to touch the piano. However, once I continued my studies and met my instructor’s expectations, she began showing me the magic that lies beneath the piano keys. She showed me a world that I have never ventured into before and ultimately enhanced my curiosity. Through her, my childhood became filled with sweet memories.
Fortunately, my hunger for knowledge did not come to a stop the moment I started school. I was passionate about my studies, especially in math. You see, in the Philippines, education is one of the majority concerns. Even at kindergarten, students were put into rankings and competition amongst the students were greatly encouraged. This system was our catalyst. It was a substrate that sped up the reaction; it was our motivation to do the very best that we can. My passion helped me gain profound knowledge and ultimately help me become triumphant and stand at the top of my class. All of this, however, changed. Along with my parents and two siblings, we were petitioned by my aunt to move to the states.
This drastic change would greatly affect nearly every aspect of my life. During our travels from the Philippines to the States, my mother forgot me at the airport in Hong Kong. Due to fatigue and several other reasons, my family boarded the plane without me. At first, I was clueless. I was simply a child exploring the huge airport located in Hong Kong. I was a kid lost in thought, wandering around what to me back then seemed like an amusement park. I was like a kid who finally found the golden ticket that would take me to Willy Wonka’s mysterious chocolate factory. An abrupt realization, however, sent me back to reality. I was lost and all alone. My eleven-year-old self did not know what to do. I stood still and looked around; I could not recognize anyone. I looked around more until finally, tears came rushing out of my tiny eyes. I wept nonstop standing all alone until finally, a stewardess came to my rescue. She did not speak much English but she was like an angel that descended from heaven. She was able to calm me down; she was able to make me feel safe. She stayed with me for several days, feeding and comforting me along the way. She boarded the plane with me and took care of me until I was finally able to reconcile with my family. I was overfilled with joy; the joy of finally reconciling with my family after being separated for what seemed like a whole generation. This joyful moment, however, only lasted for so long.
After my arrival, my family and I were informed that we would be living under my aunt’s roof. This means that we would have to live by rules that we have never lived with before. I was not allowed to explore as much as I did back in the Philippines. My aunt feared that I would end up getting lost again and ultimately get hurt. My lack of interaction turned me from an extrovert to an extreme introvert. This led to several challenges. To add to that, being born and raised in the Philippines, my English was not that great. I struggled to communicate which only added to my case of being an introvert. This language barrier that I faced as a child was something that greatly hindered my ability to interact with anyone. When I returned to school, my grades suffered. I took remedial classes and had several tutors. This took a big hit to my confidence. I questioned my intelligence and my ability to succeed in my studies. I was vulnerable and my uncle tried adding more icing on the cake. He insulted me, stating that I was not the bright kid that my mother always bragged to them about. He called me “bobo” which in English translates to “idiot”. This, however, did the opposite. Through that statement, I was able to find motivation. I wanted to prove him wrong; I wanted to make him eat that statement and regret calling out my mother regarding my intelligence and capability. This motivation led me back to my old self. Through that statement, I was able to find my passion again. I studied nonstop, finished my remedial classes, broke through the language barrier, and ultimately stand at the top again. By the end of elementary school, my grades went from C’s to A’s. I regained my confidence and brought it with me until I graduated high school back in May. I graduated with High Honors and had the intention of continuing my studies at a University.
Life, however, is simply not just a bed of roses. Challenges, hardships, and failures are an integral part of it. At first, my decision of going to University was completely shot down by my parents. They wanted me to follow my brother’s footsteps and go to the military. They believed that through the military, I would live a better life. That through the military, I would be able to provide a good and comforting life for my future family. I was shocked. For the first time in my life, my interests did not align with my parent’s. I was dead set on going to University to pursue my dreams and they were dead set on sending their youngest son to the military. I was lost; I did not know what to do. I questioned myself. Should I go to the route that my parents wanted for me? Or should I go to the route that I wanted to take? I was in constant debate within my thoughts for several weeks until I finally sat down and talked to my parents again. I repeated my ambitions and what I wanted to do and ultimately, they became supportive of it. They allowed me to apply at UNLV, and pursue my dreams of becoming an engineer.
