Mother, Father, Father's Mother, Motherland

I'm washed up in a flood of thoughts and emotions.


I write to you from Quezon City, a city where a week ago, I never though I'd be. First, I'm in Berkeley, where i leave my best friends with a sense if regret for not being able to spend the rest of our summers together. Then, then i'm in San Diego, consoling my sisters and making light-hearted jokes through invisible tears about the sudden move to Hawaii..

Next, I'm confronted with my past. I'm scared, nervous, hesitant... 'do i really want to do this?' ..but we did it. Suddenly, I'm reminded of who I was -- or rather, who I am at my very core and who I always will be. Will I ever be right here again?

Wake up call. "April, we need your passport, we're leaving for the Philippines tomorrow."

So many entanglements. My dad calls in a favor -- he knows someone at the top who is Filipino and can help us out. Goodbye red tape, hello brown brotherhood. We're off to the Pinas in the morning.

Another phone call. Hawaii is out. North Carolina instead. We're going to keep pushing for Hawaii though... Even if I'm ever in San Diego again, it will never be the same.

Now, here I am. Manila, Philippines. I've stolen a moment away from my family. I'm sitting in a very public place, fighting away the tears of sadness, gratitude, and love.

My lola is strong. The strongest woman you'll ever come across. Right now, she's thin. Right now, she doesn't recognize her own son. Right now, we aren't allowed to see her. She doesn't know she's dying. But she's strong, and I love her so much.

My family loves. Without rhyme or reason, they love. They don't have as much as we do in the states, but God is good and has never forsaken this family. Right now, we're together, and the love we share makes miracles happen.

More later..