(i really need a .edu email in this economy)
“Learned how to work within a professional environment within the structure of the non-profit organization, Dear Asian Youth. Developed skills in graphic design by working alongside graphic designers as a writer/researcher, specifically in communicating exactly how my brain pictures the information given the context of the subject. For example, a visual for a slide I wrote about the overtourism of Hawai’i should be more serious than one I wrote for the Golden Globes…”
It’s that time of year. ELECTION SEASON! (But I guess it's also college applications season?)
Let’s get the elephant out of the room: I feel old as s– okay well, the editors told me I probably shouldn’t say that on this publicly accessible internet site, but I feel old.
The University of California system’s applications for Fall 2025 opened up in August.
Two nights later was Karaoke Night in my house, probably because my mom and I had been pretty busy and under pressure throughout the week, given that both of our vacations were about to end.
Over the last couple of days, I had to learn how to sound like myself in an application without sounding too much like myself. I had to learn to not be humble while not being an as- annoying pain to be around. I had to learn how to tell my story without storytelling.
Most of all, I had to put all of my cards down on the table for my dream schools to judge… and then not hear back until February. (At the time of writing in September, I’m not done yet.)
And this was before I had access to my school counselors or my counseling fellow at a program that matches low-/mid-income high school seniors with current university students. So I didn’t know that I had to do half of what I had just said yet.
At the same time, I was dealing with growing up and losing people, and working hard to make a passion project work.
But as I was all caught up in all of that mess, sitting on the couch curled up with my mom’s Macbook on the armrest, I heard the lyrics to a song that guided me through one of the toughest times of my life: Selena’s “Dreaming of You” from her 1995 posthumous crossover album.
When I was younger, some of my best memories were with both of my parents in the Philippines.
My dad didn’t have a green card or a tourist visa, but my mom was actively becoming an American citizen. I was born in Illinois, so I’ve been a U.S. citizen my whole life (and could be a dual Filipino-American citizen, but that’s a conversation for when I’m older).
By the last time I saw the Philippines in my quite developed pre-public school memory, Christmas and New Year 2009/2010, things were feeling different.
I’m not going to tell my parents’ full story because it’s definitely a film I want to write in the future, but something had come up in this visit that meant I was only going back to America with one parent and my older brother.
I was confused. And the next thing I remember was on the plane home, on a Delta flight across the Pacific (or across the States, I’m not sure anymore) with a broken tray table in front of me marked by caution tape. I remember my older brother being on the other side of my mom, with the three of us being in the middle of the plane.
Getting back to the States, my life was a little boring. At least compared to my life and homecoming in the Philippines. My single mom worked days in a Miami hospital, my brother went to school, so I’d be with a fellow Filipino neighbor just a short car ride away from our rented place.
We eventually got sick of Miami for many different reasons, moving to California by the end of the year. But once we found a place, the routine returned as my mom started working nights and sleeping days, my brother going to school down the street from our townhome.
Amidst the loneliness, I still grew up. Despite the loneliness, I still grew up. I still learned to self-operate, although clumsily at first. And when I wondered just why I was lonely, I just knew that I didn’t have a dad around. But it was alright. To me, and my brother, he believed too, Mommy was our Dad and Mom.
But still the thoughts lingered on the other half of me. The thoughts lingered when I was learning to write my name. The thoughts lingered when I wrote my last name and my mom’s and wondered why they were different.
We moved one last time to the house I live in now. My brother started middle school and I’d try to help him with his math homework, not understanding a thing but still trying. Mom was still working nights and sleeping days, securing us our freedom to have a future.
So I was still alone at home, or at least mentally alone since Mom would be asleep and I’d stay out of her way so she could rest. That’s when bored little me found our CD player and antenna radio combo thingy. We called it a boombox, but it was rounded and not like the ones you really see in 70s and 80s films. I’m sure I could find it now if I looked hard enough.
I went digging for something to play and discovered, aside from my The Many Adventures of Winnie-the-Pooh Storybook CD, a mixtape burned onto a CD. Oh yeah, I found the last traces of my dad that I’d have and hold for the longest times. And what was the song that would catch my four-year-old ear?
“I just wanna hold you close, but so far, all I have are dreams of you.”
the strongest woman I know, Karaoke Night, August 2024
In this moment when I was looking at all of my accomplishments and vulnerabilities and telling my personal story through my activities in and out of school, one thing comforted me. The voice of my mom singing the song that I dedicate to all of the people I’ve lost in my life.
“Dreaming of You” was my dad’s song for me for the longest time. Then it became the song for all of those I’ve lost in the past. When my relationship with my girlfriend of a year ended this was our song. But even now, as my relationship with my dad has matured, this will always be the song that reminds me of my parents. Of a time when I found comfort and companionship in a song from a singer that was tragically taken from the world too soon — just as my relationship with my dad was put on hold too soon for any kid to grasp.
So I put the laptop away. I started singing along with my mom. She turned around and smiled. So I got up. I took the mic in my hands when the song ended, queuing up my own.
“I’ve never known someone like you. Tangled in love, stuck by you… from the glue.” (“Glue Song” by beabadoobee, for those not in the know)
I never knew so much love and comfort. I never knew myself better than in that moment.
Wanna know who I am? Try reading this story.
Editors: Luna Y., Alisha B.
Image: Unsplash