Summarized life story
I was born in the Philippines and was completed doted by my parents. Being the first kid always gets that privilege. My Aunt Vicky held a party for me every week for a month after I was born, and then held monthly celebrations for me until I turned one years old. Needless to say, I have numinous baby photos, which makes me feel bad sometimes because my sister’s baby pictures are almost non-existent.
I came to the US when I was about two, and a year later my sister was born. So she’s a real US citizen while it took me a few years to become naturalized, longer by the fact that we were sent back to the motherland when my dad became sick and his kidneys failed. My parents stayed in the US because my dad needed medical care and of course America’s hospitals delivered better care. So my sister and I stayed with our grandparents.
I was seven by the time my parents decided to come fetch me and bring me back to the States, as they wanted me to have my education in the West. Our apartment was rather small, but we didn’t have many luxuries anyway. We did, however, have those ancient IBM computers with the 5 inch floppy disks and the screen that only had three colors. The only things it did really was perform basic match calculations, teach you how to type, and play the games on the floppies, like Monopoly, Wheel of Fortune, and PacMan.
We stayed in that apartment for a couple of years, until my sister and grandparents finally came stateside. The tiny two bedrooms we had could not accommodate, so we moved into a different part of the city, with fair sized three bedrooms and two baths. We probably would have rented there indefinitely if the landlord hadn’t sold the building and forced us to leave. My mother managed to get a lawyer to delay our eviction until we could find another place. At first, she sought another rental floor, but a real estate agent suggested to my mother that for a similar amount to what she paid monthly, she could buy a house.
After a few months, my parents settled on a small brick house nestled in a quiet dead end street. My room was tiny, enough for only a bed, a desk, and the cabinets to be squeezed in. It didn’t bother me too much, as I only used my room to read, sleep, and change. Because our backyard led to the park, it was easy to hang outside and the view of green grass and tall oaks was a nice change from honking vehicles on a bus-route street.
We still live in the place, and it’s great because it’s quiet. A number of relatives also live a block away, so having family around is a big bonus. Despite what is said about my city, I think I’ll probably buy a house here, or somewhere very close. Dirty Jersey it may be, but I don’t think I’d ever leave. It’s a part of my identity, and has shaped me to the person I am. I can’t leave a place that has given me so much, so yeah. New Yorkers and every one else in the States can rile on my city, my state, but I love it all the same.