Narrative Essay About Being Filipino

“Work hard,” or as my parents would say, “Magtrabaho ng maigi”. Despite its simplicity, such a minute phrase has defined the parameters of my life. From the first of many chess wins, all the way to seasonal report cards, its labyrinth-like intricacies go beyond a few words. That is, being Filipino is far more than a ethnicity, but rather a lifestyle that has shaped the very man I am today.
Growing up, the bedtime stories that put me to sleep were always the childhood obstacles of living in a secondhand country like the Philippines. With both my mother and father raised by single-parents, their constant run from poverty was analogous to the tortoise’s pursuit of the hare. However, my mother’s narrative undeniably stood out. After my bureaucrat grandfather was ambushed by guerilla forces, my grandma rallied to keep an extended family of six under control. In the midst of economic pressures, my mom was always the parliament to keep the monarchy in check. She filled in a parental role for her siblings when no one could. Academically, she seemed to put valedictorians on ropes regardless of not being able to afford a calculator. After ranking eighth in her class and receiving scholarships to attend Baguio’s rather prestigious Saint Louis University, my mom’s desires soon went west to the United States. Her hopes and dreams soon

It was not the time to lay idle to my fears as the masses caught up. It was that moment when I remembered my mom’s determination. That my roots came from the most infertile of soil, and that like every man before me, I had the potential to craft the future I wanted to live. Left with six equations to memorize, it was the will of my mother’s background that kept me going. If she could spur success from nothing, then I had no excuse to replicate. The meaning of Filipino was screaming to be let loose. Thus with my hopes up, I entered that final with not only a handful of equations but a surplus of