society, they chose English over their native Tagalog. Not only did my parents sever language ties, they also unintentionally cut the cultural ones as well. While they struggled at work to make ends meet on minimum wage salaries, my older sister and I struggled to do our part by getting good grades at school. My mother especially felt the strain as she raised us while working at a supermarket and studying to complete a ten-month program giving her a bachelor’s degree of science for nursing. When my parents split, she was the obvious candidate for gaining custody of my sister and me. Needing the extra income, she often came home so late—if at all—that our sole interaction would be through microwaveheated dinner. Reflecting on the past, I feel no bitterness towards my mother for her role in my lack of Filipino culture. On the contrary, I thank her for raising me to be the strong, independent woman that I am today. Yet, I cannot help but feel as if I am not “Asian enough” when my culture-deprivation manifests itself in incidents similar to the lotus bun fiasco. My friends sympathetically downplay the awkwardness and try to make me feel better by telling me that I am just as Asian as they are. Although I truly appreciate their efforts, I won’t be satisfied until I can speak to my parents in their native tongue—the way my friends can speak to their parents—no matter how horrible my attempts may sound.
JACQUELINE FLORES ‘09 won’t stop until she finds those brownie chunks and eats them. 36