This si going to be a long post and to understand where I want to get to, you’ll have to read the whole thing…
This story is typical of many immigrant families…
28 years ago, my parents decided to leave the Philippines with hopes of giving us a better life… I was 2 years old when we set foot in Luxembourg with our tourist visa. My aunt who was married to a Luxemburgish welcomed us into her home. Mom and Dad did not have a job, we were 5 people leaving on a salary of 2. I remember that the house was located near a corn field. During the night my parents and my aunt would go there and steal some corns so we would have food for the following days. Life was hard but up to now, I have never heard my mom and dad complain… I also remember going to the very same corn field to hide. I remember my dad putting is hand on my mouth because he was so afraid I would start crying and that the policemen with their dogs would find us. Our visa had expired and they were looking for us…
I guess it’s after several episodes like this one that my family decided it was time for us to move again. My aunt contacted one of her friend who lived in Brussels (Belgium) and told her about our situation. She agreed to have us in her home. Once we were in Belgium, Mom and Dad started looking for jobs. Eventually my mom found one and she started to work in a factory while my dad would look after me. My dad told me that my mom would come home exhausted and her hands in excruciating pain. They were using chemical products without providing gloves for the workers… Obviously, this wasn’t a good job, so every evening, the 3 of us would have supper and then we would go and knock doors to find a better position for my mom. She tried several restaurants in the center but no one wanted to hire her even as a plunger because they did not believe that she would be capable to do the job.
Then one very late evening, she knocked on the door of the Tanzanian Embassy, it was very late and cold. Mom told me that the Ambassadress saw me in my dad’s arms with my very light jacket, and she took pity on me. The embassy had an old servants’ house, she told my mom she would agree to hire her as a maid and that me and her could live there… She negotiated hard and told her that my dad would be useful to her as well… She agreed and the next day, we took our 2 suitcases (that’ all we had) full of clothes and move in the servant’s house. There was nothing in there, just a mattress on a floor, no bad, no sofa, nothing… That’s how my family’s life in Belgium began…
My parents painstakingly studied books, listened to cassette tapes, and even took night classes to learn French and adapt to their new life, all while raising me.
I picked up our second language without much difficulty, and I quickly assumed the role of the translator.
I resented this while growing up, and I am ashamed to say that I still resent it at times. Not only was I required to decipher every letter that arrived at our address, I had to make phone calls, write letters, and intercede on my parents’ behalf. I have done this since elementary school. Can you imagine being the only kid whose parents never attended parent-teacher conferences, and having to explain to your teachers that your parents can not visit because they do not speak French? (And no, I was not allowed to attend and translate on behalf of my parents.) How about getting in heated debates with government agencies at the age of 7?
SO NOW MY POINT:
When I recall all the awful and terrifying things my parents had to go through to get here, I’m grateful.
It hurts me sometimes to see that the second generation of Belgian, ie: my kids, my nieces are sometimes unaware of their luck. They think they got it all figured out and today I’m not only hurt, I’m mad and disappointed.
Of course, I am proud of their achievements, of course I am proud to be able to give my children whatever they need. But how do I make them understand that this came with a price? That in order for them to have a beautiful house, to be able to make great studies, their grandparents, their mom and dad had to SUCK UP THEIR PRIDE???? That all I am asking now, is for them to PAY IT FORWARD...
Who are you children, to decide who deserve a better life or not? Did you ever had to struggle to find food? Did you ever had to swallow up your pride, your dignity just in order to keep a job? The answer is : NO!
No one should have to leave in humiliation, no matter what mistake they have made… Everybody deserves a better life… No one should worry on how to pay for their bills, how to find food for their family and themselves, how to put clothes on them and their children, NO ONE!
