Today is my lola's nintieth birthday. We had quite a weekend, and in a Aristotelian confluence of events, a birthday card came in the mail from her youngest daughter, who lives in Guam with her family. My lola seemed more chipper today. She kept on repeating her birth date to me and how other people had told her that she is going to live to be one hundred years old.
In ninety years, she was born in the middle of the 1918 flu pandemic, lived through the Great Depression, World War II, the Korean War, the Indochine War, the Vietnam War, the Cold War, Desert Storm, and currently witnessing another. She has seen technology develop faster than anything like it before. Her life overlapped the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr, and John F. Kennedy. The earth reached the moon during her lifetime and the Philippines elected not one, but two women Presidents and ousted just as many corrupt Presidents. She bore witness to two People Power Movements, saw the 9/11 attacks, and may just see the election of our first Black President or our first woman Vice President. Her life enveloped Woodstock, multiple gas crises, and the Civil Rights movement.
A beneficiary of the 1965 Immigration and Naturalization Act, it was the 1990 act of the same name that served as the impetus for her to become a U.S. Citizen. Personally, she went from being a second-grade-educated farming daughter in the Philippines, to becoming a wife, a mother, a widow, remarrying, an immigrant, a grandmother, and now a great-grandmother. She is the matriarch of our family and when she says something, we heavily take it into consideration.
Physically, she went from a vibrant woman to an aging frame that has trouble balancing herself. Yet she still tries to do everything herself, only asking for assistance when it is absolutely necessary. Her influence on me is deep. So deep, in fact, that I wrote a paper in my American Studies course on her. My Teacher's Assistant (TA) said that I wrote evocatively. Really, my lola's story is the evocative part. She inspires me in ways that I can not explain.
I can listen to certain pieces or read certain passages and immediately relate them to my lola. One such piece is I Was Born With Two Tongues' "Carving Stone" from the Broken Speak album. The passage is basically any one from Pati Navalta Poblete's The Oracles: My Filipino Grandparents in America.
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