To My 3 Year Old

As I look at you with your eyes as big as the stars

And your smile that makes all the clouds disappear

I want you to know how much I love you.. Now

Because as you grow older there will be days

When you cry when I say “no” to that candy bar

When you will stomp out of the room when I say “you need to study first”

When you hate me when I say “that’s not a safe decision” or “that person isn’t being a good friend”

Other people might want to take my place

And tell you they are more fun

And offer to say yes to everything you ask for

And maybe tell you not to listen to me

That will make me sad.

It will make me hurt, and frustrated.

But I want you to know – now – while you still love me… that I love you.

And I have, and will continue to do my very best for you, no matter what.


I’ll Love You Forever

Ill Love You ForeverI was 17 and pregnant with my eldest son. Yep, I was a baby having a baby.  While I was pregnant, my ex-husband’s mother gave him this book, “I’ll Love You Forever.” Partly for her son, and partly for our new little one.  Back then, I was so bitter and emotionally bruised by my own upbringing that I didn’t quite understand the meaning of this book.  But, last week, my own son turned 17. 

Lord, oh, how the time has passed.

A couple nights ago, I could not sleep.  Thoughts ran through my mind about my 2 teenage boys:

Did I do a good job?

Did I do enough?

Did I give them enough?

Do they feel loved?

Do they know how much I love them?

Wishes…. Regrets…. Fears…

I wish I could give them more…

I wished I hadn’t made some of the decisions I made..

I hope they won’t have to struggle the way I did….

I hope they’ll always know I tried, even when I felt it was impossible. 

I hope they know I always tried to give them what I thought was best, sadly seeing sometimes it didn’t turn out that way.

I’m not even sure if these questions will ever be answered – or if I’d even want to know! But, as my eldest approaches his Junior year of high school, I’ll continue to reflect… I will undoubtedly love them forever….

So… I Married a Black Man

Ah – this might be the most ranting you may get from me… Ever.  But, I’m just going to say it… or maybe not… or dare I?  It is taboo, isn’t it?.. Ok, here I go..  “So I married a Black Man..” and I’m not Black.  And honestly – I could care less what his ethnicity is, I’m already having enough trouble fitting in with my own culture.

I may be oblivious to any looks or stares we may or may not get.  I hear this happens sometimes.  When I come across pictures of famous interracial couples on Facebook or Instagram (Kevin Hart & GF, Eddie Murphy & Wife.. etc.), I deliberately ignore the Comments Section. And when I meet new African American people, I try to speak more properly than I usually do so I don’t get the “you’re trying to be someone you’re not” smirk.  Which is ridiculous. But I feel I need to.

So, if I constantly have my blinders on, why am I even writing about this?

Because there are some people who are bold enough to just blatantly say “so… you married a black man” or “____ is a popular African American ______” (insert educational key points here).  I recently had a conversation with an African American coworker – about work – and out of nowhere she says “I know you are in an interracial relationship, and I accept that”.  To which, I stopped her and asked, “How is this even related to the topic?” Even in this 21st Century, there is no measure of “want” that will allow me to escape the subject of race in my relationship.

Don’t get me wrong, I respect my husband and his culture.  In fact, I embrace it.  But, honestly, I’m having enough trouble fitting into my own culture – and that is where my focus lies.  Perhaps my intent on ‘fitting in’ is only to benefit my children and generations beyond… but now I’m going off on a tangent.

This is my viewpoint on dating/marrying a Black man (or even if he was a White man… anyone but Asian)

Keep in Mind:

~ My parents raised me to be more “American”, meaning they spoke to me in English

~ Now that I live in a city with less than a 3% Asian population, I struggle to keep the culture my family scarcely instilled upon me. (no knock on my parents, they were doing what they knew best in raising me as an American)

~ Trying to raise my kids as Filipinos is a huge struggle because I am only going by memory, not the people around me.

~ When I’m introduced to any Filipinos in the community they usually follow my name with “she doesn’t speak Tagalog” – in Tagalog.

~I have been divorced and am no longer Catholic. (which is still somewhat taboo)

He loves me for me. And he could be Green, for all I care. I love him too

So, for every looker, “smirker”, questioner, commenter, and even the sincerely concerned about anyone in an interracial relationship:  Every relationship has it’s own story – why they found each other, fell in love, endured struggles together.  And I can pretty much guarantee that it wasn’t because of the color of their skin.