The Seafood and the Strips of Steak

The “firsts” of pretty much anything tend to get you thinking. The first day of middle school had made me a nervous wreck about useless things like fitting in and making friends. The first day of work had my stomach flipping over whether or not I’ll be able to do my job well, or if I’d be able to last long to advance my career and create a future. The first day of college made me feel like I was underwater for three straight days, as I figured out how to navigate my way through an entirely new place and surroundings, and similar to all of those things, the first day of 2022 had my mind scrambling over past “files” that my brain hasn’t opened in a long time, in search of something to use based off experience that can help me through the new year ahead, and like the spinning games at the arcade, I’ve finally landed on one, a simple one in fact, that honestly should make more of an impact already than it did, and that I hope to get in motion very soon.

I grew up as a mixed-race, and thus in a mixed-culture household. My father is an American, and has grown up in the United States all of his life, and my mother, from the Philippines, followed him here when they were married. This meant that early in life I was introduced to a lot of things that other children weren’t introduced to, and I experienced being that kid that had the “weird” lunch that “smelt funny” and I was known to look different than the people around me.

The thing is, I was and still am very proud of my Filipina side, despite the harsh comments I heard here and there, and because of that pride, I grew very frustrated about being outcasted by my relatives or cousins in the Philippines because my Cebuano and Tagalog wasn’t as good as theirs, and they were a bit hesitant to speak to me in English. Eventually, my complaints about it to my parents were genuinely heard, and my parents decided to give me the option to live overseas with my more distant family and be better influenced by the language, so I wouldn’t feel that way forever They explained to me that the life there was very different than it was in the US, and that I would have to adjust to a lot of changes – meaning I would have to initially feel left out before I could feel included, and that I’d have to put a lot of effort into it.

I agreed, though I admit I didn’t truly understand what I was in for. My mom had made a deal with her brother, my uncle, that if they let me stay with them in addition to their six-person family, she would pay for all of us to attend a better school and get a better education, as long as they fed me and provided me with shelter. This deal was considered for a while and soon enough accepted, meaning I was on a plane to an island I barely knew from a vacation a while back. Right away, I learned how different their way of life was, and how their life lacked the money that I was privileged to have grown up with until then.

One of the things that I had to adjust to was the food that they were providing me, of all things. My uncle worked in a fish pond, and he was the only person working in the family, which often meant that breakfast, lunch and dinner consisted of some kind of seafood that his boss had allowed him to take home. I liked it, but wasn't used to eating every single day, multiple times. If I wasn’t as shy and as awkward as I was at that age, I probably would’ve said something about it, but being me and because of the way I was raised, I kept my mouth shut and ate up.

Still, I ended up being a so-called “poor” kid in a “rich” school, which is what oddly got to me the most, and I was suddenly self-conscious among my school in a way that I have never been before. While everyone around me seemed to be indulging themselves in beef and pork, I was “stuck” with the same thing on repeat every lunch period. My cousins didn’t see any issue, since that was all they ever knew and they were used to it, and didn’t express an ounce of shame for being part of the family that they were. They were glad to have something to eat, to get full and be satisfied. I’d like to say that that was enough for me to learn my lesson, but it’s not true. I sulked and sulked and sulked and sulked. In silence, yes, but I sulked, like a little spoiled and annoying brat. Looking back, I was literally embarrassed over nothing, and realizing that makes me more embarrassed than I was way back then, but I’m glad that somebody out there finally managed to change my mind and got me to open my eyes.

It was another usual day. I sat in the lunch-room poking at my rice and, for that day, shrimp. A little girl in the grade below me approached me suddenly, and in a cheery and hopeful voice, she asked me if we could trade. I looked down at her plate and saw strips of grilled steak pre-cut into pieces beside her rice. My mouth watered. I thought she had to be joking! Who in this world would trade such a delicacy for a mere and humble pile of shrimp?

Expecting that this was going to turn into some joke about my wealth, I shook my head in acceptance very slowly, since even in the face of possible bullying, I couldn’t decline it – that’s how desperate I was, and to my surprise, she was being completely serious. We switched dishes and I happily gobbled up my meal of something new to me, but I watched her curiously too, I couldn’t help myself, only to find out that she was just as happy as I was. She clearly found it delicious. The food that I started to dislike she absolutely adored, and from then on, I suddenly looked at life differently. She gave me the slap in the face that I needed.

We all live 24 hours a day, 365 days a year, but not one of us has the same experiences. Sure, there are some people who face things more similarly to us than other people do, but there are not two people in this vast world that are the same. Here I was thinking that I was the only one on this earth wishing for something different, or something supposedly better, but the reality is three are things that I have, that even people that look to be doing better than me wish that they could have. Things that I get every single day, and are so, so normal for me are not normal for somebody else. Wherever I remember this, I am hit with the same shock and I feel the same urgency to be thankful for what means I do have.

I did bring this mindset back to the US with me. I’m happy to have a roof above my head, food to eat, toys that I got to play with, family to love me – but it’s really easy to slip my mind. I’ve done it a few times, and in the last months of 2021, I did it more often than I’d like to say out loud. The beginning of this year has given me a chance to reflect on it again and I know, so freshly again, that it’s not good to think over and over again about what we don’t have, but to be content with the things we do. It is possible to teach ourselves to be thankful. It’s possible to train ourselves to be content, even when it doesn’t seem like the case.

I hope everyone can be convinced of that – I hope it’s a message that truly reaches many hearts, but if not, I hope that that person comes along that’ll trade their pieces of steak for your shrimp. I promise, you’ll be able to rest a little better at night. You’ll be generally much happier. Without a doubt, you can find this out by your own experience if you just know where to look or what to notice.

Thank you dear classmate from 2010.