It’s always good to remember how we started. Sometimes by not wanting to remember the past, we forget how difficult it was to get to where we are now.
A few weeks ago, during a conversation with my friends, I brought up a memory that I thought I had forgotten. I didn’t forget it because it was something bad but because it was something that hurt me to remember.
My friends were talking about how hard life is. The first thing I thought about was when I first came to the United States with my family.
In my first year of middle school in the United States, the school organized a field trip to different universities in Texas for two days.
My parents made the effort to pay for my trip. My family and I had just moved to the United States and we didn’t have much furniture. We lived in a rented, small house with two bedrooms and a bathroom. I shared the room with my brother, and my mom and dad slept in the other room.
We had only one bed, so my parents and brother had to sleep on the floor and I took the bed.
Before I left on the trip, my parents gave me $100 to buy whatever I wanted on the field trip. That was a lot of money for me because I knew that my parents were not financially stable. I knew there were more important expenses than giving me money for a trip.
I decided not to spend the money they gave me, except for 50 cents to buy a lip balm at a drugstore. I kept the rest of the money.
As soon as I got back from the trip, I looked for beds on Facebook marketplace. I found a used twin bed that was a bit old that included the mattress and the frame. With the money I saved, I decided to buy the bed.
I felt happy to be able to buy my first bed with my own money. I may not have worked for that money, but I decided to invest it in something I needed.
I could have spent my money, like my other classmates, on university merchandise but preferred to buy something I really needed.
While I was telling the story to my friends, I had that feeling in my throat that made it hard for me to talk. I asked myself why it was still difficult for me to talk about a bed when it was just a bed. But the meaning behind it was what made me remember how I started, how my family and I started, with nothing.
My mom is one of those Hispanic women who keeps everything, literally everything. Not too long ago, I was looking for something in her closet and I saw the bag of an old coverlet that I had. That bag was from five years ago.
I remember that my mom and I were at Ross, and since I had just bought my bed, I wanted a coverlet to make it look prettier.
I found one that I really liked; it was just what I wanted. I asked my mom if she could buy it for me and she told me that it was expensive and I cried. I cried because I really wanted that coverlet for my bed.
My mom told me that she could give me half, but I had to ask my dad if he could give me the other half to buy the coverlet.
I was young and I didn’t understand that my parents made many sacrifices to give my brother and me everything we needed.
When I saw the coverlet bag, I remembered that story and immediately saw the price; the coverlet was $19. When I saw the price, I didn’t believe it. At that time, I thought it was expensive because that’s what my mom told me.
I asked my mom why they didn’t want to buy it for me if it was only $19, and she told me that, many times, they didn’t even have $19.
Three years ago I asked for a bed as my birthday gift. My parents took me to different stores to look at beds and while I was looking at the beds to select the one I wanted, I remembered that 14-year-old girl. That girl who had the illusion of a bed.
After more than five years of living in the United States, I still think about how my family and I started.
I would have liked to go back in time and value the things I had, the things that my parents gave me. Now that I work and earn my own money, I understand that life is expensive.
I understand that they made an effort to give my brother and me everything and I appreciate that more than anything.
