RISE BEYOND
0%
RISE BEYOND
0%
Despite everything, I did well in school. I received recognition as an honor student. Those ribbons meant so much to me. They told the barefoot girl who smelled like fish: Maybe you can become something more. My mother dreamed that one day I would become a teacher. But I had another dream. I told her I wanted to become a lawyer. I wanted to help poor people who couldn't afford lawyers and who sometimes couldn't fight for themselves because they didn't have money. I didn't know how such a dream could possibly happen. We were struggling just to put rice on our table. But still... I dreamed.
I was the eldest daughter of ten siblings, born on a beautiful island in Surigao del Sur, part of Mindanao in the Philippines. To us, it was paradise—not because we had money, but because it was our home. My father was a fisherman, and my mother was a housewife. Because I was the eldest daughter, I learned responsibility very early. I went fishing with my father. I planted rice with my mother. We harvested bananas and cassava, especially when bad weather came and we needed something to put on our table. At night, I would go with my father in our small boat, a little fishing boat. In the darkness of the ocean, we had only a small gas lamp for light.
My father would prepare his fishing tools, including a speargun made of steel and his flashlight, and then he would disappear beneath the water. Every time he went down into the deep sea, my heart was filled with worry. I would wait. And wait. Until finally, I would see him coming back to the surface. That was always one of my happiest moments. My father was back. And when there were many fish on his speargun, I was even happier because I knew what those fish meant. Food. Rice. Another day that our family could eat. After returning home from fishing, sometimes we would rest for only about two hours. Then I would take the fish and walk around selling them. I walked barefoot. After selling the fish, we could buy rice and other things our family needed. Then I had to go to school. I often walked to school barefoot too.
Every Christmas, my mother would buy us slippers, and we tried to take care of them. I would save mine to wear inside the school. After school, the work wasn't finished. We had to walk about two kilometers to fetch drinking water and carry it home. Every Saturday, we carried sacks full of dirty clothes to the waterfall, also about two kilometers away, where we washed them. Our house was a small nipa house. Our life was simple. But I remember us being happy. Whatever food we had, we shared around the table.
When Bad Weather Came Bad weather was frightening for a fisherman's family. When my father couldn't go fishing, there might not be enough money to buy rice. I can still remember the sadness in my father's eyes because he knew his children might not have rice to eat. But we found another way. We harvested bananas and cassava. At night, we collected seashells using our little gas lamp. In the morning, we sold them so we could buy something our family needed.
During rice-planting season, I went with my mother to work in the rice fields. Sometimes people paid us with rice instead of money. And that rice meant something important: There would be food on our table. Being the eldest daughter wasn't easy. But today, I am grateful for what those years taught me. Before I understood the meaning of responsibility, I was already living it. The Girl Who Smelled Like Fish There was another side to my childhood. School. Sometimes I was bullied because I sold fish before going to class. I would rush from selling fish to school, and sometimes the smell remained on my uniform. Children noticed. And they made fun of me. I was also absent many times because helping my family survive sometimes had to come before attending class. The principal would call my father because of my absences. I remember how sad he was. He wanted me to study. But he also knew why I was absent. His eldest daughter was helping the family survive. And yet, there was something that made my father very proud.
Despite everything, I did well in school. I received recognition as an honor student. Those ribbons meant so much to me. They told the barefoot girl who smelled like fish: Maybe you can become something more. My mother dreamed that one day I would become a teacher. But I had another dream. I told her I wanted to become a lawyer. I wanted to help poor people who couldn't afford lawyers and who sometimes couldn't fight for themselves because they didn't have money. I didn't know how such a dream could possibly happen. We were struggling just to put rice on our table. But still... I dreamed.
One night, my father and I were fishing. The sea was calm. The moon was clear above us. My father and I were using the bugsay, our oar, to move our little bangka across the water. Then an airplane passed above us. I became excited. I pointed toward the sky and told my father: “Tay, one day I will be on that airplane. I will go abroad.” And then I made him a promise. “The first thing I will do is buy you a soft mattress so your back won't hurt anymore from sleeping on the bamboo floor.” I saw tears in my father's eyes. He answered: “In God's will, Anak.” And I told him: “Yes, Tay. I promise. I will try my best to go abroad, work and help you and our family.” Then my father went back into the sea. Again I waited for him to come to the surface. Again my heart worried about him. But this time, while I waited... my mind was still inside that airplane. I didn't know how I would get there. I didn't know how many years it would take. I didn't know how much pain I would experience before that dream came true. I was simply a barefoot little girl sitting in a small bangka in the middle of the sea. But for the first time, I could see a future beyond the horizon.
Lesson
Poverty taught me things no classroom could teach me. Fishing taught me patience. The rice fields taught me that before something can grow, somebody has to plant. Hunger taught me gratitude. Selling fish taught me not to be ashamed of honest work. Being bullied taught me that other people's words do not determine my value. And my father taught me that a dream doesn't have to begin with money. Sometimes a dream begins in a tiny fishing boat with nothing more than a child looking toward the sky.
Practical Tips
If you are reading this while struggling, please don't be ashamed of where you come from. Don't be ashamed of your parents' work. Don't be ashamed because your clothes aren't new. Don't be ashamed because someone else has more than you. And never be ashamed of honest work. Your situation today is not a prediction of your future. I was barefoot in a little bangka, looking at an airplane and making a promise I had no idea how to fulfill. I couldn't see the road ahead. But I could dream. And sometimes, that is where rising begins.
Words to remember
“Every hardship I embraced became a stepping stone that helped me rise.”
