Whenever I hold my parents’ hands, I notice the roughness of their palms and fingertips. They bore callouses, like badges of their hard work. In Ilocano culture, these hands were seen as signs of perseverance, grit and hardwork, the marking characteristics of Ilocanos. My mother, born and raised between Ilocos and Novaliches, would have these calluses, mainly on her fingertips, that came from her work as a homemaker. She would wake up early in the morning to cook me food that I’d bring to school, tidy the house both inside and out, and tend to the duties of a mother. My father, on the other hand,raised in Novaliches of Quezon City, has calluses more prominent than my mother’s. His job in a foreign country requires him to do both manual and mental labor. He inspects pipes, and tubes and deals with oil drilling in the sea. His continuous work for 16 years abroad allowed me to live a comfortable life in the Philippines. Despite them disliking the roughness of their hands, our culture recognizes these signs of toil as hardwork and a sign of future success. My own hands however, lack these tangible signs of toil. They embody the unmarked canvas of someone who has yet to experience the physical demands of labor. As an Ilocano myself, it feels shameful to see no calluses or roughness on my hands. Oftentimes, my hands are what they would call “ima iti sadot” or hands of the lazy. Remarkably, my parents, instead of being ashamed, took pride in my unmarked hands. As my right hand writes and solves equations, and my two hands learn new crafts, my hands are worry-free and only focused on the dreams I had. Dreams to learn more about the workings of my surroundings. With every new thing I learn, and every equation I start to conquer, I become one step closer to my ambition, to pursue a career in the world of Mechanical Engineering. A career that always has captivated me in tinkering around, and utilizing my available resources. A path that lets me feel free and allows me to be an intersection of the world of science and applications. A path that I believe I am meant to be in. The dream that its pursuer’s hardwork cannot be physically seen or measured like calluses on the hands. As I relentlessly pursue this dream I am reminded of the hands that made it possible for me to dream.The hands that are determined to give me the best chance at life are littered with pieces of hardened skin. My parents’ calloused fingers, that took care of me for my 18 years of existence, allowed me to do more with mine. As I aspired to pursue Mechanical Engineering, the sleepless nights of learning and working no longer felt like a chore. Their backbreaking work and determination, made it feel like it was all worth working hard for, that my aspirations are worth dreaming for. As I hold my parents’ hands, I realize that my dreams were no longer mine alone, but also theirs, as their work transformed my aspirations to become shared dreams, making my goals a way of giving back to those calloused hands who paved the way for me.

Whenever I hold my parents’ hands, I notice the roughness of their palms and fingertips. They bore callouses, like badges of their hard work. My mother’s calluses, mainly on her fingertips, came from her work as a homemaker. She would wake up early in the morning to cook me food that I’d bring to school, tidy the house both inside and out, and tend to the duties of a mother. My father, on the other hand, has calluses more prominent than my mother’s. His job in a foreign country requires him to do both manual and mental labor. He inspects pipes, and tubes and deals with oil drilling in the sea. His continuous work for 16 years abroad allowed me to live a comfortable life in the Philippines. My own hands however, lack these tangible signs of toil. They embody the unmarked canvas of someone who has yet to experience the physical demands of labor. Remarkably, my parents, instead of reprimanding, they took pride in my unmarked hands. As my right hand writes and solves equations, and my two hands learn new crafts, my hands were worry-free and only focused on the dreams I had. Dreams to learn more about the workings of my surroundings. With every new thing I learn, and every equation I start to conquer, I become one step closer to my ambition, to pursue a career in the world of Mechanical Engineering. A career that always has captivated me in tinkering around, and utilizing my available resources. A path that lets me feel free and allows me to be an intersection of the world of science and applications. A path that I believe I am meant to be in. As I relentlessly pursue this dream I am reminded of the hands that made it possible for me to dream.The hands that are determined to give me the best chance at life are littered with pieces of hardened skin. My parents’ calloused fingers, that took care of me for my 18 years of existence, allowed me to do more with mine. As I aspired to pursue Mechanical Engineering, the sleepless nights of learning and working no longer felt like a chore. Their backbreaking work and determination, made it feel like it was all worth working hard for, that my aspirations are worth dreaming for. As I hold my parents’ hands, I realize that my dreams were no longer mine alone, but also theirs, as their work transformed my aspirations to become shared dreams, making my goals a way of giving back to those calloused hands who paved the way for me.

A relationship is supposed to be between a man and a woman. When faced in front of the altar and the sacrament of matrimony, God will only recognize your union if you are with a person who is of your opposite gender. This is how I was taught from a very young age. Being in a Christian country, it is not uncommon to be faced with the idea that being attracted to the same gender is wrong. However, despite its common occurrence, it did not make my experience easier. When I was in elementary, I studied in a private Catholic school that would continuously push these propositions and I had believed that being gay is wrong. Yet despite being taught that it was wrong, the thought of liking the same gender would linger in my mind. I have been "straight passing" most of my life, and whether it was a blessing or a curse, I would not have known until I realized that I also liked girls. Living in a conservative country finally having that realization is difficult especially when you learn first hand about how most people think of the LGBTQ+ community. Although they would consider it taboo, often times I found people talk about others' sexuality as if it were some joke or "dirt" they had on people they dislikes.Often times they would use it as an insult. Things did not change in highschool, despite changing to a public school that was not affiliated with religion. This ideology and norm seemed to stick to me, and follow me wherever I went. Knowing that I was attracted to the same sex the same way I was attracted to the opposite, and down the line, affected me in a way I did not expect. I found it difficult to admit to it and accept that it was who I was. I knew there was nothing wrong with it, I just had difficulty coming to terms with my sexuality. Nevertheless, when the pandemic came, and most people were isolated in their homes, I came to a realization. Whilst being away from people, I found peace and acceptance within myself of who I am and my sexuality. It allowed me to accept that I am in fact attracted to the same gender, and I present myself as such. This experience, not only led me to rediscover myself but allowed me to have an open-mind, regardless of other people's opinions on me and the people of my community.