Children don’t remember the presents, they remember the presence
When I was around 8 to 10 years old, I entered a pivotal phase of my life, a time when I began to understand more about the world around me. My parents were already separated, and I found myself living in different homes—sometimes with my mom, sometimes with my grandma, Lola Aning, or my aunt. Occasionally, I stayed with my grandfather, Lolo Marcial. Life was a whirlwind, and looking back, I can see how much it shaped who I’ve become. My mom was in and out of our lives. She was always busy, hustling and grinding to provide for us, but her business ventures came at a cost. She ran bars and clubs, and at one point, she got caught up in the world of drugs and alcohol. Despite her struggles, she always made sure we had what we needed, even when it felt like she wasn’t really there. My father had moved on and started a new life with his own family, so my brother and I were separated. He lived with our grandfather, and I stayed with my mom or lola. Even though we had everything we neede...