Throwback Thursday

Some of my earliest memories from childhood are from when my mom and I first came to the United States in 1995. Not only was it a culture shock, but everything about this new country was shocking to me. The language, the climate, the people; they all shocked me.

My mom tells me a story that I don't remember too well, but she said that when we got off the plane from the Philippines I was in awe of all the American people I saw. So much so, that I pointed to a pretty, tall, blonde woman and said, "Look Mommy, a real Barbie!" That's when she had to explain to me that people in America had yellow hair. In fact sometimes they had brown or red hair too. I was so used to seeing short, dark haired Filipino people and seeing my Barbie dolls come to life was like a dream come true.

A few weeks into moving, I had another major culture shock; this time it was concerning food. My mom and I were living with my aunt and uncle and their two sons. Josh, their oldest, was my age and Joe, their youngest was still a baby. One night, all of the adults left and they had Josh's grandmother babysit us. I still didn't speak English very well and she didn't speak a word of Tagalog so already the night was starting off badly. Grandma ordered pizza for the kids since she knew that all
little kids loved pizza...right?

No.

Wrong.

When the pizza got there and she served my plate, I started crying. And not just, boo-hoo-I'm-sad crying, but boo-hoo-I'm-miserable-why-is-this-woman-trying-to-poison-me crying. And Grandma didn't understand why I was so upset and I couldn't tell her because I didn't speak English, so it was one big mess. She finally called my aunt and asked her to talk to me over the phone. I told her what was wrong.
 
I wanted rice.

That's it.

Just.

Rice.

See, you have to understand that in the Philippines, EVERY meal is eaten with rice. When we ask someone what they are having for dinner in the Philippines, we ask them what their "ulam" is. And that practically means, "What are you having to eat with rice tonight?" And that's just what I was used to.

I'm not sure if she ended up feeding me rice, but I can honestly say that 16 years later; pizza is one of my favorite foods! :)

And I have a last story for you readers out there. This one happened a few months into our move. My Grandpa (who we called Amang) came from the Philippines to visit us. One day, while the adults were at work, Amang was on babysitting duty. He didn't speak English very well at the time; instead he spoke what we Filipinos refer to as Taglish. Broken English. Anyways, while Amang was busy watching "The Price Is Right" in the living room, my cousin, Josh and I decided to grab the portable phone and take it to his parents room. There were a few numbers attached to the back of the phone. One of them being 911. I convinced Josh that it would be okay to call; my six year old mind thought that it would be fun. So we dialed those 3 numbers and we were going to hang up, but those dispatchers are fast! Before we could hang up, a lady's voice came over the phone [and not completely understanding her]; I handed the phone to Josh. I don't exactly remember what happened after that, but I do know that we must have hung up because they called back and Amang---with his Broken English---had to try to explain to them that he didn't call them, nor did he need assistance. Well, when he got off the phone, he was so upset at us that... 
he spanked us right there in the hallway.  The very same hallway that was by the front door. And the very same front door that just happened to have 2 large police officers ringing the doorbell and listening to Josh and I screaming and crying. 
 So yes, it looked p r e t t y bad when Amang opened the door and had two crying kids hiding behind him. It looked like he was beating us! But not to worry, it all ended well. Apparently, the police officers were all about "spare the rod, spoil the child" (as am I...now).

These first few experiences in the States were funny, but they are things that I remember many years later, as I'm sure many other family members do as well. Even though I was skeptical when we moved countries, I'm so glad that God directed us here. It is an amazing country, with amazing people and it's crazy to think that God knew what I was I going to be doing and where I was going to end up; even before I ended up here!


"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." Jeremiah 29:11

This is a picture of Amang, Joe, Josh and I :)

This is just a few months after being in the United States. I celebrated my first birthday in America, which of course, was really my sixth birthday. (Oh yeah...and that's Josh with his hands on his head) Haha!

15 INCHES

Interesting fact about me: I can be very impulsive.

This past Tuesday was a busy day for me. I'm currently enrolled in 6 classes at the University of North Florida and after having 4 of those 6 classes back to back, I was shattered. (At least that's how the Irish people say it.) I hadn't eaten all day, the weather was ridiculously HOT, and my hair which touched just above my bottom was making it even hotter for me. I was miserable.

So, my first order of business. Food. I took care of that at a Panda Express close by. Double Teriyaki with extra sauce? Oh yeahhh.

Next order of business was a haircut. I had been throwing around the idea of getting a haircut with my husband and of course as supportive as he always is, his only response was, "Not too short, ok?" I reassured him, but I forgot about the haircut and I hadn't brought it up in weeks so I knew that if I got it cut, he would be shocked. I had my fingers crossed that it would be a good shock.

I get to the hair salon and tell the lady I need a change. I asked her to cut off all my ombre because it had really dried out my hair.

Then "impulsive me" thought to myself, "why not cut it all off?" I reasoned with myself that my hair grows fast and it'll grow back before I know it. I also thought about donating it and helping out someone through Locks of Love. So I told the hair stylist to just cut it all off. She looked at me and she said, "Well, let's just do a little at a time. You don't want to make a drastic change or you may not like it." I smiled sweetly at her and "impulsive me" chimed in again and said, "No, cut it all off." 

Well I ended up cutting 15 inches off my hair and donating it to Locks of Love.  

Pictured is only the 12 inches I donated. The other extra 3 inches was more of an impulsive move. Again. 

I already miss my long hair sometimes, but I love that this new hairstyle feels lighter, I use less shampoo, and I take less time to get ready. Oh! And it's a plus that my husband LOVED it!

Well here it is. Short hair, don't care! :)

"What's in a name?" -Shakespeare

One of the biggest regrets of my life is my name.

Not in the sense that I hate my name or the way it sounds, but the fact that I have SO MANY. I was born Maria Angela Avendano. Plain enough. But the family decided to change it up on me by nicknaming me "Angeline". (Nicknames are very common in the Philippines, which is where I was born) So for the first years of my life no one even mentioned my given name, I was Angeline. Then my mom and I moved to the United States right before my 6th birthday. I was still Angeline---to family, at least---but when they enrolled me in a public school for first grade, my name on the roll was Maria. I honestly don't know why I didn't let the teacher know that I didn't go by Maria. I'm not even sure if I knew what was going on because Tagalog was still my primary language. But either way, I became known as Maria to my fellow first graders and that, my dear friends, was my second experience of an occurring identity crisis.
My third came just months later when my parents built a house in another city and they transferred me to a private school towards the end of my first grade year. I was mildly devastated, at least as devastated as a six year old could be, but it ended up being pretty neat. Except for one minor detail....they called me Angela. Now I don't know how this happened or what conversation transpired between my teacher and I that caused her to call me by my middle name. Maybe I was embracing the changes that were occurring in my life and I decided another major change wouldn't hurt. (I highly doubt this theory) Or maybe my teacher just had something against the name Maria and she thought Angela sounded better. I don't know. But it was a life changing day because from that day on and for the next 7 and a half years after it, I would be known as Angela Avendano. Mind you my family still called me Angeline, but my teachers and friends from school now referred to me as Angela. Thus, comes my fourth experience with an identity crisis.
I transferred to a public school in 9th grade and throughout the four years of high school I was highly involved in the AFJROTC. (Air Force Junior Reserve Officer Training Corps) I was still Angela for the first few months of my freshman year, but the more I got involved in this new program, the more friends I made. And as most friends do, mine gave me a nickname. My corps commander that year started calling me "Angie" and just like that---the name stuck. After awhile even the teachers were calling me Angie, but as much as I wish it was, it's still not the end to my dilemma of names.
And this is where I will introduce my husband, Brendon. I met Brendon through his girlfriend, who happened to be a close friend of mine at the time. She introduced me as Angela, but after glancing at the school ID hanging around my neck, he saw that my given name was actually Maria and he insisted that he was going to call me by my "real" name. This might not have been a big deal if he was the only one calling me by a different name, but a few years later we started dating and he introduced me to his family. The name that he introduced me as? Maria, of course. So now I was known by Maria by not only him, but his family and everyone else he introduced me to as well.
So my husband, his family, and our church members know me as Maria. My post high school friends refer to me as Angela. My family has always called me Angeline and my most current friends and high school classmates call me Angie. Sometimes....most times...it gets confusing. What do I introduce myself as when I'm meeting new people? Well it just depends...in the most famous words of Shakespeare, "What's in a name?"