My Story, Part 1: Married and Moving
Roots
I was born and raised in Los Angeles, CA – more specifically, the San Fernando Valley (like, ohmygosh), shaped by the subculture of hip hop-dancing, party crew-making, rice rocket-driving, second-generation Filipino-Americans (fo realz yo). But I was also a 4-year cheerleader who had ultimate school spirit and who loved serving on the ASB. If I wasn’t doing any of those things? You’d find me down by sand and surf anywhere along the Pacific coast between LA and SD counties. In essence, I was a hip-hoppin’, beach-bummin’, all-around Valley Girl. Clearly, I was an eclectic even in my younger days (or just merely confused).
I was also pretty self-absorbed. I was a nice girl; just a little spoiled. My almost full-time job: Mall Rat. My hobbies: shopping, eating out, watching movies, going to parties and clubs, hitting up the beach, and most importantly? Getting dressed up to do all those things.
Along the way, I naturally matured, learning to talk with less like, ohmygoshes and wassups and other Ghetto Valley Girl-isms (though I haven’t entirely kicked that out of my system). I finished college, got a job, became a little more responsible and a little wiser (at least I like to think so). However, I still felt like I was in my own skin. O.G. P from The Valley.
A Different Trajectory
Then I met this guy who drove a lifted American truck, listened to music by Credence Clearwater Revival, rode dirt bikes, ate steak and potatoes, and … married him.
Three months later? Preggo with our first child and shortly thereafter, quitting my budding career in finance to become … (insert whisper tone here) a stay-at-home mom.
What. The. Frack.
My immigrant mom didn’t make sacrifices to raise me with a private education upbringing just to flush it down the drain. What happened?
Apparently, love happened.
And love also quickly told me to throw life as I knew it out the window and follow my hubsters’ vision for a better quality of life all the way to a small, agricultural town in Central Washington.
Me to Big Fat Filipino Family (BFFF): We’re moving to Washington.
BFFF to Me: D.C.?
Me to BFFF: No, state. The center of it, actually.
BFFF to Me: But it’s so rainy and gloomy.
Me to BFFF: Nooo, that would be WEST side of the state. We’re moving to Wenatchee.
BFFF to Me: Insert cricket sounds here.
BFFF to Me: How many hours difference is it?
Me to BFFF: Ummmmm, it’s still in the Pacific Time Zone???
Okay, I will admit that during our dating years, the hubs and I had talked about potentially moving away from the big city to raise our future family – away from traffic, away from smog, away from the rat race. Potentially. I didn’t realize that: potentially = 6 months after our son was born!
At first, I was excited. Excited for something new, something different. But, excitement is a short-lived emotion. Once reality hit me, I was in my Jetta with my 2 surfboards strapped to the top (I had long moved on from my low-riding Integra at this point), pulling away from life as I knew it … and I was bawling. Was it too late to say, “Just kidding!”???
Below are the links to each part of the “My Story” series:
You Are Reading My Story: Part One