Growing Up POOR in AMERICA
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cxDNOZ7F-cQ
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Growing up, my family was broke.And before anybody comments, >> “Oh my god,sim.My family only went to Disneyland once a year.” >> I mean broke.Broke as in,[laughter], “Let me count these coins and, see if I can afford school lunch, tomorrow.” Kind of broke.>> 150.>> I spent the first year of, my life in the Philippines because, my parents were struggling to, keep everything together financially, in the States.Then we came back and spent the next 10 years living in a one-bedroom, apartment in LA with my mom,my dad, my sister,me, our soon-to-be little brother,and then like two emotionally supportive cockroaches.And as a kid, of course,I wanted toys, especially Moonsand.But my parents always looked stressed.Like, you know,when you’re a kid and your parents, are talking about bills or whatever, and money,looking all stressed out,and suddenly you develop financial anxiety before you even know how to count.So yeah, I learned not to ask for things,
which was really unfortunate because I grew up during the era of kids saying, >> because these poor kids weren’t wearing Nikes.They were not wearing Adidas Vans.They were wearing >> the death ass Mike >> Adid.And you know who else was wearing these?Me.I was wearing them.While other kids were shopping at Forever 21, Abbercrombie and Fetch,and I don’t know, Gucci or whatever brand was speaking that era.I was at Deed’s Discount.Ross, Goodwill,my older cousin’s bag of old handme-downs, the stores where your mom would say,“Pick wisely.You will be wearing these for the next 3 years.”, >> And you’d find that one pair of shoes that looked like Vans,but weren’t actually Vans.You know, the bootleg ones that looked super fat,stiff, and heavy,but I didn’t care.Like, who would actually notice?>> On rare occasions, my mom would take us out to the mall.But the moment we walked in, straight to the clearance section,everything else in the store, I don’t know what you’re talking about.
If we found a 12 dress, perfect.Anything above 15, no.At school, I wore the same pair of shoes for years.And eventually, I’d be like,“Mother, I believe I need new shoes.Go.” And she’d hit me with a why.What’s wrong with your old ones?They’re okay.No, they were not okay.>> You know, in the Philippines,we didn’t even have shoes.And I didn’t even push for new ones because I was such an anxious, little empath child.My parents probably would have bought me new bootleg shoes,but instead my brain was like, “No,I’ll just continue walking through these puddles in my decaying footwear.”, Lunchtime, was the worst because this is where you’d see who was rich and who was poor.The rich kids had cute lunch boxes, lunchables,Gatorade, branded chip bags,and a handwritten note from their mom saying, >> “You can do hard things.Xoxo mom.” Meanwhile, my lunch.First of all, no lunchbox.Just grocery bag.Then Tupperware of sweaty Vienna sausages and rice.Mysterious chips in a folded plastic bag.
Fruit snacks if we were feeling wealthy that week.And then water from the water fountain.My mom would sometimes send me to school with coins in an envelope.Literally just coins.Like, ah,the sound of poverty.And most days it worked.But on the days when I happened to be short, even a little.>> Too bad.No lunch for you.And you’re humiliated in front of all your peers,then handed an apple and a milk like the filthy poor peasant you were.And the crazy part was that they throw away the food right in front of you.THEY THROW IT AWAY.LIKE, BRO,if you’re just going to throw it away, why can’t I just eat it?So, I’d sit down with my apple and milk,trying not to cry as I watched everyone else eat their lunchables and Gatorade,all happy.Field trip days, everyone else would be like,And then there was me because I already knew we probably couldn’t afford it.And even if we somehow could, asking would just make me feel guilty.So I would just pretend it didn’t exist.Boom.Problem solved.
Except not really because then, field trip day would arrive and, everyone would be lining up to, get on the bus and I’d be standing, there with a work packet like, I had again committed a federal, crime.The teacher would be like, >> “Okay,sweetie.You’re going to be staying with Mrs.Johnson’s class today.” Okay.Then I’d spend the entire rest of the day in the back of some other classroom, trying not to cry again.Home life was another experience.Touch the thermostat, you die.So in the summers, I’d open the fridge and just stand there.Another cooling strategy was wet arms, wet legs,stand directly in front of the fan.>> Sometimes I’d get a little bucket of water and pour it over myself in bed.>> Yes, I would sleep in a puddle of water when it was hot.No, this is not a lie or exaggeration.I am aware this was disgusting.Anyways, grocery shopping was done at Dollar Tree or the 99 cent store,Food for Less, Walmart,food drives, which by the way,if you live in the US,you can look up the nearest food.
drive near you and what days, they operate to get yourself, a box of free groceries.Shampoo bottles were half shampoo, half water.Dish soap was half dish soap, half water.And hand soap was probably just water with a molecule of soap.Struggle meals were things like microwaved cuped noodles, >> cancer,>> raw Vienna sausages, hot dogs and rice,baloney and rice, microwave TV dinners,and if I was really struggling,I’d watch mukbangs or literally Google pictures of food while chewing on air.Growing up, I was embarrassed thinking everyone else had more than me.And honestly, most of them did.But looking back now as an adult, it really wasn’t that bad.We always had a roof over our heads.There was always food.Maybe not the healthiest, but food.And my parents worked really hard, like ridiculously hard.My mom would sometimes sacrifice, eating [music] lunch for the day at work so she could give us what we needed.These hardships taught me how, to be kind to others who didn’t, have as much as me and how to.
be responsible, with money.So yeah, growing up poor was humbling,but also kind of funny.
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