The shock in the rigid feeling of my mother’s hand as we crossed the street, and the anger in the faint wrinkle between her eyes as she tore through her purse looking for her keys, all overshadowed by the defeat in the slight tilt of her head, as if it weren’t the first time, and she knew it wouldn’t be the last.

We walked into the store looking for a thermos for my first day at a new school after moving across the country for my dad’s new job. My mom and I stood in the aisle as she painstakingly went through all the thermoses scattered on the shelf until she was sure that the one she picked out would keep the food she prepared every morning warm until lunchtime. She frantically attempted to locate the price of the thermos, trying to match the model name to the one on the shelf. After ten minutes of searching, she threw her hands in the air out of frustration, and walked up and down the aisles until she found a man in a red shirt and khaki pants sorting through the merchandise. Her shoulders and back tensed up, and as she spoke, I could hear her filtering out the filipino accent through the teeth of her fake smile.

“How much does this cost?”

“Oh, that one. That’s too expensive for you,” he replied.

Her face turned red and her body froze. After a few moments, she grabbed my hand, and we quietly rushed out the door.

After it happened, I never wanted to speak of it again.

Ten years later, airport security still stops me for those random screenings, and people still ask me if I work at any store I walk into. And I still do nothing about it. I usually just stand there, and after a moment of awkward silence, I say “no, sorry.” Thinking about it now, I hate myself. Why do you always apologize? Why do you just take it every time? Sometimes, I even catch myself trying so hard to hide an accent that’s already faded.

My whole life, I just stood around, angry at the world, but not doing anything to help myself. I realize now, it is time for me to make a change. But, I don’t know how.

I figure the best place to start is to think back to the first experience that made me feel this way. The first thing that comes to my head is the thermos incident. I had pushed it so far to the back of my head for so long, yet I still remember every detail.

Picturing my mom’s face as we rushed out of that store, I finally see it. Until now, I only saw the shock in her hands, anger in her wrinkles, and defeat in the tilt of her heard. But now, I can see the fear in her eyes. I never talked about what happened that day because I thought I already knew all there was to know. But in this moment, I know I was always just afraid. Like my mom, I was afraid that talking about it would make everything too real. Now, I know what to do.

As soon as I hear her footsteps as she walks up the stairs, I know I am ready. I slowly stand up from my bed and walk over to the door. As my hand touches the cold metal of my bedroom door handle, I can feel my face going white and my body freezing in place. I shake it off, make myself open it, and see my mom standing in the hallway.

Forcing myself to talk through the shakiness of my voice, I say, “Mom . . . can we talk about that day before the first week of school? The day with the thermos?”

“Sure, anak. I think I’m finally ready too.”