In 1996, I was born to two Filipino immigrants in El Paso, Texas. At the time, my father was in the process of completing his residency at the University of Texas, working strenuous 16-hour days almost every day as a fledgling resident physician. My mother was a full-time nurse then, working nightshifts to give her the freedom to tend to me during the day while my father was in training. Prior to their immigration to the United States under working visas in 1994, both of my parents came from families whose livelihood depended on agriculture. For my father, it was fishing, raising livestock, and tending to rice fields in a village called Siaton; for my mother, it was sugar cane processing and a family business of selling pigs in a town called Bogo. Despite facing many ups and downs along the way, these family occupations afforded my parents the opportunity to attend school from elementary to higher education. They eventually decided to pursue jobs in the health care industry so that they could immigrate to the United States, send money back to their loved ones in the Philippines, and provide a better life for the family they intended to start together.