The Bottom Shelf Review

Blue Scrubs

“Good morning kuya,”*
My mother comes home from work.
Four-five times a week, over twelve hour shifts overnight.
Her highlighted hair is frizzled, a little limp when she walks,
her glasses foggy, hands filled with her bag and gallon jug,
with her mind full of stories, ready to talk.

Mother’s blue scrubs, dirty and wrinkled reflect
strength, sacrifice, and her silent glory

The same qualities that brought her from beginnings once rough.
Living with seven siblings under one small roof,
While her parents worked abroad.
Who knows how life would look if she were not tough.

Her painful and unpromising journey seems immeasurable.
Working in foreign countries alone.
She repeatedly studied and failed her NCLEX,
staring doubt in the face.
But her resilience and triumph makes her admirable.

Every time I feel like giving up,
I think of those dirty blue scrubs and their history.

My strength and resilience comes from my mother.
I cannot credit my life successes to another.
Mother gives me good life, blessings flow left and right.
Reminding that my dreams are possible, no matter the height.
She deserves the MVP award – the most valuable player,
I pray the right time comes when I can fully repay her

*Kuya: means big brother in Tagalog (Filipino). Mothers call their eldest this to foster a culture of respect, familial hierarchy, and to teach younger siblings to do the same.

Rivals

Rocky Balboa and Apollo Creed.
Daniel Larusso and Johnny Lawrence.
Blue Devils and the Tar Heels.
Los Angeles Lakers and the Boston Celtics.
But the greatest rivalry, however,
Is between me and my younger brother

A skinny, sweet kid who I had nothing in common with
combined with his sensitivity was a nightmare.
The days where my small pranks caused cries.
Or the times where I would eat some of his fries.
It was always funny making fun of him,
until he responded by bruising one of my limbs
Tensions would get heated causing a fair share of rumbles,
But his trademark chant, “Mommy!” or “Daddy!”
would always lead to us getting in trouble

Along the way, we got older
Time said it was enough.

The once sensitive kid suddenly
knew how to hold his own.
Our interests shared all of a sudden
through sports, fashion, and funny tiktok videos
He found his confidence and toughness.
The height difference closed,
I no longer have to look down on him.
His snitches and complaints converted
into questions on when we can play basketball
or the next visit to the mall to check out sneakers

Though the rivalry came to an end,
He was always my best friend
Friends, teammates, and girlfriends have gone,
But he was always one I can count on
Our bond runs deeper,
than trenches, oh how blessed I am to be
my brother’s keeper.

Game

My father forced a basketball into my hands.
He encouraged me to do something new.
Giving me an opportunity he didn’t have.
As a result my love for the game grew.
That is when my dad knew,
I had dreams he wanted me to follow through
Early mornings or late nights training, it did not matter.
He wanted me to climb the ladder.

Before practices or games,
he wakes me up early for breakfast.
Already wearing his Nike tracksuits and glasses,
His energy and excitement higher than mine,
as if my dream was his too.

While I competed, he had his phone recording.
Ready to capture my highs and lows.
Father was my biggest supporter, with cheers,
“Great job my boy!”
But also my biggest hater,
“Lucky you never played me when I was your age.”
It was never personal,
he pushed me because I had the chance of being greater.

Wins and losses did not just contain trophies and tears.
It also contained valuable life lessons.
My father used the game to help me understand
the world, life, and how to be a man that can handle life’s fouls.

Throughout my journey,
I chased wins, awards, and trophies from tourneys
But decorations did not beat the time we spent
The long car rides,
restaurant trips,
deep conversations,
and watching my highlight tapes he made,
are the moments I cherish most.
It saddens me those days are now outdated
But the true reward was the memories we created.