Stretching up my leg, I feel the folds of the cloth tense and pull against each other. At last, I let my lifted leg snap into a kick, sweat rolling down the side of my face and onto my karate gi. The exercise is tough, but I keep moving as the lesson continues. I am to complain, regardless of exhaustion. It is a lesson I learned over the years of learning karate in my father’s classes. First starting, I labeled them as pointless exercises, giving minimal effort. My father would get frustrated with that and would wack me. It was common in the Phillippines and he brought it here to America. We moved to Nevada but he kept me in his classes. I fully quit in middle school and alongside with my leave, his passion had seemingly died, quitting teaching altogether. One day, my father asked me to assist him with the kids of our family friends he was asked to teach. It was his first time mentoring in 5 years and he was out of touch. I was conflicted, as this change disheartened me. When I stepped back to think for a bit, I became aware of my father’s deep connection with the art. With my steeled will, I grasped the karate gi and chose to don the morals and values of my family. Although to this day, I still cannot particularly enjoy karate as much as my father does, I find inspiration within the passion and work that he has put into the martial art. Now, I can only keep searching to find the same passion that he has had, as such the rest of my family.

– Alexa Rondez

Relationship:  Child of im/migrant Child of im/migrant