Twenty-six years ago, my dad earned the rights to a white 1991 Acura Integra (Integra). Barreling away from a village in Olongapo, Philippines, my dad’s family was stopped by emergency crews due to a life-endangering volcanic eruption in the area. My dad’s family narrowly boarded the last plane departing the country. Touching down in San Jose, California, the opportunities to grow and prosper are endless. First, there was the midsize sedan, then the Integra. It was the perfect car to invest time in. My dad’s income swells, culminating in the Integra being painted a pristine, silver all around. Las Vegas was the next destination for my dad and the Integra. Evenings were devoted to tinkering with the Integra far into the night. The silver Integra is coated in a vibrant baby blue. The loud pops of an impact drill and the beats of 1990s rap blasting throughout the garage became the soundtrack of many days and nights. Initially, I never paid much attention to my dad’s car enthusiasm until I witnessed my dad driving the baby blue Integra. The vibrations from the powerful engine that would shake the car on start and the thundering sound of the exhaust it was an impalpable sight and feeling I would never forget. Over the past few months, I’ve learned how to drive a manual car and how to change spark plugs. I understand why my dad spends so much time working on them. The baby blue Integra’s presence throughout my family’s history has been a constant driving force to keep moving forward. 

– Raymond

Relationship:  Grandchild of im/migrant Grandchild of im/migrant