Legacy: Quiet Strength

Photo by Anna Kharkivska on Unsplash

This post was supposed to be about routine—returning to normal as a teacher and a parent. A check-in. A reset.
And then January 7th happened.
I fell down a familiar rabbit hole, doomscrolling and sitting with words that kept surfacing: mother and poet. Two labels I carry. Two labels many women carry quietly.
I found myself thinking about legacy—about what remains after the noise fades. After reading Renee Good’s family post about closing their GoFundMe, I thought about what people choose to show, and what they leave behind.
I am a teacher in a red dot in Texas. I wasn’t born here, but my upbringing—Filipino and East Texan—shaped me to make no big waves, only ripples where I can. Smile. Be respectful. Stand your ground quietly.
I was nine and a half when I moved here. I had summers without screens, ran wild with neighborhood girls, pretended to be witches. I watched my mother work as a charge nurse—smart, unyielding, kind when necessary, sharp when needed. She came home and still carried the household. A strong woman taught me duty without complaint.
I grew up surrounded by Filipina women who carried power without spectacle. Silent strength. Courteousness. Truths held close.
No waves. Only ripples.
I didn’t realize the weight of microaggressions until adulthood—questions disguised as curiosity. I smiled and answered anyway. I never felt out of place because I learned how to make my own place.
A poet and a mother. That is who died.
A poet and a mother. That is who is typing this.
Mothers do not stand idly by. We protect. We shape what comes next. I want my daughter to know she comes from a long line of quiet, unyielding strength.
I am a mother and a poet. Here are my words today.

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tiny ripples in still lakes, so
minute, a small vibration to the whole;
a stone can make bigger ripples in still lakes, 
a distant plonk plonk sound bouncing off
and causing multiple ripples in its wake.

the lake does nothing, as most lakes do
tiny ripples come and go, after all.

what the lake doesn't understand 
that in the outskirts of this vastness stillness
are tiny creeks and canals;
rivers that course outward. 

rivers that flow from the lake are quiet, trinkling 
little tiny ripples here and there.
but some are loud and rushing, 
some are so fast and wild,
they melt ice and become
joined into the collection of the wild 
and chaos.

a tiny ripple in a still lake
seems trite and insignificant,
but the down the line,
somewhere in her stillness
is a deafening roar that feeds into the
ocean and makes waves.

How are you making waves today?