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My dad adds, “It’s really difficult to find a job in the arts. Remember that your cousin Amado majored in film animation.”

I think back to a few family reunions, my Tito Rommulo, who is my dad’s older brother, and my Tita Aurora laughing as they said to Amado, “You’re still working at Sandwich One?” Amado awkwardly laughed with them. Could they say that same thing to me? Even with a full-ride scholarship to an Anderson Arts School, he hasn’t broken into the animation industry. Instead, he makes spam sandwiches and flips burgers at Sandwich One. “Ah, there’s that child with no utang na loob,” my Tito Rommulo always says in reference to Amado. His voice hits on the second syllable of “loob” like it’s the ending punchline to a joke. According to my relatives, a child that majors in animation and works at a Filipino fast-food chain has no honor or gratitude. Tita Maricel brought him into this country, but to my relatives, he’s not returning the favor, rather, he’s failed her, and that, to them, shows no gratitude to Tita Maricel’s sacrifices.

“I can always major in bio and minor in photography,” I offer. I’m not sure why I’m pushing to major in a degree that may not get me anywhere financially stable. My parents will pay a lot for my tuition, and that’s on top of helping my Atè pay off her loans. Still, the words keep falling out, and there’s no stopping them.

My dad replies, “Just do bio. It’ll be easier for you to find a job that favors a bio degree.”

“But, Dad, I can focus on both.”

“Your assignments, exams, and labs will already be a lot of work. Can you imagine how much more work, how much harder, it’ll be if you add a minor? You could fail out of college.”

I don’t have a choice, do I? I feel my heart crack, and my lips dry like they’ve been drained of any value. I’m crazy thinking I could convince my parents to let me pursue this thing I love so dearly. Why would they pay so much money for me to earn a degree that would get me nowhere?

“Good point.” I hand him the bowl of sinigang. “I’ll just stick with bio.”

My dad nods approvingly. I should feel happy about this, but instead, a frown wilts across my face. I split my salmon fillet in half, then swirl my spoon inside my bowl, all the pieces whirling around.

A FaceTime call rings from my dad’s phone. When he taps the screen, the first thing I hear is, “Kumusta kayo!” It’s Aprilette. My dad waves at her.

“Kumusta, neneng!” my mom greets from the other side of the table.

“Hey, Atè!” I call.

“How was work?” my dad asks her.

“Tiring.” She emphasizes this with a yawn. “But today was great! I helped compound a medicine for a patient, and my supervisor said he couldn’t have done it without me!”

Again, my mom claps in her signature style. “Galing mo! Don’t we have such amazing daughters?”

My dad beams.

“And guess what?” Aprilette continues. “I bought a Mercedes-Benz!”

My head snaps up. Aprilette has wanted a Mercedes-Benz ever since she was in high school.

“Congratulations, neneng!” my dad says. “See what working hard can do?”

As my parents tell her the responsibilities of owning a new car, I poke at my salmon fillet. My Atè has everything she’s ever wanted, all by graduating with a chem degree and working as a pharmacy tech.

My eyes dart from my parents to Aprilette, Aprilette to my parents.

Do you still know I’m here?

But my parents only narrow their eyes at Aprilette. I am happy for my Atè, but sometimes it feels like my mom and dad only pay attention to me when she’s not in the picture. My mouth crooks, but I smooth it back to a smile because it’s wrong of me to be jealous. Maybe earning a practical degree and a well-paying job will be worth it if I win the same amount of attention that Aprilette gets.

“Can you pass the phone to Emi?” Aprilette asks.

My dad does as requested, and I take the phone from him.

Even in grainy video, Aprilette looks perfect. A lot like the Mona Lisa but with a white wall as her background. Her thick black waves cascade down her shoulders and frame her face. She has the kind of smile that, once you stare at it, you can’t help but smile back.

“Hey, Atè!” I say. “Congrats on finally getting your dream car!”

“Salamat!” Her smile stretches wider, and mine mirrors hers. “I miss you all so much!”

“We miss you too!” I pick up my phone and send her a picture of our mom’s garden—an arc of red, white, and purple pansies shrouded inside a patch of dirt. “Did you get my photo, Atè?”

“Yeah, that’s Mom’s garden, isn’t it?”