In 1986, my mother asked me to go to my Uncle’s house to borrow some rice. I didn’t expect him to give us ten whole kilos. But when my mother emptied it out, she suddenly covered her face and began to cry inconsolably… The reason behind it left me frozen, and it is something I will never forget for the rest of my life.

In 1986, I had just turned twelve.

We lived in a struggling neighborhood on the outskirts of San Antonio, Texas, where money was always tight and every meal felt like it had to stretch a little further than it should. Most nights, dinner was just rice mixed with beans—or sometimes cornbread with a thin homemade soup made from whatever my mom could gather or afford.

My dad had passed away a few years earlier in a construction accident, leaving my mom to raise me and my two younger sisters on her own.

That winter was especially cold.

I remember the wind slipping through the cracks in our small house, rattling the windows and making everything feel even emptier. That afternoon, I saw my mom sitting by the pantry, staring at a nearly empty jar of rice. She scooped up the last few grains with her fingers and let out a quiet sigh.

“Go over to Mr. Robert’s house,” she said gently. “Ask if we can borrow a little rice. I’ll figure out how to pay him back tomorrow.”

I nodded, grabbed an old cloth bag, and stepped outside.

The dirt road to Mr. Robert’s house was dusty and cold. He lived just a few houses down. He had been my dad’s older brother, living alone ever since his wife passed away.