Hi, Im Luis Alberto, a 42-year-old civil engineer from Lima, Peru. At first, I was hesitant to share my storyI grew up facing judgment and mockery in school. But Ive learned to ignore ignorant people. This page inspired me to speak up and honor the woman who made my life possible.
San Juan de Lurigancho is toughlocals understand. We lived in a tiny rented room with no luxuries, often eating only rice and eggs. My father left when I was six, forcing me to help provide. My mom collected plastic bottles and cardboard, pushing an old tricycle at night to scavenge trash bagspeople dont recycle here. Wed haul heavy loads, my back strained under bottle sacks, my mom shielding me from cold with newspapers because coats were unaffordable.
After school, Id rush through homework to join her. Crushing bottles underfoot to carry more, I dreaded classmates spotting metheir laughter stung. Later, I realized their cruelty wasnt their fault, but a failing of our education system.
Mom sensed my shame. “This is honest work,” shed say. “We hurt no one, and it feeds us.” Rosa María, my mother, came from Huancayo as a teen, chasing a better life. Instead, she got a man who abandoned us. She never finished school but taught me integrity and grit. Despite no steady job, she worked twice as hard, teaching me gratitude for food, shelter, and a bed.
She calculated every pound of plastic needed for my school supplies. Even when money barely stretched, she made sure I never missed class. Some nights, I stayed home to study or guard our place while she braved dangers alone, returning with cuts and exhaustion. Id soak her feet in saltwater and skip meals so she could eat.
Trash bags held treasuresdiscarded prep academy books. Mom questioned my hoarding until a teacher said engineers earned well. That dream became my fuel: Id lift her out of poverty.
I barely scraped into the National Engineering Universitya euphoric yet daunting start. Through endless exams, Mom kept pedaling that tricycle, driving me forward.
At my 2014 graduation, I locked eyes with her in the crowd, tears streaming. That degree wasnt mineit was hers, paid for by every bottle shed gathered.
Now, I work at a major Lima construction site, ensuring Mom no longer recyclesthough she still sneaks out to chat with market vendors. Ive yet to meet a woman as resilient as her.
Every discarded bottle I see? Its not trash. Its hopethe bridge to who I am.
**Bonus:**
Months ago, I spoke to kids in San Juan de Lurigancho. Their eyes mirrored my past shame and hunger. I shared my storynot as an engineer, but as the boy who crushed bottles for his mom.
One boy asked, *”If you did it can I?”*
I smiled, feeling Moms presence. *”Yes. But promise: never be ashamed of honest work. Dignity outshines gold.”*
At home, I found her mending worn sandals. *”Why not buy new ones?”* I asked.
She chuckled. *”These still walk, mijo. And they remind me how far weve come.”*
Hugging her, I realized: every step I take is carried by her calloused hands, her broken sandals, her relentless heart.
My proudest title? Not “Engineer.”
*Son of Rosa María.* Always.
Hello, I’m Luis Alberto, a 42-year-old civil engineer from Lima, Peru, and I once felt embarrassed to share my story due to the prejudices I encountered growing up.
