Starting Over in the Land of Hope
It was 1990... I walked off the plane and stepped into a world I never imagined. America. My aunt and uncle, who I never met, greeted my parents, and we loaded up their gray Dodge Caravan with all our luggage. Exhausted from the 14 hour plane ride, and with residual nausea from the turbulence on the flight, I decided to close my eyes for a few minutes. Next thing I knew my aunt and uncle were laughing at me because why on earth would a kid sleep on her first day in a beautiful country? I teared up, but didn't want to show it.
I didn't really want to to come here. I wanted to stay home in Manila with my older brother and sister who were over the age of 21, and were not able to come with us because of the age restriction on US petitions. For my parents, this was the only choice. Looking back now, thirty years later, I realize they made the biggest sacrifice of all. They were in their fifties, and decided to pack up and move to California, in the hopes that we would have a better life than we had in Manila. I didn't understand any of this at age 12.
On the way to my aunt and uncle's house, to avoid getting laughed at again, I was determined not to close my eyes for the rest of the ride. As I looked out the window, I was introduced to the San Francisco skyline. Amidst the famous fog, I saw an impressive collection of tall buildings, some pointy, some flat, all gorgeous. I'm in America, I thought to myself. This is America. And, I'm going to work in one of those buildings one day. I know I will.
Finally, we exited the highway. As we drove up a steep hill, my uncle mentioned that these houses are dangerous if ever there's an earthquake. At the top of the steep hill, we stopped. We arrived at their house. It was the largest house I've ever seen. It appeared like a white castle, with a perfectly trimmed lawn, and a huge door, as if meant to protect royalty.
When we got inside, my aunt phoned some relatives to announce our arrival. I remember one of our cousins said her husband wasn't home because he participated in the Bay to Breakers, the famous annual run in San Francisco, where people dressed up in wild costumes. While my dad and aunt talked, I looked around the kitchen. They had a pantry lined with an assortment of canned goods, and a double door refrigerator filled with large sizes of milk and orange juice. As I reflect on this now, the size of their pantry and fridge are typical in American homes. Back in Manila, the homes that I'm familiar with had small or medium sized refrigerators because those don't consume too much electricity, and we typically had only a small cupboard with rice and basic canned goods like luncheon meat and tuna.
After the round of phone calls to relatives, my uncle invited us to go out to eat. He and my aunt suggested we go to a place they fondly referred to as "RT". They said we'd love it there. We all piled back into the Dodge Caravan and drove to "RT". I learned from the tabletop that "RT" stood for Round Table Pizza. My uncle ordered a large pizza that came with a variety of toppings: sausage, pepperoni, olives, red and green bell peppers, salami... It was delicious. I wrote about this on my first letter to my older brother and sister. Literally, this experience was something I wrote home about. During this dinner, I also learned my first American term. In Manila, most students learn to speak English starting in grade school, so I knew English my whole life, but on that day, thirty years ago, I learned that in America, what I grew up to call a soft drink, is called "soda" in America.
After that memorable American dinner, my aunt and uncle took us to another American establishment: Lucky's supermarket. My aunt wanted to pick up some food items that my mom would cook for us (mom's a great cook). When we walked in, I couldn't believe my eyes. The bright lights made everything look enticing. As we walked down the aisles, I gazed at the number of huge cereal boxes, potato chip bags, and canned goods. I saw some items I've never heard of, like Pecan Sandies and Mother's Cookies. And to my surprise, the meat and poultry items were neatly packaged in styrofoam containers. Back home, I remember the grocery stores we went to were a bit dark due to the high cost of electricity. And the meat, fish, poultry, and vegetables were purchased at the wet market. Here in the American grocery store, even the fruit looked shiny. Over the years, the grocery stores in the Philippines became larger and modeled a similar vibe to these American grocery stores. These days, most Filipinos are accustomed to large cereal boxes and large potato chip bags...
Even though I was amazed at everything I saw on my first day in America, I really missed home. For weeks, I didn't change the time on my wrist watch so I could imagine what was happening at home. I ended up getting confused with the time, so I reluctantly adjusted my watch to California time. We wrote letters to my older brother and sister back home to let them know how we were doing, and they did the same. But, it was still sad that we had to be apart. Years prior, my brother had a renal failure and required regular dialysis, and so my parents worried about his health day and night.
I wanted to go back home. I think my parents also felt the same, but didn't want to tell us. Eventually, my mom found a job as an office worker for a restaurant in San Francisco, and my dad became a security guard. To this day, I am amazed at what my parents have done for us. They were in their fifties when we arrived in the US. Some people at that age are looking forward to retirement and wouldn't dare start from nothing.
My mom worked other jobs before landing a good paying job as a sales representative at the Emporium. Everyday, she stood for eight to ten hours, helping customers and tidying up the women's fitting room. Eventually we got an apartment in downtown San Francisco. Across the street from the Emporium back then was Woolworth's. That was where we got many of the items in the apartment. And they had some pretty good fried chicken too! When they closed the Emporium, my mom could have stopped working, but she decided to enroll in a medical office management course and worked for two nursing homes as office manager for years before finally retiring.
My dad worked swing and graveyard shift as a security guard in a San Francisco building. After a year in the US, he had to go back to the Philippines to take care of my brother. One Sunday afternoon in 1994, the phone rang. It was my dad. He talked to my mom, then she suddenly collapsed to the floor, in tears. My brother died that day due to complications. I never thought my brother would die.
When my dad came back to the US, he worked as a security guard again. He continued with his swing and graveyard shift. It was hard, but he kept at it. Finally, one day, a day shift position opened up, and he was assigned to work the day shift. Like my mom, he worked for many years before retiring.
My first job while in college was at an internship at a local CPA firm. I was thrilled to have my own cubicle, but more importantly, thought to myself, "yes, I got myself in one of those San Francisco buildings that I saw from the car window when my uncle and aunt picked us up from the airport!" Whenever I pass by the financial district or the Embarcadero center, I still can't believe that I am here, in the land of hope. The reason I am here with this great opportunity is my parents, who brought us to the US to give us the best life we could have. While I regret that my brother didn't get to come here, I know he is watching over me. I'm sure he'd want me to take advantage of every opportunity that is available, because that's what our parents want for all of us.