Essays

GOING BACK

Typical Philippine sunset in any of the 7,127 islands comprising the archipelago.

It seems like only yesterday that I got on that jet plane in Manila to get to America. It was never my intention to leave the Philippines.

However, one day, mom told us that our applications for American Citizenship had been approved by the U.S. Department of Justice. This meant that in order to retain this citizenship, all members of our family would have to step on American soil before turning 27 years old. This development threw a curve ball on all our lives. I always thought that I would settle down in the Philippines.

Those were stressful moments. The family fishing business was doing good. It was a tough decision to make. Our mother was the iron hand in letting us know that this opportunity was once in a lifetime. The Philippine government was corrupt and there was no guarantee that our futures would be bright. She told us to think more for our future generations. Would our children be in a better environment growing up in America or in the Philippines? With that, I reluctantly decided to leave for the U.S.A.

It was hard getting on that jet plane. There was someone special I had to leave behind, and that didn’t help. I promised myself that I would go back as soon as possible. What kept me going was the knowledge that the Philippines would always be there.

Setting foot in America for the first time is a trip. It was my brother and I who pioneered getting our family to California. We were in awe at the infrastructure. The tall buildings and the wide concrete roads. And the freeways were something else. I had never seen so many cars move so fast all in the same direction. Can you imagine the visual effect of a 5-lane freeway on a “probinsyano” like me? The weather was chilly. I wore jeans and my trusty old Levi’s ma-ong jacket. This jacket kept me warm when I was in the Philippines, but it was no match for the American winter. And I’m talking just California, now. So, we put on an extra layer of clothes and started exploring this big, intimidating place people refer to as “the States”. We walked the streets, took the bus, and sometimes rode in our cousin’s big American car. The first time I ordered restaurant food, I could not believe the portions. It was like feeding three people with food in one plate. No wonder these Americans are so big! I thought.

Our first place of residence was in the city of Gardena , CA which was quite close to the beach. The nights were cold. I almost burned down the apartment building we stayed at. I was cooking rice in a pot (no rice cookers then) and forgot about it. Before you know it, smoke’s coming out of the kitchen and the apartment manager is running around like crazy. Fire department comes along and those big hunky firemen realize that it’s just a couple of Filipinos cooking rice in a pot. Burned it. Oh well, what else is new. The manager warns us and tells us that next time this happens, we will be homeless Asians. That’s when I start eating sandwiches. No more cooking rice for a while.

Adjustments to the American way of life had to be made. First thing to be done was get that Social Security Number. Then your drivers license. Find a job. Buy a car. Establish credit. Find better jobs paying more dollars. It would be only a matter of time before we all achieved all or some portion of that economic dream such as having a nice house (or two or more) and driving that new car.

America is promising and generous to its youth. It offers fame and fortune to the young Americans who can fulfill its needs as a world leader in sports and new ideas. The older generation may step aside while the new batch takes over. I have nothing against that. It is but the cycle of life. What I don’t like is the American concept that old people are not as productive and should be shelved . My job allows me to go into people’s homes to service appliances. There are senior housing projects that I go into wherein the occupants are quite elderly. Their children placed them there hoping they will be happy. However, these seniors are lonely. No one monitors their medication and cleans up. When I check their appliances, they want me to stay and talk. Sad how once proud citizens can be so neglected.

The author in dark blue tagging along with Medical City surgeons and nurses during a surgical mission in Cadiz city, Negros Occ in 2007. Doctors Butch and Rafael Jocson (rear and front right) were kind enough to orient me on the lifesaving art of surgery.

Cebuano Rock n Roll band jammin’ away during the 2007 Cebu Sinulog Festival

Midwater altar at Boracay. One of the few wonderful beaches in the old country

These are the moments when I think about the Philippines.

A place wherein the young respects the elderly believing in their wisdom . As kids, we gathered around our grandparents listening to their stories. I remember how eager the children were in helping older persons.

Getting older I can’t help but compare the two cultures. I see the America being good for the young and the Philippines being kind to its old. Now that I’m getting older and have some dollars in my pocket with stories to tell, should I go back? Feels like only yesterday that I rode that jet plane to this promised land. Now that my mission is accomplished, I feel the urge to ride that jet plane again. Get back to my roots. Got any thoughts on that?

Written by: John F Lacson