The American Dream

A friend recently asked me how, when  and why my parents and siblings ended up living in America.

When my father was a teenager,  he and two of his playmates went to the port,  snuck into a ship bound for America.  They went to the cargo area and hid under the kaings, sakos, etc.  Unfortunately,  the captain and his crew made a last check and discovered 3 boys curled-up under the piles of cargo.

America impressed my father.  As a young boy,  he  heard many good stories about this land of  milk and honey,  apples and oranges, opportunities and dreams.  Land of the free.  This was evident from his stories about the Kano, etc.  Para talagang nakapunta na sya.

Long time ago,  you could just show up at  the United States Embassy in Roxas Boulevard without any appointment, no long qeues,  no metal detectors.  As long as you have a good education,  looked professional, you could be an immigrant.  My Kuya Lito, did just that.

After my brother’s years of living in San Francisco, my father became restless, impatient and was losing hope that my brother would care to petition him.  There was a quiet but serious resolve etched on his face.  He would go to America.  He would get his own visa. It was evident that the dream of this young boy who wanted to sail to America lived on.

One day my father left at 3 in the morning.  When he came back that afternoon,  he waved his passport with a welcome to America stamp.

The plane trip was long but sweet.  Not under the piles of kaing and sako,  but under the air of dignity.

(photos to follow)