I was your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to break free.
Recently, I was helping my 8-year-old kid with his Social Studies and California History homework. This particular subject was about immigration in America. It was an excellent opportunity to tell them my story as a first-generation American immigrant from the Philippines.
As I told them about my childhood, they seem fascinated by the fact that my family and I used to live in a shack barely the size of our dining room and kitchen. It was less than 380 square feet, smaller than a two-car garage, which contained the entire living space including the bedroom and kitchen/living area.
I remember living at the foot of someone else’s home. The walls were made of bamboo and patches of tin and plywood. The roof was also made of rusty tin. It would leak when it rained. There was no floor; we walked on earth & dirt. A full-sized coconut tree grew from the middle of our bedroom and through the roof. “Santa” used to hang his meager presents on that tree. Sometimes, we would hear loud bangs on the roof that startled me at first but I later learned it was just coconuts falling on our roof. No big deal; we got used to it.
Underneath our bamboo sink lived a pig that used to eat our scraps. Lizards lined the outhouse. At bedtime, I could hear cockroaches & mosquitoes flying in the dark and rats scampering all over the house. A small open sewage canal acted as a moat between our humble home and the unpaved street below which all lead to a nearby river that was notorious for flooding.
An interesting childhood
I’ve seen some things and lived through various calamities. I survived floods, fires, plus water and food shortages. I still have vivid memories of witnessing a military coup unfold before my eyes, watching the skies of Manila from our roof as American F-4 jets buzzed the skies taking down rebel forces flying WWII-era planes. It was one of several coups I witnessed growing up.
I’ve seen murdered bodies on the streets and survived getting mugged at knifepoint several times. Still, I lived to tell the tale.
I recall our family moving from one shared dwelling to the next, renting makeshift rooms in a house or apartment with other relatives or families. Even throughout my high school days, our family of four lived in someone’s covered driveway, next to a polluted creek. It had no bedroom so my dad built a makeshift wall made from pieces of discarded cardboard tubes. The only thing that separated us from the street outside was a small patch of the driveway and a cheap iron lattice gate which barely offered any privacy. Some public bathroom stalls provided more privacy.
There were times we were so broke that we tried to distract ourselves from feeling hunger, but we survived. We were still the lucky ones.
I remember wearing clothes from remnants made by my mom, laying on a homemade bed made by my dad, sleeping inside a mosquito net, wading through flooded streets on the way to school with shoes that were falling apart. We didn’t have enough money to buy the toys I wanted, so I often made my own from magazine cutouts. One of my prized possessions was an old J.C. Penny catalog which I stared at for hours drooling over G.I. Joes, He-Man, and Knight Rider toys. There was a radio flyer wagon in it that I always dreamed of owning but it seemed that’s all I could do: Dream about it.
Despite our challenges, I was thankful because my parents worked hard, enough that my sister and I still considered ourselves well cared for. I bore witness to the extreme poverty of people less fortunate than us…and there were A LOT of them!
We were still the lucky ones.
The promise of America
We all dreamed of coming to America someday. I dreamed of going to Disneyland, attending an American high school, and pretending to be in an American teen movie.
I wanted to walk across the Golden Gate Bridge and admire the Statue of Liberty in person. I fantasized about playing in the snow, owning a piano, strolling along Hollywood boulevard, and making new friends from other countries.
I wanted to eat Kellogg’s cereal for breakfast every day, watch Nickelodeon’s “Double Dare” game show live on set, visit a real old Western saloon, watch surfers, make a trek to Arlington National Cemetery to visit the grave of the soldier I was named after, see the set of “Back to the Future,” run slowly on the beaches of Baywatch, and visit a NASA facility. My list was endless.
A tough road for immigrants
We waited decades to get through the immigration system, which was quite rigorous and demanding. As a teen, I recall getting evaluated for a physical exam and herded into a large room full of what seemed like a hundred other applicants waiting to be processed. It was a complete physical exam where we were required to strip, with nothing separating us from the main room other than a piece of curtain. My young mind felt a sense of humiliation at that moment, but I kept telling myself this was all going to be worth it.
The interview at the U.S. Embassy in Manila was a make-or-break deal for my entire family. We had already gambled a lot and bet everything on this one shot at a new life. We were all nervous even though we had nothing to hide. We knew that we were still at the mercy of the person on the other side of the glass window. My heart raced & my hands trembled every time the consular officer asked me a question. I stared intently at her hands as she stamped our documents.
Luckily we passed!
A new life
Fast forward several months later, and we finally made it to America after a lot of patience, sacrifice, tears, and hard work. As I stepped out of the plane at San Francisco International Airport for the first time, I recall pinching myself thinking, “We finally made it. We’re here, and it’s freezing!” It was summer. My tropical body had yet to acclimatize.
It was bittersweet. We left virtually everyone and everything: friends, relatives, possessions, and achievements. We started a new life from scratch with what was literally inside a few suitcases.
From day one, my parents told us never to take things for granted and to always remember where we came from. They told us to work hard, not be a burden to anybody or society, remain humble, and always be grateful.
We left our tempest-tost home but found a new one, teeming with a lot more promise and potential. It wasn’t easy coming to a new land with nothing to your name and feeling like an outsider but with sheer hard work, perseverance, determination, and the friendship and hospitality of many throughout the years, we built a home that was stronger than ever.
The Philippines will always be near and dear to me, shaping my childhood and how I deal with adversity but it was America, this fabled land of opportunity, this new Camelot, that brought our dreams within reach.
An American dream fulfilled
Since then, I’ve fulfilled most of my dreams. This included meeting my beautiful wife and having our own little family, owning a car, and living in the home of my dreams in a fantastic neighborhood, with the job I’ve always wanted.
I thought I would be an outcast. Instead, I’ve been blessed with the friendships of many throughout the years.
I’m fortunate enough to no longer have to worry about going hungry again, getting too broke, or not getting any medical help. Except for Arlington and Nickelodeon, I’ve fulfilled the items on my list and more. I may not have been able to afford the toys I wanted as a kid, but at least my kids don’t get to say the same. I’ve always wanted a radio flyer so instead, I bought them one. I still cannot forget how that moment felt. It was as if I was the one riding that radio flyer for the first time. I hope my story will inspire them.
In the end, we were the lucky ones.
The flame on that golden lamp
I know immigration in America is and has always been a sensitive topic, so I won’t get into its politics. I simply wanted to share my own story hoping that people here don’t take things for granted. America is far from perfect and those that say she is are kidding themselves. To this day, the great American experiment continues and is a work in progress. However, despite its ups and downs, the fact is America still remains a beacon of hope and bearer of dreams for many around the world. Sometimes that beacon can shine so bright, it can light the skies all the way across the globe. Sometimes, it’s barely a faint glimmer but it’s a beacon nonetheless. I hope Americans don’t let the flame on their golden lamp flicker out. It would be a shame for that beacon to extinguish itself for good.
“Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”
This poem means more to me than you will ever realize.
