Lucy's first dance recital

Things I lost in the move

 

As the years roll by and my hair has begun to turn white, I sometimes find myself lost in thought. I have lived in this, my adopted country for more than I've lived in my home country. I left the Philippines merely two weeks after my 19th year. I had never before flown in an airplane and that first time I did, I dressed up as most people during those days did. I wore a printed blue dress with a bow around my neck and a pair of white platform sandals. It was 1975 and the song "Leaving On A Jet Plane" was constantly being played in my house. Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young were hot. And everybody wanted to play the guitar like James Taylor...including me. We stopped to refuel and pick up more passengers in Guam before my final destination: Honolulu, Hawaii. I threw up several times from airsickness and my ears wouldn't pop. I didn't even know they were supposed to or that I could pop them by merely yawning or blowing air while I pinched my nose and closed my mouth. I just felt dizzy and disoriented. And sick.

I did not know what to expect once I'd landed. I had no idea what 'customs' was about or where I could find my luggage. Or if somebody from the university was going to pick me up. But things worked out fine and I found my place.

I found my place. Here I am over 36 years later and I've found my place. Yet, I cannot shake the feeling that I don't belong here and I yearn for that place where it all began just to walk the familiar roads, smell the sweet fragrances that I remember, speak that beautiful language of my youth and soothe myself with that familiar feeling of being "home". I can go back a dozen times but my "home" no longer exists. It is all different now. I am so much different now. And I find that that place I yearn to be exists only in some distant memory. So my heart sinks...searching...pining...longing for something that doesn't exist nor can be recreated. Crestfallen, I quietly weep inside me.

My children, who are only half Filipino, do not speak my language nor were exposed to my culture enough that they can relate to that half of their identities. But this is the result of deliberate choices that I made early on, the reasons being known only to myself. I made these decisions knowingly and with much thought. The reasons are important to me. But I paid a steep price.

So, as I see my grandchildren...all white skin and blue eyes with nary a trace of being a quarter Asian, I ponder and look back to make an assessment of the things I lost in the move... and only I know what they are.

Now, everything I hold dear is in me and so I now realize with exquisite clarity what I need to preserve for the generations to come because what I have is unique and priceless. The generations that follow me will not look like me nor will they understand what I miss when I am alone in my thoughts. I am their Filipino ancestor. I am a pioneer. I bring with me the pride of the Malay race, the strength of the Filipino warrior, the sweet music unique to my people, the resilience that comes from living in a place where the cadence of life is languid and the warmth of the air is sultry. I come from a land where the winds can be sinister, the rains can be relentless...where mountains are active and fire flows under the sea. I come from raw beauty... with mountains home to familiar ghosts and strange creatures and endless terraces carved along their slopes.  I come from an archipelago of 7,000 islands and a hundred different languages and dialects. Our statures may be small but our movements and aim are accurate. I come from a long generation of artists and mathematicians, scientists and teachers. I come from brilliance. In my veins flow the gracefulness of the Balangsatan and zarzuela poets and actors, musicians and singers. Languages and eloquence flow freely from my predecessors who speak at least two languages or multiple dialects. And my people move with fluid grace...easily but accurately relaying distinct emotions of love, friendship and solidarity. These are the people of the country of my birth....the place that exists only past the veil of time-- the things that I thought I lost when I moved. I realize...I never lost them. I am the reservoir of all these wonderful gifts. I carry them in my hands. I am a Filipino and I did not lose all that make me what I am when I moved. I pray that my children will find them, cherish them, be proud and pass them on.