Every day I count my blessings and thank God for what I have. There are so many who are less fortunate. I have a healthy income, which is just enough to get by comfortably in expensive Silicon Valley. My retirement plan can use some improvement, but the risks I take in my career path can change that instantly. I love the fact that I have the freedom to take such risks.
That freedom has been more of an obligation borne out of being a first generation immigrant. I think more and more about this as a human resources professional. I witness the talent that comes from other countries and realize that living in the U.S. and becoming a U.S. citizen is in the dreams of so many foreigners, just like it was in the dreams of my parents when they emigrated from the Philippines.
My family and I have been living here for more than 4 decades. My dad first came here not for work but through the efforts of relatives. He found work and set up bringing first my mom, then my 3 older brothers (Domingo, Emiliano, and Rizaldy), and then me and my 2 sisters (Beatriz and Rosario). We were naturalized about 7 years later. I also have 2 younger brothers (Gabriel and Thomas). My parents left Gabriel in my aunt's care in the Philippines for almost 10 years. Tom was born in the U.S. the year we girls arrived.
From what I remember, becoming a U.S. citizen was a piece of cake. I boarded a plane, came here, went to school, learned English, and then 7 years later took an oath and became a U.S. citizen. Well maybe I'm exaggerating. It really was not that easy. Life was tough growing up here because we were economically disadvantaged and ethnically different. Also, because I have lived here for so long, I have almost forgotten the tough life we had in the Philippines.
I was very young when we moved to the U.S., and so I don't have very many memories. I recall bits and pieces, mostly of living almost in squalor over there. I remember pleasant things like celebrating a holiday by getting on a speedboat over to an island surrounded by baby blue water. I hated the loud sound of the speedboat, and I remember that it made my little sister cry. I also remember waking up early in the morning to accompany my mom to capture octopus. We waded in shallow water as the mist hovered over and I could feel the octopus swimming by. I remember falling and hitting my head on concrete staircase at my grandfather's house. My head was bleeding. I still have the scar. I cried hard mainly to get my older sister in trouble because she pushed me. I remember pulling a fishing pole by its hook and getting the hook caught in my finger. They had to cut the line and take me to the doctor who pulled it out and stitched up my finger. My aunt was surprised that I didn't cry at all. I didn't feel any pain. I remember playing out in the rain. Rain in the tropics is pleasant, and so it wasn't unusual to see kids playing out in a downpour. I remember attending a funeral. I was speechless the entire time. Death was so mysterious to me when I was little. I remember buying things from vendors who traveled up and down our street. Sometimes it was candy, sometimes it was a shot at winning a prize, sometimes it was food. I remember eating this sour vegetable (or fruit?) called pias that grew from tree trunks or bark. We would put salt in our hands, pick the pias, dip them into the salt, and pop them into our mouths. I remember eating different fruits, such as jackfruit, lomboy, star apple. There were many others. I don't remember what they're called exactly. I remember living in the tiny house across the street from the school. We were definitely poor, with 9 people living in it. I remember being bathed in a tub outside. Our hair would be washed with soap. We didn't use shampoo until we moved to the U.S. What a difference. I remember crying when I learned that my dad would be gone for a long time. I didn't even know that he was moving to the U.S. I don't remember when my mom moved. I remember feeling the jealousy from neighborhood kids when they learned that I was moving to the U.S. One of the girls pinched me really hard and took off. That was a nice parting gift.
I remember traveling on the plane with my older cousins Tino and Dolores. They were moving to the U.S. too and accompanied us on our journey. I was not a big fan back then of traveling. When we landed, I remember my cousin Tino becoming excited when he recognized a familiar face in the waiting crowd. I remember traveling from SFO to Mountain View, where my dad had set up a home. It was nighttime, and the lights on the freeway, on the hills, and all around were mesmerizing. I remember eating a hamburger for the first time. It was huge and delicious. I remember eating a red apple for the first time. It was also delicious.
I remember going to school and starting kindergarten. I didn't know a word of English, but I understood my kindergarten teacher when she was explaining that the mats or towels to nap on belonged in the cubbyholes. It was as if I absorbed English immediately. I became fluent in English in kindergarten.
Our assimilation was quick and complete. I did so well academically that I skipped second grade. All along I knew we were different. Growing up in Mountain View back then as an immigrant was not easy. We were subjected to prejudices and made fun of. Other kids made fun of my skin color. They would tease me about how I smelled. We would smell like fried fish sometimes when going to school.
We lived on welfare in the beginning. My parents had 8 kids, and we were living on my dad's minimum wage income. The house had 2 bedrooms, 1 bathroom, a small living room and a small kitchen. It was more of a home for migrant workers. Other kids would tease me about being poor and about having to go to the laundromat to wash our clothes. I wasn't embarrassed or angry about it. It was just part of life. But it certainly was always a relief when we didn't see kids I recognized at the laundromat. In school, we got free lunch, which eventually became reduced lunch, and then we didn't qualify for welfare anymore.
That was my parents, working hard to improve our lives in the U.S. They eventually were able to buy and own a home in Sunnyvale. We moved there when I started high school. The lifestyle in the U.S. was a far cry from the lifestyle in the Philippines. In the Philippines, you don't have to work as hard. There's always a support system or easy labor to survive. In the U.S., you have to work hard to survive. It really impressed upon me that I needed to succeed and take every advantage of the freedom and opportunity that this country offers. I felt obligated. I still do.
My brothers, sisters, and I are all productive and contributing members of and to society. We are Americans. Our kids are Americans. I continue onward with my blessed life and count my blessings. God brought us here for a reason. It is a good lot in life. It has been a long road. And every time I meet immigrants or learn of immigrants, I believe I know what they are trying to accomplish and what they are going through. They are here to build better lives for themselves and especially for their children, their children's children, and so on. I know because I am a first generation immigrant. I have first hand experience.
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