Migrating to America ๐Ÿ‡บ๐Ÿ‡ธ part 2


“Migrating to America”ย ย  Part 2ย ย ย 

October 18, 1992

Around 4:05 am, my mom woke me up.
“It’s time to get dressed.”
I didn’t pop up from bed energetically as I thought I would. I laid out my travel outfit two weeks ahead of time. A blue long sleeve, light brown curderoys, my favorite brown shoes, and a red light jacket.
A small handbag filled with 10 cassette tapes, a large walkman, and a mini photo album.
Believe it or not, I actually have all these items together in one of 5 boxes of my personal memorabilia.

10 cassette tapes of music? Nah.
At that time, I thought it would be cool to record my TV shows on tape. We actually did not own a beta max set. The only beta tape I own was my 10th Birthday party at #Jollibee.
Among the cassettes were memoir recordings. A month’s worth of personal narration of my daily Shenanigans. I’ve always been known to keep documentation all my life. Pictures and written diaries weren’t enough.
I had late night talks with my grandmother. She lived here in America for a couple of years.
Summer of 1988, she came with my cousin Charisma. My Uncle & Aunt lived in Fords New Jersey. My mom escorted them during the trip.
I peppered my grandmother with inane questions, what was America like. Was it like anything we’ve seen on television and the movies?
Growing up, we only had 7 channels. On that wooden box with a thick glass screen, two knobs, one to pull & push, turning it on and off, which also served for volume, and the flat key like thing, that clicks loudly as you rotate it to change the channel.
Sesame Street and Wonder Woman were the only American shows I’ve ever watched growing up.

Ok, ok. Let me get back to October 18th….. My Uncle (from Confirmation) and long time friend of the family came to drive us to the airport. I gave my Aunt, My mom’s cousin Jojit, and my Grandmother a hug good bye.
We pack in seated in our burgundy pick-up truck. A vehicle that was older than I was. One big foam rectangular cushion that fit 3 people. Today, all 4 of us squeezed in.ย ย ย  As we backed out of the house slowly, that wee early morning, all three of my relatives were in front of the house waving, I stare at the house one last time, the gate wide open, I can see all lights were on, my Uncle beeped the horn twice and we waved one last time.
Bye, 12 Sicaba Street, Retiro – Santa Mesa Heights, Quezon City.
My mom reached into her purse and took out her rosary. I thought, oh wow. She’s really nervous.
“First Joyful mystery, The Annunciation…” From there I mumbled on auto-pilot.
I peer out of the window to memorize one last time the roads. Turned left towards Retiro – Right on Banawe Street, & Left on Quezon Avenue. There were no traffic at 4:35 am. We breezed through up to the Quezon Memorial Circle within 10 minutes. A ride that usually take 25 minutes. Everything came fuzzy after that.
We finished praying the rosary & sat in silence. I looked at the rear view mirror and saw our cross hanging on a string, I took it off and tucked it away in my carry-on bag. It was a gift that was given to us by Charito Planas.
The cross is now in my parent’s car.
Before I know it, the sun was rising as we pulled in the rotunda of Ninoy Aquino International Airport, Upper level.
It was the first time I’ve been to the upper level. All my life during that time I’ve been at the Lower level for arrivals. I’ve watched with excitement as my relatives come down from the ramp (Google it, Ninoy Aquino Airport – Terminal 1 Arrival, Greeters Area). “Wow, they just came from America.” They always looked so refreshed & glowing. Plus, Filipinos know this one fact. They smell different. Umm what smell? It’s a sweet aroma. Their clothes and the Balikbayan Box, all smell the same.
The sun was already up, it’s golden colors were shining behind us, the coconut trees were rustling from the wind, and the Philippine flag on the pole. “Timmy, get a cart.” My father told me.
We had 6 pieces of luggage & 5 Boxes. My dad was a memorabilia collector too. Almost all of his books and art supplies, he packed.
I got two carts. We stacked all of our belongings to those two flimsy carts, said our thanks to my God Uncle, I looked at our pick-up truck one last time and headed in the airport lobby. I was so giddy inside. The marble green floor was newly polished that morning, it smelled of Johnson or Star Wax. I remember using them in school to clean our classroom floor.
Um, excuse me? Kids were asked to clean school property? It was part of our routine in school. After recess, we would sweep the floors and wax the floor with half of a coconut, what we call “bunot”. This was the time I stared to feel sleepy and tired. I slept on my mom’s lap while we waited at the gate.
Shortly. We started to board.


2 thoughts on “Migrating to America ๐Ÿ‡บ๐Ÿ‡ธ part 2”

  1. Beautiful nostalgic post. What you narrated here are so familiar to me as well – the streets, Quezon Memorial Circle, the scent of Balikbayan box from the US, and the polished floor with Johnson floor wax. Thank you for sharing.

    Liked by 1 person

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