To America and Back Again: Some Thoughts From Our US Trip
I interpreted America more through all the Hollywood movies and comicbooks I've read than half-remembered sociological theories in college... but there's obviously a huge chunk I'm missing as an outsider, however "westernized" I thought I was.
It felt surreal stepping foot in America for the first time as a Filipino.
On the one hand, it's like returning to the Source. The Source of this liberal-democratic, consumer-centric worldview with the US in the center that has shaped my most personal beliefs and basic biases. The reason why I take capitalism as a basic fact of life, not a historical contingency. Why I speak english and hate watching "foreign" movies with subtitles (even though those foreign movies are actually excellent ones from nearby Asian neighbors). The reason why I celebrate Christmas, and think of snow and Santa Claus coming down chimneys when there's none of those in the sweltering hot tropical climate of the Philippines. Why I'm dismissive of Russia because when I think of it, I picture Ivan Drago.
Returning to that Source is almost like a pilgrimage; a spiritual homecoming a lifetime in the making. I was excited. Nervous. In the final minutes before the plane landed in Utah, solemn.
But on the other hand, when I got there, it's just like any other place. Salt Lake City International Airport was neat; but I've seen better in Singapore, Seoul, and Japan.
When I got there, it's just another piece of land–albeit a very, very... very large one.
My sister's backyard alone made me feel too small. In Hutchinson, Minnesota, I would turn my eyes to the horizon and nothing–no building or electrical post–blocked my line of sight. It was uncanny. We'd travel an hour or two at 60 miles per hour on ordinary roads (that's 97 kph–fast expressway speeds in the Philippines) unimpeded by traffic jams to get to an Asian supermarket or a cinema, and between my sister's home and the destination, there'd be nothing but endless green farmlands and an impossibly vast dome of blue sky that hugged the earth.
One time while on a road trip to South Dakota, we saw this train that went on and on and on. I don't believe we ever saw its end.
To put it in perspective: Hutchinson has a population of 14,700 people spread over 22.84 square kilometers. Angono, Rizal, where our family live, has 134,900 people packed in 26.22 square kilometers.
And Hutchinson is just one town in Minnesota. Minnesota is just one state in the US.
There's so much land in America, it made me wonder what the fuss is all about.
I've seen videos of kids bawling as they're torn away from their parents getting deported by ICE agents. Massive protests and escalating violence from both sides litter my social feed.
With this as the backdrop, it's natural to be a bit worried for my mom and dad who have immigrated, even though Hutchinson, Minnesota gave us nothing but the impression of total safety, peace, and comfort while we were there.
But when we flew to New York, we saw another America–as different from the serene languor of the Midwest as it could be. I heard about a dozen different languages while shopping in Target near Times Square. In a 7/11, we witnessed a fight almost unfold between two young people. We were scared, but the janitor swept the floor without a care in the world–like this was completely expected at seven o'clock in the evening. On some streets, trash festered in the July heat and our noses grew accustomed to the distinctive, sour odor.
We saw people from every background imaginable sharing the same skyline. New Yorkers were polite, helpful.
All this proves a cosmopolitan city is indeed possible, but clearly, with a ton of tradeoffs.
So to counter my earlier flippant remark, the land is big, but the fuss is warranted.
As I looked out the window of my sister's Mustang, I just felt so tiny, distant, and different compared to the land, the swirling cultures, and the whole thought of this massive nation almost trying to rip itself into two.
In truth, I interpreted America more through all the Hollywood movies and comicbooks I've read than half-remembered sociological theories in college. Now and again I'd say, "Oh this looked like that scene from Breaking Bad." "This was where Ghostbusters was shot." "This reminds me of The Wire." I was convinced I knew something of what it's going through, but there's obviously a huge chunk I'm missing as an outsider, however "westernized" I thought I was.
All my reservations about America were balanced by a newfound respect for its people's resolve.
Filipinos have this belief that we're shaped by the streets, hard as stones; we're used to economic hardship; we're grinders.
I realize now, that Filipinos–coddled by our extended families, with our expectedly corrupt-to-the-core politicians as scapegoats, and the low expectations of success all around (nobody's waiting with bated breath for how most of us will turn out in life)–in a way, we're pampered.
While there, I realized Americans are a people who learn to fend for themselves early in life–move out, pay your own bills, carve a career out of heaps of snow. It's a nation of self-sufficient hard-workers who adapt to survive or to break out of their towns into larger cities, amidst the murmurs of a culture war that now again erupts to the surface as real bloodshed. It's a sink-or-swim situation with no one to blame but yourself if your American dream falls apart.
I have so much admiration for my sister who's a survivor and an achiever. I felt a deep sense of pride watching her work, managing her own team, dealing with people from all walks of life. She managed to become all this while being away from her family for so many years. Strong? Pfft. She's superhuman.
When I think of Americans now, I think of my sister.
She drove over 80 mph (120 kph) and put my father's driving to shame; he spent decades as a professional driver in the Philippines but all that diskarte translated to nothing in the breakneck speeds of America's giant highways. Him and I were both filled with dread whenever we reluctantly took the wheel from my sister. Back home, defensive driving was the way to go to be safe. In the US, being apprehensive and slow on the road could get you killed by the ten-ton truck driving beside you. During our 9-hour road trip to South Dakota, my sister practically did all the driving for us–even through a terrifying hail-filled thunderstorm that sent our vehicle rocking side to side.
My dad and I could never.
Our US trip was an eye-opener of how much I thought I knew about the place and how much I'll never know, unless I actually live the unique struggles of the American experience. While it's not the religious reckoning I anticipated, it was definitely a spiritual recalibration. Pop culture has made the country seem larger than life for me, but its everyday realities are the very machinery that churns out the seemingly impossible stories, and the heroes who I now look up to.