Christine

For Citizenship or For Love?

         Marriage, I had believed, was a celebration to be cherished.  A sacred ceremony meant to show the devotion of two lovers to each other. However, as a Filipino immigrant, it wasn’t uncommon to marry for U.S. citizenship. Now it was a decision I also had to make: should I marry for love or citizenship?

In September of 1972, I took a plane approximately 8,500 miles away from the only home I ever knew. I was in the prime of my youth and visiting the United States as a tourist. On the plane, I met Diwa, a divorced Filipino who was obviously interested in dating. He flirted with me and mentioned that if I planned to stay in America, I should contact him since he had connections. Casually, I gave him the telephone number of my aunt’s house in Queens, where I would be staying. Perhaps, I had thought, his “connections” could be useful to me.

It wasn’t long before Diwa Castillo called me and gave me the telephone number of a Jewish lawyer so that I could get a working permit. It seemed that America was already starting to usher me in to its community, but it was too good to be true. I had paid $2,500 for a fake working visa and the government wanted me to testify against the fraudulent lawyer. However, I now had no intention of going back to the Philippines. As the oldest, I was responsible for supporting the family and I had already started working as a nurse in a Manhattan hospital. I received my nursing license in the Philippines and could continue to use it for a year, but after that… what happens then?

I pushed my worries aside and continued to study for a U.S. nursing license.  I was the youngest among the Kaplan reviewers and Kaplan reviews were not group study sessions for us. In fact, we would study by ourselves and listen to cassette tapes. This isolated studying didn’t restrict me from socializing with my Polish, Iranian, and American colleagues. Once in a while I would get invited out to coffee but there was no one who particularly caught my interest until my Filipina friend, Raisa Fernandez, decided to introduce me to someone. “He’s a gastroenterologist!” she insisted, so I agreed to meet him. Unfortunately for him, he had to cancel since he was busy, but Raisa was determined to set me up with someone. She then suggested that I meet his best friend, Lorenzo Santos at a library on a Saturday.

Saturday came and I sat in the library, studying my review books. I caught a glimpse of him in the corner of my eye and realized that he wasn’t what I was expecting at all. He just didn’t seem to be my type, and to be honest, his presence made me a little scared. He approached me and said, “Are you Mary, Raisa’s friend?” Out of panic, I said, “I’m Mary’s cousin, Lily! She wanted me to come and tell you that she’s sorry that she was unable to make it. You should get going now.” I started gathering my books and thunder rumbled in the air, followed by the sound of a heavy down pour of rain. Damn it. “Would you like me to drive you home?” Lorenzo asked. “No, no, I’m fine, “ I tried to decline politely but he wouldn’t have it and he drove me to my aunt’s house.

When I came home, he accompanied me inside and my aunt exclaimed in Filipino, “Oh! Mary! You have a friend?” I glimpsed at him in the corner of my eye feeling the shame of my revealed lie. I walked inside and she started interviewing him. She asked him typical questions: What’s your name? What’s your family’s business? What’s your work? Oh, do you know my brother? You intern for him? I silently listened waiting for him to go home. That was not the last I had seen of Lorenzo Santos.

Gradually, he started appearing at my job to pick me up and drive me home. It became so extreme that I would deliberately exit the hospital a different way when I wanted to meet other friends or suitors. But I knew that he cared for me when he brought me food that he proudly learned how to cook just for me. I knew he cared for me as I threw tantrums and he would calmly accept my irrational behavior. I knew he loved me when he picked me up because he would have to leave Staten Island at 11pm to get to Manhattan by 12am just to drive me home to Queens when I got off work.

It was no secret that my aunt was trying to help me become a United States citizen and I knew she was asking her friends about it. One of my aunt’s friends was already hoping that I would marry her son, Andrew Tabada. Honestly, Andrew wanted me to marry him too. “This doesn’t have to just be for the citizenship. Let’s get married for real,” he had told me in a private conversation. Him, his parents, and my aunt had everything arranged. This was my chance to become an American citizen.

My name is Mary Santos. I married for love. Yes, it was annoying how clingy Lorenzo seemed to be but he was charming and understanding and I couldn’t find a better partner in life. Yes, Lorenzo also happened to be an American citizen because of some family connections but even if he wasn’t, I know I would still be where I am today as long as he was at my side.

Names have been changed to protect the identities of the people involved in this story.