My mother had always been different from her family. The middle child of ten brothers and sisters, her life growing up in the Philippines was marked by a thirst for adventure and independence. This being said, she was raised in fortunate circumstance; her father was an engineer while both her parents also ran small businesses in which her and her siblings took part. These sources of income allowed all of them to get a good education and pursue the careers they truly wanted. For my mother, this was nursing. She was always good with kids so it was a given that she’d go to nursing school with the intention of working in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU), where she would care for premature and sick newborn babies.
However, there were too many nurses in the Philippines and they were paid a very low salary. She could only find work as a pharmacist’s assistant and was tired of still having to ask her parents for money while not doing what she wanted. So when my mother and her friends heard that nurses were in demand in America, they found an employment agency through ads. The employment agency would look for jobs in America, specifically New York, and provide connections for those who wanted to apply. But there were requirements. For one, you had to pass an English proficiency test administered by the U.S. Department of Education. Because English is a second language in the Philippines, they passed easily, and a hospital in Queens approved them to work.
For my mother, such an opportunity meant much more than the start of her career. To her, America was like the ocean she loved to swim in. One time when she was younger, she went out into the water to float and, letting herself get lost in the effortless calm, accidentally fell asleep. She woke up hours later, lost in the middle of the ocean with no choice but to simply swim back. And she did. In the same way she found comfort in the ocean’s infinite freedom, despite knowing the dangers of such a mysterious place, she saw America as her escape as well. She didn’t want to rely on anyone but herself, whether it was her parent’s efforts or their family’s wealth. At the same time, she naturally gravitated towards things she wasn’t used to. She felt a need to explore, to be part of a culture that wasn’t as conservative and uniform as that of the Philippines. She wanted to be surrounded by people of different beliefs, colors, and experiences. She wanted to be the first American in her family.
After saying goodbye to everyone in the Philippines and getting a flight to New York, my mother was picked up from the airport by the employment agency’s American representative. Her and her friends temporarily stayed in an apartment in Briarwood, which had already been arranged for by the agency. With ten people living in a one-bedroom apartment, it wasn’t exactly the most comfortable move. Another drawback was the seasonal change. They weren’t used to the fall weather and, having lived in a tropical climate, didn’t have the right clothes for the weather. However, this could be fixed easily. More problematic was the general disorientation of being in a new country, with the issues of both location and language. It was difficult to find their way around, especially since there were no subways in the Philippines. On the other hand, they were fascinated by the height of the buildings and organization of the traffic system, contrasting greatly from the dusty, unpaved roads they were used to and the little shacks that lined them. According to my mom, “Everything was so clean-looking and there was always a structure. The blocks were straight and so measured.” While being exposed to such a developed city was overwhelming to them, they were impressed and very grateful for it. It was also alienating to adjust to the change in language. Although my mother knew how to speak English, everyday American English was very different from the English she was taught in school. One time her roommate came home crying because her supervisor said to her “Are you crazy?” Such expressions are used commonly here and don’t mean anything offensive. However, my mother’s roommate interpreted it literally and felt disrespected because being called “crazy” was very demeaning in the Philippines.
When asked about how it was like being surrounded by such diverse people, my mother did mention that she had a coworker who’d constantly embarrass the nurses who were Filipino. Whenever there’d be a health problem with a baby being cared for by a Filipino nurse, her coworker would blame the nurse, no matter how much they reasoned with her. “A lot of us Filipinos, we are peace loving people. We don’t want to argue. If we are here, we came here to work,” my mom reflects. While the blunt, fast-paced way of the American lifestyle was opposite to the culture she grew up in, my mother learned to toughen. She knew that she was lucky to be in a country many of those back home had only dreamed of living in. She viewed the obstacles as growing experiences and though she didn’t have her support system—her parents, siblings, and the majority of her friends—she was satisfied to be making hard-earned money with the thrill of a new start.
