America is Not Everything

I would like to think of a good introduction for this, but the title says it all. Well, at least for me.

I know a lot of people who dream of coming here to start their lives anew. There's nothing wrong with that. Just some words of caution: If you can't find happiness where you are, you won't find it elsewhere. If  you see happiness as a treasure chest buried somehere, then you're in for a never-ending chase. Good luck with the adventure.

My fascination for this place lasted until my husband left for work barely a week after we got married. By then I came to realize that places can only mean as much as the people you share it with, the way we like to differentiate a house from a home.

America is a far cry from the third-world country I was born and raised in. But not more beautiful.

Sure, I could buy the biggest bottle of Cetaphil here, drown myself in gallons and gallons of fresh milk, Starbucks and Coke, and maybe even be able to own a car in the near future, but something tells me that even after I've acquired all of these, I'd still be sitting on my carpeted living room floor asking myself, "Now what?"

In this country, it's so easy to believe that you need the things that they offer. Hand creams, ass wipes, apple-flavored M&Ms and Chewy Chips Ahoy. Things that you've lived without all your life. They're being sold here for a few dollars or just a swipe. And you feel good, you fall into the illusion that your life is getting better, just because you can afford the things that you wouldn't dare put in your cart back then.

You slide into what I call the American bullshit. My mind suddenly gave birth to this term in one of my many encounters with fellow Filipinos who I would mentally laugh at (and not guiltily so) for being so Donya Victorina. If you're Pinoy and you don't know her, I pity you.

I find it really funny--how some Filipino immigrants can be so unaware of how stupid they look when they try to be so high and mighty in front of others and act as if their lungs never knew the smog in Manila.

They would immediately strut with their Michael Kors bags and daunt me with their slang upon learning that I'm a newcomer. I, in turn, would happily play along, hoping to death that they can now tell the difference between you're and your.

I remember when I was a teenager and my parents would talk about relatives or family friends who were already abroad and say, "Maganda na buhay nila ngayon, asa Australia (or America or Canada) na sila."

It's not a lie, but it may not also be the truth. The same way America can give you a good life, but not necessarily a happy one.

Money comes easily around here, but goes just the same. People work their asses off to pay all the bills that come from both necessities and vanities. And with all there is to have, sometimes, it's not even enough. My father-in-law would always tell me whenever he comes home from work, "Eto Chang ang buhay sa Amerika, mas masarap pa buhay ko sa Pilipinas."

I couldn't agree more.

I would trade all that I have now for a Sunday morning at home. Anytime. Life was so simple then, but so happy. I miss waking up to the sound of my mother coming home from the market with the best breakfast in the world: tuyo, mais, kalamay, taho and hot pandesal. All three of us would rush to be the first to get Mama's basket because that way you get to choose the biggest portion.

Always as I eat breakfast and we play whatever song we like on the computer, I'd tell myself, "I have my parents, Nanay, my sisters, and we even have a dog. This is enough. Everything I need to live is inside this home."

Sometimes I wish I could bottle up those moments, so I could immerse myself in them whenever I feel the need. All I'm saying is that you don't need more in life. And you'd eventually figure it out.

So why am I here? I went here to be with my husband. Although I do not regret getting married, I do know that I can't live here. It just sounds so sosyal, where I'm at. Best background for instagram pics. But like I said, it's not everything.

And that thing you learned from Wizard of Oz? It's true.

There's no place like home.

There is a thing or two to be said when you've hit rock bottom. First is that when you've reached your lowest of lows, you always have two options: vanish completely or fight your way back up.

Another is that rock bottom, I've learned, is like a deep well in the midst of a desert. Some people, in their desperation for water, just dive straight in and then worry about how to climb back up later. The same goes for people who let themselves drown in sadness and then reach a point wherein they no longer know how to find their way out, so they choose to either die or save themselves at the last minute.

And then there are some who are gifted enough to endure their thirst for a few minutes more, just to give themselves enough time to look for a bucket, tie it up and let it go down the well to fetch water. I guess these are the people who, at their loneliest, part the curtains and let the sun in, knowing that a little warmth is what a cold day really needs.

You can choose to be any of these, and no one can blame you for it. Because to those who have come across rock bottom, and have really known how devastating it can be, strength will always be a matter of choice. You choose how to deal with your pain. There's no means better than the other.

It's just that whatever your choice is defines who you are.

In this case, my weapon of choice is solitude. You know, there's something very frightening about having everything you want. It is the fact once you've learned to hold on to it, like your body parts, it becomes essential to your way of life. And once they're gone, you will find yourself unable to do anything. Worthless. Useless. Not even Dumbledore's quotable quotes can save you. Especially when, come to think of it, he killed himself in the story.

You lose hope, but then you learn one thing and that's all you ever need to know. No matter how bad it is, you live. You shrink so small but you live. And in your tiny self, you realize the small things are enough to make you want to be alive.

That is what solitude does. It tells you it's ok to be your fucked-up self because that is part of who you are.  It makes you notice how the carpet is really soft on your feet, or how the ticking of the clock sounds like the beating of your heart when you're calm and at peace. It makes you appreciate the smell of freshly-brewed coffee until it dawns on you that it's the aroma and not the taste that makes it so addictive. Heck, it makes you even thankful for a rainy day because it's the perfect time for a cup of hot chocolate.

It's funny, how when you allow yourself to be small, you see things in a bigger perspective. How being in a dark place makes you see the silver lining.