On the 4th of July, 1946, the United States liberated the Philippines from its colonial grasp. And today, I can truly commemorate this day of fireworks, the hot grill, corn, stars and stripes as an official new American.
I was fed a steady diet of the idea of “America” ever since I was born. Perhaps even whilst I was still in my mother’s womb. My parents listened, sang and danced to The Beach Boys, Elvis Presley, Peter, Paul & Mary, The Temptations, The Carpenters. They wore pairs of Levi’s that lasted decades. They read me tales and stories from Little Golden Books. I watched Mickey Mouse, Tom & Jerry, Felix the Cat, Bugs Bunny and the rest of Looney Tunes, the NBA, G.I. Joe, Star Wars, Sesame Street. I was fed grilled hotdogs, cheeseburgers and milkshakes, and canned peaches in sweet syrup.
American English was my first language, not Tagalog. My parents sent me to school, which I later on learned was patterned after the American public school system. English was the medium of instruction at school and Filipino was limited to two subjects, the language and sibika at kultura, civics and culture. I played with Barbie dolls. I wore Speedo swimsuits. Our family sometimes vacationed at the then American bases - Camp John Hay in the mountains of Baguio and the Subic Bay Naval Base by the shores of Zambales, imagining whether if this was really like living in America. Then ate pancakes, eggs and bacon for breakfast and bought PX Goods that smelled like America at the shops. I read Sweet Valley Twins series and The Baby Sitters Club, dreaming of what life was like if I lived in the American suburbs.
This made me think of the Seven of Cups - the dreamer’s card. Seven cups filled with our heart’s wishes - a person’s head, a possible lover or partner, a shrouded person, glowing with possibly enlightenment or burning resentment; a snake of ambition, desire and lust; a castle; a mountain of jewels; the laurel wreath of victory in competition, triumph in battle, honor and prestige; and a dragon, symbol of fantasy, magic, adventure and mystery also uncontrollable fiery rage - float atop grey clouds like a buffet of choices laid before the person.
When this is pulled in a reading, the querent, seeker of answers has their head in the clouds. Their dreams, options of opportunities, lay right before them. And all they have to do is pick one, but they can’t. Which of these is worth all your effort? So many dreams, so little time and energy in this lifetime. Is it truly an impasse or simply an imagined one?
When I was in 6th Grade, I received a mimeographed pamphlet about a summer exchange program - one that allowed students from the Philippines to experience life as a student in the US. I stared hard at it. I floated into the clouds to dreams of walking or biking to school, sneakers squeaking against the polished floors, having my own locker and moving from classroom to classroom instead of the teachers walking into ours. It cost a lot of money then, one that I clearly knew our family didn’t have, so I crumpled the pamphlet and that dream into a ball and threw it in the bin. America wasn’t an option.
Decades passed and dreams evolved, in which, I decided to take from the buffet laid before me. I chose to finish university and get a job. Plus, I had a steady boyfriend to boot, whom I eventually married. Through a stroke of luck, our marriage brought us to far away places, ones that I’ve never even dare thought of.
I walked out of the building, into the blinding Texas summer sunshine, greeted by a crowd of family, friends and supporters of fellow immigrants. “God said YES!!!” hand scribbled in black Sharpie on an Oslo paper sheet, mounted on a stick. Some stretched their necks to peer through the glass doors of the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services center and see the faces of their loved ones.
Nobody was out there to greet me. My husband away for work. I sniggered at the anticlimactic-ness of it all - swearing in without loved ones, not being allowed to take photos of this momentous occasion, yet under the close eye of surveillance cameras, inside the cold, fluorescence of the waiting area, with the spectacular view of the restrooms and drinking fountain, of the government building. I smiled, held and waved the American flag that was inside the envelope given to us as I walked down the staircase, then pushed the door open.
It took me a decade to get here.
Each time my husband and I applied for our U.S. visas, residency permits, we prepared a mountain of documents - proof of our valid existence, education and work experience, legality of our marriage, our assets, and thousands of dollars. Our entire lives on paper to be scrutinized and judged by the bureaucracy on whether we were worth the entry and tenure as foreigners, Filipinos, who were once from the colonies. Our value as persons validated by a stamp on the passport and a plastic card.
“You really want to be an American citizen?” a friend asked, when I told her that I was preparing for the upcoming interview. “Do you even wholly believe in what America stands for? Are you ready to pay taxes EVERYWHERE, no matter where in the world you live?!?”
The idea of America that was fed to me as a child didn’t pan out as the idyllic dream that it was. The rose colored glasses that were put on me by the staunch believers in America (My mother and her family were fans!) I took off, seeing things for how they were. I was not in the Philippines, seeing through filtered, styled and edited screens nor hearing it from others, but experiencing everything for myself. From driving through the decrepit old towns that dotted Route 66 and the interior roads of the South, spending time in Native American reservations, standing side by side with the unhoused and mentally, emotionally unstable ticking time bombs on the New York City subway, to getting sticker shocked by the prices of healthcare, to the crippling fear from mass shootings, the festering hate for the poor and people of color, among others.
“YES.”
I was exhausted. I hoped that this would finally provide some respite from the constant battle of proving one’s value and worth. Finally, a break from all the additional paperwork from this country and others. The convenience of visa free travel in a number of countries. And taxation with representation. I will now be able to vote during elections. And likely, be called for jury duty one day. As a citizen, I can participate. Me and the tax dollars I pay finally have a say.
Despite that lingering fact that I knew in my gut that I won’t be treated equally because of how I look like (I’d always joke that when shit hits the fan, I will most likely be left behind), there’s that hope, the chance that maybe I won’t. The dream is not perfect as the idea of America and the actual country is not.
A decade is a decade, enough time to mould one’s personhood. Maybe the optimism of this country has rubbed on me somewhat. Perhaps this is another chance to dream, to see the buffet of options that lay before me as a citizen of this country. And, finally, not simply live in my head, but choose and work on the path I want because there are new privileges now afforded to me.
Happy 4th of July to all fellow Americans!
If you’d like to read more about tarot cards and their meanings, head on over to what I’ve written below:
Major Arcana
Minor Arcana