Family Ordeal Catapults A Young Filipina To The U.S. — And The Pandemic Front Lines

Filipinos in general are very friendly people. When they throw a party, go to it hungry because there will be a mountain of food.

I graduated from High School in the Philippines and lived there for 12 years. I stay connected with my military brat friends from the PI with FB. Many of us consider growing up in the PI as our golden era, and we lament that there is nothing to go back to as time marches on. It was just fun to grow up there.

We rented a very nice house with marble floors and maids quarters. Our yard was stunning as my father landscaped it himself. We often went to the jungle to find exotic plants. I laugh about the time an ant in the jungle bit through his socks that caused him great agony. He found a plant that bloomed a 3 foot wide flower that smelled like rotten flesh. I think that was his coup de grace. A sea of red crispy thin flowers of bougainvillea plants covered the white walls of our yard. They were exquisite flowering plants and its sharp thorns prevented anyone from climbing over the wall. The grass was the special carpet type that was thick and did not grow high. We also had coconut and papaya trees. It was stunning.

My parents were generous to me as they bought me a motorcycle and allowed me to driver their cars. I did not want to burden them by asking them to buy me a car, but they would have if I asked. Most of my friends I grew up had neither of them. 50 yards from my house was a large pool and clubhouse. The clubhouse had a vacant apartment that I could use for risque adventures. A few times I had used the facilities to throw parties and it was just a matter of saying I am going to throw a party and I paid nothing.

We were allowed to go to bars as freshmen in high school and this includes full nudie bars. It was obscenely fun. There was a bar called Paradise Theater, and I saw and listened to some amazing Filipino musicians. They sounded exactly like ACDC or Judas Priest, but they were Asian. In my 4 years of going to bars I strangely never saw any of my friends get smashed. Every weekend I had a roll of 600 pesos in my pocket to spend. Beer was 2 pesos each. I was the party financer. One night I partied hard and late. I woke up with a bad hangover and had to take the SAT the following morning. I specified I wanted my results to go to the University of Hawaii, University of Washington, and Texas A&M. I accidently picked Texas A&I which is a historic African American college and received a full scholarship. I laugh thinking they thought I would be their first Asian student in their 200 years of existence. lol

The passion of my life in the PI was playing football. I stopped playing after my sophomore year. I had really good endurance and was usually the quickest person on the field. I was short and when I took the handoff I was crouched and the defense did not know where I was. I had excellent vision and had a running style of if you can't touch me then you can't tackle me. I usually scored 2-3 touchdowns per game. I did have some jackass moments like I took the kickoff and was going to run it in for a for a touchdown and decided to hurdle a player who was on the ground instead of running around him. Well that fucker tripped me up. One game on the first play, I got pitch to the right and ran past the defense accept for one opposing player. I ran straight at him to show that he could not tackle me on my 70 yard TD run.

I had so much fun playing football and have so many fond memories. My puppy love was Chrissy. She was a cheerleader for my team. She was a blonde and cute as a button, and I was smitten with her. Chrissy was 9 and I was 10. She said something to me that had wisdom beyond her years when she said it is OK not to be the best football player on the field. One time act practice after a game the coach gave us an ass chewing and told us we played like shit. Everyone played like shit except for Ken. At that time I was the youngest and smallest player on the team. I really had no clue if I had played well. The other players appeared pissy as they looked at me.

My father was an art teacher on Clark Air Force Base. In retrospect he was a good role model, cultured, and interesting to be around. Everything he did, he did it with passion, and I had no clue why he was great at his endeavors. He was a master at landscaping and various mediums of art and grew many types of orchids in the yard. My father was also a bird whisperer. I don't know how he did it but he was able to tame wild parrots. One large cockatoo was so tame my parents put a superman vest and cape on him for Halloween and a plaid vest for Christmas.

I often went to local fruit markets in Angeles City with my father. It was a lazy affair as we wore shorts and flip flops. Of course it was hot and humid. My father was keen on buying new fruits to check them out. I can say with no hesitation that we found new, interesting, and tasty fruits. Fruits whose names I have forgotten.

He loved the game of bargaining as he would put on his poker face as the vendor did as well. They would go back and forth over a few centavos as if it really meant something. They would feign disgust with each other and pretend to be upset. The deal was made and both would invariably smile. I kind of liked the market and its dealings.

One day we went to the market and he bought a large mud crab. Its claws were bound by a cheap rope and my father asked me to hold the crab as we drove home. I was probably around the age of 10. Of course I was curious about the large mud crab as I visually examined it. Then I played with it a bit. That sucker had enough mobility to pinch one of my fingers. The pain was intense and excruciating. However, I was more afraid of my dad than the crab so I sat in agony for a few minutes in the car with the huge mud crab clamping down on my finger. I know I was a boy, a stupid boy, throw rocks at me. After what seemed like an eternity of writhing in pain, the beast relented and gave me my finger back. I learned my lesson. Don't fuck with crabs.

One time my friend and I decided to ride our dirt bikes behind Clark Air Force Base. For some stupid reason we chose to ride in a dry river bed with deep sand. It was a quite difficult feat and we often crashed into the sand but it was so much fun that we laughed. We came across a Negrito village. Negritos are very short black aborigines that can be found in a few Pacific Ocean countries. We kept our distance for privacy and did not want to intrude upon them. I remember vividly looking at a very large hill covered by uniformed tall green grass that waved in the wind. In the middle of the hill was a worn out path and a couple kids rode down the path on a wooden cart pulled by a caribou which is a water buffalo. It made me romanticize about the past and a simpler life.

The most beautiful time in the Philippines is Christmas Season. Who can forget the gorgeous weather of 70 degrees which was a welcome respite from the oppressive heat and humidity. I giggle as Filipinos built fires to warm their bones as the cool air wafts around them. It was intimations of better things to come and life promised to be anew. Bright multi colored blinking lanterns adorned houses outside. The time washed away suffering and ushered hope and gaiety. It was a time to smile despite the poverty.

In 1988 I flew from Texas to the PI on board a United 747 to celebrate Christmas Season with my parents. I could never sleep on a plane. That was just not my thing. I was fortunate to get an aisle seat. The crew was Malaysian and they were handsome and pretty. A female flight attendant accidently bumped my elbow with her lovely hip. I chuckled and watched her cute booty as she walked away. I am a booty man. She accidently bumped my elbow three more times. On the last bump I saw that she purposely flicked her well crafted hip on my elbow.

Now I am not a bright person but understood that she was trying to get my attention. I unbuckled my seat belt and went forward to talk with her. She was absolutely beautiful and cute as a button. I was infinitely smitten with her. I subscribe to the theory of love at first sight. We made eye contact and the smiles were contagious, I felt like I have known her all my life, and there was unequivocal magnetism. Sadly as we flew 39,000 above the Pacific Ocean I realized this was the wrong place and time to fall in love. I will be candid and say I have stored her in my heart for safe keeping until I am no more. I wonder if she thinks of me as well? Am I in her heart?

That golden era is still in my heart and mind.

Probably 85% of the staff at the hospital i work at is Filipino. Also Mexican, Nigerian, Kenyan, Thai, Taiwanese. It's like a UN...lol