Why I don’t dream the American dream

belle Why walk away when there are so many reasons to stay?

“Gusto mo ba mag-migrate?,” I'd ask my husband many years ago. He would shrug, I would shrug, and with that the conversation would end. It was a shared sentiment – moving abroad was intriguing, but an act we knew would not see the light of day. We were too tied down to our families, too rooted in the country, too scared to start over and too scared of the cold.

“Wala nang pag-asa ang Pilipinas,” a relative said, slapping his hand on the dashboard as we got stuck in yet another traffic jam. We were asked again if we had any plans to move abroad, to venture into the unknown and make a better life for ourselves there. Again, my husband shrugged, I shrugged. It’s just traffic, we silently answered. It’s just a jam you’ll get through and eventually, you’ll get home.

HOME. I know that wherever I’ll end up, I’ll end up coming back here. However long I’ll stay abroad, it’s this home I’m coming back to. “Why do you want to stay in the Philippines?,” a California-based friend asked me with such disdain. “Why wouldn’t I want to stay in the Philippines?,” I countered. A lot of reasons were listed – corruption, politics, bad education, terrible security. “But doesn’t America have that too?,” I asked again.

What would really happen if I left the country? My husband and I don’t need to stay here. We’re empowered enough to explore what opportunities lie abroad for us. There are friends who can help us secure jobs. There are friends and relatives we can live with until we save enough to buy our own split-level house, the same house that filled my daydreams when I was an avid reader of Sweet Valley Twins.

We don’t need to stay here. Living abroad could open doors for us. It can build more character for our admittedly sheltered son. There are other places we can occupy, other cultures we can learn. They could probably make us smarter, richer, possibly even happier.

But some things keep us here. This is why we stay.

“Kita tayo sa Sunday, Mommy,” is a phrase we’ve grown accustomed to saying once the weekend starts rolling in. Time with the parents is scheduled, whether it’s a simple lunch at home or a romp at the mall for a day. “I’ll miss my Mom too much,” my husband would admit, to which I’d tease him to be a Mama’s Boy. But then I’d also miss my own parents, my siblings, my in-laws. Our family ties run way too deep that it would feel alien to be away from them.

Time is the enemy when it comes to aging parents. We choose to stay to relish their company. We choose to stay so our son could build relationships with both sets of grandparents. My husband and I grew up with strong relationships with our own grandparents. The same closeness we hope to achieve with our son and his lolos and lolas.

While any relationship can be nurtured from a distance, it is the joy of touch we cannot leave behind. Whether a grand embrace between grandmother and grandson, or a quiet hug between father and daughter, the thought of being away and not getting to embrace our parents whenever we want to doesn’t sit well with us. Death will come and claim us in time, why beat the clock by walking away?

“You’ll have a better life there,” others would encourage. “Can’t we have a better life here?,” I wondered, then claimed that “Of course we can have a better life here.” What IS a better life? Is it a life made richer? A life more full of free time? A life that comes with a brand new start? If it’s a better life I seek, I believe I can do that right here in the country. Right here in Manila. Right here as I sit and type my article.

Why do I feel like I’m cheating myself if I don’t try harder to achieve a better life while I’m here? There’ something more fundamental here. I feel like I’m failing myself by not trying harder (here).

Finally, I don’t think I can take the cold. Snow is nice in the movies, autumn clothes in magazines. Bring me real cold weather though and I know I’ll fold. “It’s just nippy,” a friend has declared of New York weather. I would love to visit New York, but to live in a place with four strong seasons intimidates me.

It’s not that complicated. The logic may point to abroad being indeed a better place to live, but when talking about home, heart trumps logic always. I don’t dream the American dream because I choose not to. I don’t dream the American dream because I know I’ll be coming home anyway. Why distance myself from loved ones and opportunities here when in my gut I know I’ll be returning? I don’t want “intermission years”. I want a full life, one full of laughter heard between our son and his grandparents The American dream? It’s not the life for me. Why walk away from where I am when there are reasons of the heart that drive me to stay?

Photo: “American Dream” by Rita M., c/o Flickr. Some Rights Reserved

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