The Misalignment of Dreams: An Immigrant’s Story

Image credit: sebo106 on Pixabay

Note: The following is an excerpt from Mike Talplacido’s memoir Kiss My Mike, about navigating his sexuality and finding his identity while simultaneously pursuing his American dream, dealing with the pressures of a religious family, and continuing his ultimate quest for long-term love.

1.

I arrived at the LA airport in March 2003, the same month and year when the United States invaded Iraq. I was only 23 years old, thrilled that I was finally moving to America on my own. I had worked all my life for that moment and felt like my perseverance finally paid off. I was young and alone, but I was far from being free to do whatever I wanted.

In the Philippines, it is common to have one family member work abroad while the rest stay back home. Overseas Filipino Workers, they are called. These migrants trek the ends of the Earth just to make a decent living, subjecting themselves to hard labor. The Philippine Overseas Employment Agency indicated that the number of OFWs proceeding to their work destination overseas was 2,378 per day as of 2003. And in the US alone, there were over 2.8 million Filipino immigrants based on the 2000 US Census.

My situation was no different. My family had accumulated so much debt throughout the years. Most of it was to pay for my sisters’ and my education. As a teacher, my mom believed in the importance of us getting college degrees, so she made sure to send us to the best academic institutions in the country even at the expense of us getting in massive debt. The belief was that children would help with the household expenses once they started working: one of those cultural expectations regarding duty and family obligations.

2.

Within months of my arrival in LA, I started sending money to my family. My main source of income was my full-time IT job. But I also worked nights and weekends as a caregiver, a driver, and a cashier at a local video store. Through my monthly remittances, Mom was able to pay off the loans we owed.

I was giving them almost my entire salary, resulting in the balance of my bank account always being close to zero. One thing became clear to me — it had become my mission to help my family in the Philippines first and foremost. So, even though I had dreams for myself and my career, my aspirations for them became my number one priority, believing that only once I’d taken care of them could I take care of myself.

Sadly, there is an unfortunate but common predicament in the Philippines, especially among those families that fit the OFW narrative: most folks back home, the recipients of those remittances, think that the money they are getting will flow consistently, as if their loved ones have stumbled upon a never-ending goldmine in a foreign land. They believe that life in the US is easy and plentiful. That when a Filipino reaches the shores of the US, he or she is already rich. But those at home do not understand the amount of work their kapamilya have to do to be able to send those transfers. There is even a joke among Filipinos abroad, that their families back home think money in America is simply “picked from the trees.” As I became aware of this plight, I tried everything I could to remind my family that life in the US was tough, and that even though I was able to send my remittances, it wasn’t an easy journey to get there.

3.

In 2007, after I had been living in the United States for more than four years, I went back to the Philippines to spend Christmas with my family. It took me a while to see them again because of tight finances and my focus on work. So, it was my first time back since I’d left to accomplish my clichéd pursuit of the American dream.

During the trip, I found out that my mother had not been using all the money that I was sending monthly to pay off our loans. Instead, she had bought a small piece of land, somewhere in our province, using part of the money I had sent. The lot was not big: less than an acre. Her rationale was that she wanted to surprise me. She had bought the property for me.

“Are you kidding me?” I said.

“I’m sorry, KEL,” her nickname for me. “But I bought the lupa in case you decide to come back home to the Philippines, so that you can build a house here for yourself, and that you will see all the fruits of your hard work.”

“Oh my God.” I was furious. I could not get over the fact that I had been sending money these past several years, thinking it was to pay off our remaining loans so that we could be done with all the obligations. So that I could be done with my obligations. I did not argue with my mom any longer, partly because I don’t like confrontations. But it was also because I did not want to hurt her, and there was an incredible pressure to keep up appearances: that everything was okay and that we were all part of one happy family. At some point she asked if I would prefer for her to simply sell the land, so that we could start over, but I decided to simply keep the status quo and go along with whatever was already in motion.

However, I was resentful. Not just because Mom lied to me. It was more than that. I resented her destruction of my plan.

4.

I’d always imagined myself working in corporate America. It was part of my overall fascination with the US which started at a young age. Pop Culture played an important part in it, including TV shows like Beverly Hills 90210 and movies where America was depicted as the land of milk and honey. I also pursued a business degree in college and wanted to work on Wall Street. In my vision, I was wearing a two- or three-piece formal business suit — fine Italian fabric, bespoke, with a matching designer necktie. I was hurrying through Manhattan to get to an important meeting. I had a fancy leather messenger bag hanging on my right shoulder, a cup of Starbucks coffee in my right hand, and a cell phone attached to my left ear. My primary abode was also in the city, a penthouse condo that had a killer view. On weekends, I would either stay at my other house in the suburbs or go out with friends, maybe play tennis or go sailing somewhere. Some weeks or months were just too busy for me with lots of business travel, too. Paris. London. Amsterdam. Along with all of that, I also had enough money saved in the bank. Not Warren Buffet-level, but enough. After all, I wanted my dreams to be realistic.

However, I knew that pursuing my dream would have to wait. I was in America for a reason. After the debts and my younger sisters’ education were paid for, I planned to buy a bigger house for my parents, complete with fancy furniture and appliances. Most of all, I wanted my family to enjoy life. I wanted my parents to travel occasionally, either just the two of them, so that Mom and Dad could have romantic alone time together, or family time with us.

But my mom messed up my plans. The longer it took for their dreams to come true, the longer I had to wait for mine to become a reality as well. I was afraid of failure. Time was running out for my own dreams.

The thing about dreams, though, is that they belong to individuals. Parents often tend to project their dreams on their children. While there might be a commonality in some of our dreams as it relates to broader themes like “being successful” or “travelling around the world,” there are finer details that might not be the same.

My vision for myself was so vivid, including the bespoke Italian suit and the weekend sailing pastime with friends. But to Mom, my being successful meant something else. She thought that I would want a big house for myself in the Philippines, so that I could enjoy all the fine things that I had accumulated throughout the years. However, I could not see myself going back to the Philippines for good. I knew that my life was here in America. It was a complete misalignment of our dreams.

Likewise, Mom’s dreams for herself were different from my dreams for her. All this time, I thought that maybe she wanted a big house, with all the nice appliances. But it seemed that her priority was to see us, her children, become successful first and foremost. And as for herself, she only wanted something simple. At some point during this dream-pursuit ordeal, she told me that once she retired, she would want to live in a smaller house in the province, almost a hut somewhere in the countryside, like in the popular Filipino song, the bahay-kubo. She wanted her house to overlook a moderate piece of land planted as a sort of mini-farm, filled with trees, vegetables, and fruits. Her dream for herself was simple. Fulfilling. But I was so focused on my dreams that I failed to see the difference between what we wanted for each other. None of this changes the fact that my mom derailed my plans.

5.

Our lives eventually got better. After eighteen years in the US, I have achieved most of my dreams. I have been successful in my career and am fulfilled with my accomplishments, including getting an MBA from a top-ranked business school. I was able to switch from my IT job and into a middle-management position for a Fortune 100 company. In between, I’ve been able to visit my family in the Philippines often, while also enjoying some personal travels. Most importantly, I have helped my family with so much, including paying off all our loans and helping to pay for two of my younger sisters’ expenses in college. But between the issue about the land, other financial burdens, and my sexuality, which I had to keep secret from my family at the time, my relationship with my mother deteriorated. For a long time, I held on to my resentment, and most of our interactions became superficial.

Recently, I realized that in addition to feeling overwhelmed with responsibilities and my fear for my own dreams, I also felt underappreciated at times. They always said they were thankful, but it would have been nice to simply know what I had done was enough. It would have been nice to just hear the words thank you, instead of “thank you, but what about this other thing?”

Also, I think that my desire to give them everything had resulted in me enabling them. Since I helped them with so much, it felt like most of their financial responsibilities had been relinquished to me. Whenever there was an expense needed for the house, it felt like their default was to “ask Mike” to take care of it. But how do you strike a balance? How do you continue to help but not to the point of dependence? And what about my own needs? Eventually, I decided to focus on myself. My student loans started to haunt me, and I realized I had to save up for myself too, in case of an emergency. It was not easy, and I did not have all the answers, but one thing was for sure: trying to give them everything was not the solution. At some point, they would stop appreciating how much it took to do all those things for them. And it was completely impossible: no one can give everything to anyone. And that is okay. It does not mean that you love them less.

I love my family. I love my mom so much. Sadly, it was only when she died that I was finally able to let go of the last of my resentment. I did not know why it was so hard to let go of that emotion when she was still alive. I wish I had forgiven her sooner rather than later.

My mom died in 2018. At that point I was well on my way to rebuilding my relationship with her. I just wish I had had enough time to finish. I have seen so many changes in my family too. At some point, we came to an understanding that the children are now grown-ups and that we also have responsibilities for ourselves. My parents and sisters became more resourceful to take care of their needs. And I, more free to pursue my dreams and enjoy my accomplishments.

Before Mom died, I was able to visit the Philippines to celebrate her 65th birthday. I was thankful we were able to enjoy Mom’s special day together as a family. However, a month later, our mother was hospitalized after a stroke resulted in half of her body being paralyzed. Her diabetes had exacerbated the situation, and soon, the doctors found many other complications. Her kidneys had stopped functioning, so she had to go through several dialysis treatments for a while. She also had recurring pneumonia which resulted in her being in and out of the ICU intermittently. She stayed in the hospital for three months until finally she died in July.

I miss my mom so much. There were many times after her passing when I would suddenly remember her and tears would flow from my eyes, knowing that she is gone and that I will no longer be able to see her or her beautiful smile, or kiss her, or hug her, or hear her voice. I do not know if this feeling will ever go away, not that I want it to anyway. Somehow, I feel like I want to always remember her, and each time I do, I want to always have that longing feeling for her. That longing feeling that serves as a reminder that I loved her as much as I did and that we loved each other.

Author Bio: Originally from the Philippines, Mike is now based in North Carolina where he enjoys cooking, gardening, hanging out with his two basset hounds, raising backyard chickens, and of course, Pop Culture! You can find out more info about Mike by visiting his website or following him on Twitter.