Why I Write

I had no idea that my life would take a dramatic change during my older sister's wedding in the summer of 1980. I was fifteeen, heartbroken, and for the first time in my life, I felt dejected.

My sister and I grew up in two different worlds. She lived in the province while I grew up in the city. Our parents divorced after my birth. A struggle broke out between the two families shortly after. My father and his relatives stormed my Lola's (grandmother) house and snatched my sister away so she could live with his relatives in Cavite. He would move to Califoria, remarry, and pursue his architectural career - leaving my sister behind. My mom also remarried. She remained in Manila; at least for a couple

more years after the divorce. I stayed with my mother's side of the family.

I can count with my fingers how many times my sister, Batch, and I actually saw each other as kids. Despite the distance between us, the bond was always there; in fact, it was probably made stronger by the separation. We made the most of every reunion. While only two years separating us, I always felt that she was much older. I felt secure around her. She was a good ate (older sister).

She moved to California to live with my father during her high school years. I can remember how happy everyone was for her. It seemed like the entire population of Imus, Cavite, were at the airport to send her off. I still remember her friends singing "I'm leaving on a jet plane" on the way to the airport. She quickly assimilated into the American way of life. Despite the warnings from family members, she would move in with her boyfriend after high school. After she turned eighteen, we would receive word that she was getting married.

I arrived in LA about a month before the wedding to spend some time with Batch. It was at this time when she and my father courted me with the idea of moving to the States. Batch begged me to move.

"For once," she said, "we could be together."

I've never lived with a parent or a sibling. The temptation of moving in with my father and to be near my sister was ripe for the picking. To sweeten the deal, my father promised me his Porsche 912 as my first car as soon as I turned sixteen.

As you can see, my Mom left me in the care of my relatives even when she was still living in the Philippines. I lived with my Lola (grandmother) for the first eight years of my life. When my Lola decided to stay in LA during our vacation in the States in 1972, her younger sister and her family would care for me until my departure for the States in 1980. My Mom, stepfather and two younger siblings moved to Guam in 1971 for my stepfather's banking job. They would later move to Singapore, Saudi Arabia, Ivory Coast and Kuwait.

A few days before heading back to Manila, I made the decision to move to the States. It was a decision that tore me apart. I saw it as an opportunity to be closer to family. My relatives so it as a betrayal of everything they have ever done for me. I was in tears when I called my Lola and my Mom from LA airport. They obviously did not approve of my decision; warning me of my father's superficial nature. But for the first time in my life, I had a parent wishing me to live with him and a sister longing to be close to me.

I returned home to pack up my things and bid farewell to all my relatives and friends. In a few weeks, I was back at the airport, this time saying my final goodbye to my home of fifteen and a half years. Unlike my sister's joyous departure for the States, mine was solemn one.  My Mom's younger sister, my tita (aunt) Linda, was the only one at the airport with me. As I stepped into the terminal gate, I remember glancing back at tita Linda as she wiped away her tears. That flight from Manila to LA, was perhaps, the loneliest flight I ever took.

While I don't regret my decision to move to the States, I have always felt like I left a big hole back home by leaving.  This blog is about filling that void. Despite the circumstances with my parents, I had an extraordinary childhood filled with loving relatives and lifelong friendships. Come join me as I bring you back to the best days of my life.

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My Mom has made up for lost times ten-fold. She has been a wonderful grandmother to my three kids. She resides in Paris and Buenos Aires. We see her at least every year.

My relatives were correct regarding my father. Though I drove his Porsche several times, he never came through with his promise. He abandoned his second family in the early nineties - moving back to the Philippines and starting a new family there with a much younger wife and adding two more kids to his portfolio of failed relationships. I heard that his third wife just filed for divorce. A real loser I must say. I haven't seen or heard from him since 1994. By the way, my Mom ended up buying me my first car.