April 4, 1985: Leaving The Philippines

***Posted by Marivic, Part 8 of our 25th anniversary series

Cebu, Philippines, the island home I left behind. In the foreground is Mactan International Airport (Photo from Google Maps)

April 4, 1985 seems like such a long, long time ago, I have a hard time remembering the entire day. But I remember snapshots of that day. Most of it blurry like a faded photograph.  

I remember waking up in my Go Chan Hills home for the last time, getting up really early.  I remember feeling a sad sensation, but I also felt a sense of resignation. On this day, at the age of 23, I would leave the Philippines and say good-bye to everyone and everything beloved and familiar. I didn’t know how long it would be before I could return.  All I knew was that I was leaving and starting a new life in a place where I've never been (“Will I thrive and be happy there?”).  I would become a part of a new family I’ve never met (“Will they be accepting and nice to me?”). Of course, I knew that Alan would be there, and he promised me that everything would turn out fine, and that he would do his best to make me happy. I trusted him. Still---I felt trepidation. It felt like I was on the edge of the universe and in front of me nothing but empty space.  And I was supposed to just jump into the emptiness in front of me and hope that Alan catches me before I hit bottom.

My daughter a few weeks ago teased me and said I made my Manila Embassy story sound like Auschwitz (What a stinker!). After she read my post about March 1985 she joked, "Mom, I thought I'm the melodramatic member of this family? Maybe I got it from you." :-) Well I don’t know if I’m being melodramatic about April 4, 1985, but I know for sure that if it was a movie the background music would be "Across The Universe" by The Beatles :-). "Sounds of laughter shades of life are ringing through my open ears, inciting and inviting me. Limitless undying love which shines around me like a million suns, it calls me on and on across the universe!"  

Oh, alright. I'm melodramatic.  But wouldn't you be if on April 4, 1985 you threw yourself across the universe into the great unknown? I mean, I knew Alan was Prince Charming in every measurable way, but what if he was from a family of Cruella Devilles or Captain Hooks? What if all the Filipino-Americans who came home to tell wondrous tales of America simply lied to save face and hide their failures, and in truth – to quote Westside Story - “everything is right in America, if you are white in America”? If I was not courageous by virtue of my youth, I probably would not have agreed to take this literal and emotional journey I was about to begin. At least I would not have done it alone, without family to come with or go to. Fortunately, inexperience made me fearless and denied me the ability to see the million things that could have gone wrong. Now that I am more mature I can see that if my own daughter did now what I did then, I most probably would freak out!

My parents did not freak out though. That day our good-byes at the airport were pretty much a Cuyos affair. Low-key and subdued.  My Papa, my two sisters (Marle & Maries) and my three brothers (Jessor, Jessin & Jerome) said good-bye with sadness in their eyes. But they smiled and wished me the best.  My mama cried, but she is the crier of the family, and we often joke that it’s because she is a Cuyos by marriage only; genetically she is incapable of heartbreak without public tears unlike the rest of us :-). But I think my mother was also crying because we had some unpleasantness the days leading up to my departure. Her best friend who resides in Chicago had asked her to ask me to bring a giant boxful of presents from her family in Cebu and mail it from Utah so she could save on shipping fees. I’m not sure if it’s Filipino culture, or just in my mother’s social circle, but it would have been very rude to decline, even if I thought it was very inconsiderate of her friend to ask in the first place. However, the airline would not allow me to bring more than the designated load as luggage. So my mother firmly made me leave behind a boxful of my personal belongings (including journals which did not survive time, eventual moth-infestation and flooding, and are now gone forever) and instead carry her best friend’s box. I obeyed as I was expected to, but for days I didn’t do much to hide how unhappy I was. However, by the time I had to say good-bye to my mother all the ill-feeling just seemed stupid and petty, and I was just very sad to be leaving.

I remember my grandfather and my two favorite aunts being there at the airport, too.  I’ve said goodbye to my Lola (Grandma), friends and other relatives the day before. Saying good-bye to my Lolo (Grandpa) was probably the hardest part. Maybe because I thought there was a chance I would never see him again. But true to my upbringing, I did not cry.  I stood up straight, hugged everyone, smiled and calmly walked across the tarmac to my waiting plane. When I got on the plane I had a window seat and I could look across the tarmac and could make out my family waving at the plane along with many other people who had someone among the passengers. That's when I felt my heart constrict. Then I started to cry. Soundlessly, of course. It was partly because I was seated next to strangers, but mostly because I’ve mastered the art of soundless, sob-less tears growing up in my kind of family. But my quiet heartbreak was nevertheless real. I didn’t know when I would see my loved ones again and that thought was painfully overwhelming.  (I saw everyone again after a few years except for my Lola who passed away before my return.)

The Jesus Cuyos Family during a family outing to Marigondon Beach.

Left to right: Jessor, Jessin, Jerome, Papa, Mama, Maries, Marle, and Marivic

I think I was feeling really melancholy the whole plane trip to Manila.  But when I got there an adrenalin rush kicked in that flooded the sadness away. I barely had enough time to get to the International Terminal. My friend Helen was once again there for me. This time we were joined by Herman Lajato, a young radio disc jockey Alan baptized during his mission.  They got me in a taxi and whisked me to the International Terminal. When we got there I barely had time to hug Helen and Herman and bid them good-bye.  I remember a porter or someone asking me for some money and before I could respond Herman and Helen gave him the money and I got pushed through a door and was told to hurry. (The next time I would see Helen was in 2001 at the MTC in Provo where she was training with her husband; a newly called mission president.)  I remember walking through the airport, presenting my ticket and documents at a check-in station---it all seems so vague now--- and then told to board a Northwest Airlines plane bound for Tokyo, Japan.  The giant 747 was pretty jammed-packed with passengers. I distinctly remember being disappointed that I was assigned a seat to the very back of the plane. And it was right next to the bathroom! I wasn’t happy that during the flight I had to eat my meal while people stood close to me waiting to use the bathroom. I also remember for some reason that I dropped my knife, and it wasn’t a plastic knife, but real silverware, so it went clattering down the side of my seat by the window and I was embarrassed. It really is a pretty random thing to remember since I don’t remember much else from that flight.

I deplaned in Tokyo for my first stop-over and immediately looked for my next gate but it was just right there close to where my first plane’s gate was. Alan had given me a detailed description of what to expect at Narita Airport which made me think it was going to be an ordeal to find my way around and I was nervous, so I was glad Tokyo turned out easy. I had a couple of hours ‘till my next flight so I walked around for a bit and looked out the window hoping to see Japan. But there was nothing but pavement and airplanes.  So I turned my curiosity on the Japanese girls at the airport for a while. I have always admired how young Japanese girls look chic and fashionable even when they are just being tourists. I was always told back then that European fashion hits Asia before the U.S. so I was happy to see many Japanese girls wearing the same style outfit I was. I was wearing my going-to-America outfit I bought just a few days earlier (Was I a dork? I mean who buys a going-to-America outfit?). I just wanted to be pretty for Alan and his family.

After awhile I got a little hungry and went to a snack counter. I felt a little uneasy because it was my first time to buy anything with American money. Alan and I have a good laugh about this now, but he sent me $12 in the mail for food money. Pretty much all the money he had left in the world after buying my ticket. There was an array of American sandwiches to buy, but they all seemed so foreign and I didn’t know what to choose.  What the heck is a bologna or a pastrami sandwich? The Japanese girl behind the counter was very nice and tried to help me pick something that was a little more familiar, a chicken-and-egg sandwich and a soft drink.  I remember thinking the sandwich tasted bland and uninteresting and disappointing. My first personal bad purchase with U.S. dollars. (*Leger’s Deli should do domestic and international airports. It’d be a hit.) 

I passed the rest of the time at the airport people-watching. I was feeling excited by the newness of my experience, but I was also starting to have a fish-out-of-water sensation. There were a lot of other Filipinos waiting to board the next flight. Some of them repeatedly glanced at me and smiled and I smiled back but avoided conversation with anyone.  After awhile though I remember this older, very well-dressed Filipino woman sat across from me and asked me if I was Filipina. I said, yes. She told me she was from New York and she was a doctor. That explained why she looked expensive. She was very nice though. She asked me why I was going to America, and I told her about Alan. I asked her about the U.S. and she must have sensed my concerns.  She assured me I will do very well in America. She said she could tell I was well-educated and have a very pleasant personality (her words, not mine! :-)) and had a pretty smile, and that Americans are suckers for girls with pretty smiles. Yup, that’s a 25 year old compliment I have not forgotten and will never forget because I’m vain that way :-). Whoever that woman was, she was my all-time best stranger I’ve ever met at an airport. She was kind enough to reassure a scared little stranger travelling to her new home. The Filipina doctor and I eventually parted ways right there at the airport.  She was on a different flight.

I don’t remember how long I waited to depart Tokyo but I know it was hours. When I finally boarded my plane I was tired from the waiting, the boarding and all the emotions I went through that day. Thankfully, the flight to San Francisco was not full at all. There was nobody seated on my entire row! All the seats on my row, on my side and the other side were empty. That was quite pleasant. I remember looking out and it was dark.  The flight attendant gave me a pillow and a blanket.  I stretched out on three empty seats.  The emotions of the day had worn me out and I fell asleep. Then I remember waking up because light hit my face, and when I looked out there was daylight, but there was nothing to see but blue.  That was the most excruciating part of the trip.  I wasn’t sleepy anymore and there were still hours of the flight to go and it just went on and on and on. Hour after hour after hour.

Then finally, land ho! It was my first time to see American soil so I did not recognize anything. I knew I was landing in San Francisco and I was excited.  I remember anticipating something to just blow my mind and whack me with a welcome, I don’t know why exactly.  Maybe because it was America, and I heard from homesick Americans I’ve met in the Philippines who described it as this glorious land, so I imagined any minute now I’m going to see something breath-taking. But I didn’t. I didn’t see anything super spectacular. From the air as we were landing I saw nothing but specks of buildings and land.  To be honest it looked pretty gray compared to where I came from.

 "Landing in SFO" courtesy of DWGPhotos.

I have blurry memories of collecting my luggage, going through customs, etc. I remember starting to feel a little overwhelmed by this point.  I remember walking out of customs and immigration into the airport terminal.  I was still waiting for something spectacular to happen. Doesn’t that seem like a weird expectation?  For some reason after all the hype I’ve heard about America I truly expected to see something that would make me say, “Holy moly! I’m in America!” and distract me from the fear starting to roil inside me. But everything inside the terminal just seemed like Manila, or Tokyo. Nothing extra-ordinary at all except that all of a sudden there were more giant, white people than there were short brown Asian people!

Then I saw Elena Fultineer, Sister Carmen Nunez’s sister, and my aunt’s best friend from her youth.  She had driven from Sacramento to San Francisco to meet me. I think I had a package for her from her family.  It was nice to have someone there to meet me who was sort of familiar because at this point I was beginning to feel a freak-out moment coming on. She took me to the correct terminal and made sure I got on the plane bound for Salt Lake City.

I remember being on that plane.  I had another window seat! I thought, “Great! Maybe I will see the Salt Lake temple as I land. Yay!”  But that thought was just a momentary mental distraction. I realized that April 4, 1985 (because of the International Dateline) was turning out to be literally the longest day of my life, 48 hours long! And I had spent 16 hours of it so far travelling. I was about to meet my to-be in laws for the first time and I have not showered since what practically was my yesterday. Now I was sitting on a plane bound for Utah ---the fabled land of milk and honey that American missionaries have romanticized to Filipino Saints as modern-day Zion. And Alan will be there, and we will be together again after a difficult five weeks apart.  That was a happy, breath-taking thought. And also waiting for me in Utah was the rest of The Marsdens, my new family. That, on the other hand, was a scary, breath-stopping thought. I think I was this close to complete panic several times during that plane ride and I am really amazed that not once did I hyperventilate or pass out as I flew the few hundred miles to my new home to meet my soon-to-be in-laws.

****Next up on Monday, April 5th “Meet The Marsdens”.