I
was twenty-one when I left my country to work abroad, I brought a
fancy zebra-striped suitcase as heavy as stones. It was chubby full
of my stuff, as if I was staying out-of-the-country for the rest of my
life. The day before my flight, it was raining and I was excited that
I fantasized being a traveler, for in a short narrow hallway of our
house I dragged my suitcase behind me and practiced how to use its
handle. I waddled along the hallway in between the kitchen and living
room holding all my luggage as I carried it up through the two steps
to my bedroom. While I was busy as a bee, my mother reminded me of
bringing a winter jacket and explained that the country has a winter
season. I was young and didn't know what else to prepare, I only
cared about my new suitcase with lots of pockets: it looked strong,
smelled like happiness and it sounded like joy. I was totally
fascinated.
Even
though I was jumping for joy to leave, my heart was also mourning,
for I will be bringing past family memories all together in a
suitcase. As I kept adding things inside my suitcase, I realized I
was also putting the clothes that my sister and I shared and noticed
the blanket that my mother sewed for me. At that time my family was
ready, my father and brothers alternately carried the suitcase to the
van and to the airport. All of them touched my very own suitcase
and left their hand prints on it. My suitcase was thankful for it was
surrounded with supportive people and it was ready to embrace the
changes this fast moving world will throw its way.
Finally,
in a crowded area of Davao International Airport, I rushed into the
bathroom adjacent to the departure area and surprisingly cried. My
thoughts of missing my hometown and family was a storm, unexpected. I
fixed my hair and wiped my tears and said that I needed to do this. I
had to leave and work for my family, who back then never had
experienced a better life. The difficult condition sent me to
work far away carrying hope and determination to fulfill the dreams I
had for them. I told myself I can do it. I am a Filipino. Thrall
acknowledges, “Filipinos are determined to work abroad” (18).
I
was determined that I can make my family live a better life and help
develop my country. Thrall argues that Filipinos get paid very low in
the Philippines and the money they send home from working abroad
helps the country's economy (18).
On
the journey over to Taiwan, I began to wonder what it would be like. I
wondered how people would treat me. I felt strange to live and work
in the house of my employer. I suddenly saw the seatbelt sign
blinking and heard the pilot's loud voice reminding us to fasten our
seat belts while experiencing turbulence. His voice was like music to
my ears, I wondered if pilots are also DJ's. I joked to myself and
laughed in the sea of sadness.
When
I arrived and looked through the window I saw this beautiful foreign
country. My sadness was replaced with excitement. It was the
cleanest, colorful and the most immense airport I've ever seen.
People were busy moving in different directions as I was struggling
to hold all of my stuff. Immediately, I saw an agent in a white jag
shirt smiling, holding
a small white poster with my name on it, and he was waving his hand at
me. He took me to a bus with full of workers from Vietnam, China,
Indonesia, Thailand and other neighboring countries of Taiwan. I
heard different languages spoken when I was entering but never
understood them. I thought nobody had spoken English for none of them ever
spoke a word nor looked at me after I said hi to everyone. After a
long hour, the bus dropped me off in Taipei and the agent guided me
to the restaurant of my employer. I noticed my suitcase was getting
tired of the travel or maybe it was I that couldn't bear the hours of
this unending journey.
As
soon as I met my lady employer, she quickly took my things away and
asked me to start working. My suitcase was taken and thrown away on
the floor by her violent hands. I never thought I will be working
fifteen hours a day, no rest days and communicated with sign language
for none of them spoke English. I saw her yelling and throwing plates
at the cooks for missing orders and being verbally abusive to the
work staff. Jung explains, “Taiwanese eatery owners have poor
management, personnel problems, and inexperience dealing with their
employees due to inept business skills and decision-making” (17).
My employers never cared
even the days I was sick working long hours. A day of rest that I
requested was never given. I spent my nights laying my head on my
suitcase, wishing for the pain to vanish. After a long ten months of
sacrifices being treated like other employees, I packed my things and
was ready to go home. As I closed the empty cabinets in my room, I
stared at my suitcase. The dirty looking suitcase had had enough: The
life it represented- was my life journey
filled with opportunities, hardships, heartaches and sometimes
incredibly cruel – was ready to
end its suffering and to go to a much nicer place to rest and rebuild
strength.
At last, when the plane
landed and the seat belt light turned off, I took my suitcase with a
smile on my face bringing hope back to the people who cared for me. I came
back and arrived to a very homely airport where I recognized the
voices I heard and enjoyed the honking of cars, jeepneys and trucks
outside the building. Opposite to me, I saw six excited people
waiting outside the building. My mom ran towards me and gave me lots
of love. My family offered to help carry my things. My sister noticed
the handle of my suitcase was broken. Dad said not to worry for I was
home now, safe and sound. My mother told me while she was holding my
hands, in time this broken suitcase will be replaced with a new one
and it will begin traveling to its next journey without getting hurt
for I will buy you a sturdy one. “New hope, new plans!”, my Dad
added with his loving smile and a sweet tap of his hand on my back.
Works Cited
Thrall, Teresa Hudson.
“Visas Nearing Cap.” H&HN: Hospitals & Health Networks
80.9
(2006):
18-20. Academic Search Complete. Web. 6 Nov. 2013.
Jung, John. “The Sour Side
of Chinese Restaurants.” Chinese American Forum 29.1 (2013):
17-22.
Academic Search Complete. Web. 7 Nov. 2013.
