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Geonel Molina

Professor Smith

BE 112

May 2, 2019

Kung Walang Tiyaga, Walang Nilaga

For many people living in America, especially for those who are undocumented and

illegal, such as Filipinos, life is tough. Government statistics show an estimated 3.5 million

Filipinos live in the US, with roughly about 300,000 of them being undocumented. Due to

extreme poverty, a lot of Filipino people prefer to work abroad. They choose to become OFW’s

(Filipino Overseas Worker) because of higher salaries, getting out of the slum, and the promise

of achieving a better life. Living in the Philippines is tough, especially if you reside in an

impoverished area. Being in the lower class, your only choice is to either work rigorous hours in

the fields or be a fisherman, due to lack of education and schooling system. Above that, the ones

who choose to immigrate have to sacrifice a lot, such as leaving their family behind and being

thousands of miles away from them. My father was one of those Filipinos who chose that path.

I was only two years old when my father had to leave me, so I couldn’t recall much about

him nor his image. My mother would show me pictures of him to maintain his image in my mind

and my father would call us twice a month to keep our communication intact. She would tell me

stories about how there were days when we had nothing, moneywise, but my father made sure

that there was food on the table when he was still with us. He would hunt and go fishing in our

nearby lake and also worked at a rice field, in exchange for a bag of rice. My mom with her

sacrifices, perseverance, and selflessness did her very best to make me feel loved and she played

the mother/father figure so I wouldn’t feel left out from seeing other kids with their parents. She
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didn’t want to make me feel incomplete because every little boy needs the presence of a father-

figure while growing up. My mother made sure I understood the reasons why my father chose to

work abroad.

Living in the Philippines as a kid was fun; I had a lot of friends and played a lot of

physical activities called “patintero” and “luksong baka” (try to cross my line without letting me

touch you or catch you and jumping over the cow). My parents knew that this was not the life

they intended for us, so that was when my father decided to work overseas as a crew member on

a ship. He would work rigorous hours to make ends meet and extra money so he can send his

earnings to us. Unfortunately, the money that he sent to us was not enough for my mom and I to

be stable. My father did not want to do this for the rest of his life, so he decided to hop of their

ship when they were stationed in New York City, risking everything from being deported to

becoming homeless. From that day on, he would juggle from job to job just so he can survive in

New York as an undocumented Filipino.

It was 1994 when, determined to learn new skills and not give up, my father finally found

a stable job as a crane operator at a metal recycling company in Brooklyn. My father would work

six days a week, twelve hours a day to meet his needs to live in New York City and to also

provide for us. As an undocumented alien, he had to be careful when hiding from the authorities

to avoid getting deported. Luckily, while working, my father’s employer saw how devoted and

compassionate he is, and he helped him get a working permit to work legally for three years.

Sadly, the company soon filed for bankruptcy and my father had to find another company to

work for. Weeks passed, and my dad found another job with the help of my uncle, doing what he

loves most: man-handling his crane and crushing scrap metal into pieces. He was able to

continue his sponsorship for the next two years but soon the company had to shut down due to
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criminal activities. He told me that the NYPD barged inside the company’s property and

interrogated the employees. Terrified and clueless, he quickly fled the scene with my uncle and

endured walking twelve miles in eight inches of snow to reach their apartment. That time my

father was devastated because he couldn’t renew his working permit to keep his status so he

struggled to find another job. It was hard for him financially so he couldn’t send us money.

Months passed, and a recycling company in New Jersey took my father in and continued

sponsoring his work permit. After that he saved up enough money to bring my mom and me to

New York.

It was January of 1999 when my mom and I arrived at John F. Kennedy airport with a

tourist visa. There was my dad waiting for us at the arrival area line. He was jumping and waving

like a kid shouting our names, “Etchie, Glenn!” We rushed to him and gave him the tightest hug

ever. Both my parents were crying, and I was freezing my butt off. My mom told me about the

cold weather, but I didn’t know it was going to be that chilly. We exited the airport and the first

thing I said “ang lamig” (it’s so cold). The strong wind hit my face and penetrated my jean

jacket. I couldn’t feel my face, my hands were numb, and my lips even cracked. I knew I hated

winter from then on. During that time there was a snow storm and I was in awe seeing snow for

the first time. As days passed, our time in New York was coming to an end due to the 30 day

policy for the tourist visa. We decided to stay with my father until his status was completely

legalized, so we overstayed on our tourist visa. From there, my mom and I became

undocumented, or, “TNT” “takbo ng takbo” (Filipino for illegal alien who is in hiding).

Growing up and becoming a man of my own, I realized that my father’s hard work had

guided me to appreciate everything that we have accomplished starting as undocumented and

immigrants in New York and finally becoming a United States citizen. The values kept me
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humble towards the immigration crisis we are facing today. My father’s hardships starting as an

illegal filipino worker in New York, taught me that with determination and hard work, you can

achieve greater things in life. We have this saying in the Philippines “kung walang tiyaga,

walang nilaga,” which means that, “without perseverance, there is no reward

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