The Filipino dream
Blackbird” has been on repeat for a few days now. It’s been nine months since the government put the nation under quarantine, and it’s been three years since I quit my corporate job to pursue my dream of teaching. And because the pandemic gave me a lot of idle time to think, I reflected upon being a 20-something guy in a world crazed by social pressure and dilemma. I pondered upon what it really means to take one’s broken wings and learn to fly.
Back in kindergarten, our teacher taught us to dream. I can still vividly recall everything. We would draw our dream job in colored papers and cut them out so we could put it somewhere else and show it to our parents, and then Mrs. Enriquez would give us a 5-star stamp on our hands for dreaming well. Some of my classmates wanted to be a doctor, a firefighter, a policeman. Pretty much everything a child usually sees on TV. I was fascinated by heavenly bodies that time, so I drew a stick-man astronaut. I kept it and never showed it to my parents.
It wasn’t until I entered high school that I learned that all these dreams do not really come out of paper and become a reality, and the world will not give you a 5-star stamp for dreaming well. My dad was in and out of the hospital because of his urinary tract infection and diabetes. My brother just went to Manila to study for college, and my mom was singlehandedly trying to juggle our family’s finances by working a clerical job 10 hours a day, six days a week. I was left alone most of the time, singing in the dead of night, wondering if Mrs. Enriquez would tell me if I could still be an astronaut and go up to the skies and reach for my dreams someday.
The American dream is all about “making it.” We would often hear rags-to-riches stories, of people who came from nothing and then, after many years of hard work, finally became something. The Filipino dream, on the other hand, is not far from the definition, or at least from what I experienced. The answer to how far you can dream as a Filipino often depends on how much food your family can put on the table. I really hate that reality.
Look at Daniel, I would hear one of my relatives at a family gathering say. He now earns a lot as an engineer, his family can finally afford to live well. And how about Gina? She’s already a CPA. I bet she earns a lot, too. This scene is not far from familiar. Most young professionals and fresh graduates these days are pressured to get a stable job and earn a lot quickly so they can get their families out of poverty, only to find themselves unsatisfied and unhappy. No wonder many corporate rank-and-file employees resemble zombies: lifeless, apathetic, demoralized.
I once taught at a technical-vocational school several years ago. It’s a school that offers two-year technical courses for students who need to work but cannot because they don’t have a college diploma. This school is the solution to their problems. For just a couple of years, they can obtain a certificate and work so they can start earning to fend for their families.
For their final project, I asked my students to create a marketing plan for a business they want to start. I told them to disregard everything and focus on their dream. What is it that you really want regardless of any problem you’re facing right now? I asked them. You should have seen the gleam in their eyes when they made their final project.
I may not be the only one who wants to redefine the Filipino dream. Imagine what would change if our hearts (not just our stomachs) are also part of our dream actualization. What if we reinforce our Filipino values as part of “making it”—that those who genuinely care and empathize with others should likewise be considered successful, perhaps even more so, and not just those who earn a lot?
After five years of working in an 8-to-5 corporate job, I finally decided to leave to answer the call to teach. I may not be an astronaut, but my heart can now finally fly and reach the skies.
We’re all, in some way, like that Blackbird, waiting for a certain moment to arise and be free. We all long for that day, don’t we? But for the meantime, let’s continue to dream and sing, to take our sunken eyes and broken wings and fly, to fly into the light of the dark black night.
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Erikson Isaga, 27, lives in Taguig City. He is currently teaching at Miriam College Nuvali.
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