The Life and Times of a Filipino-American
When my friend Brendan moved back to Chicago this past October, he left behind his Betta Fish, Thugwaffle. I helped Brendan purchase him almost two years ago, and I even created a fish tank using an old 40 ounce bottle that I cut in half.
Sad to say, Thugwaffle has passed just a few hours short of 2016. He lived a long, sort of fruitful life in a beer bottle, and he will be missed. Expect a viking funeral in Prospect Park soon, and you can follow his past exploits on his Instagram account.
Well, my vacation in California has come to a close — albeit, I mainly did work through the 10 days I was here. It was great to see my parents and my brother again, but it made me realize that once I fly back to New York, my mom and dad will be 2,700 miles away from me, physically. I love my parents to death, and as they get older and I awkwardly squirm my way into adulthood, it makes me sad that I haven’t spent that much time with them. I love it when I drive my mom places. I love it when I watch television with my dad. I love just being around them (well, to an extent). It was so much easier to do that on a simple trip back home to Chicago — just a 2-hour flight or a 12-hour drive. Now they’re in California, and I’m not as easily accessible to them in their now waning years. But that’s growing up, you know? My brother constantly looms over me the paranoia of their eventual passing, and I’m worried that one day I’ll get that dreaded, emergency phone call and have to rush all the way to the West Coast from New York. It’s going to happen, I know, but nowadays that fear rears it’s ugly, inevitable head from the back of my mind.
And this brings me to this realization: can I move to California… eventually? New York has been fun and has clearly taken years off my own life with the stress, anxiety, and hustle, but I can envision myself moving to Los Angeles in a few years. I can see myself shedding all the worry about money and friends and cramped living and an obligated social life, in exchange for a more comfortable life in the West Coast. More importantly, I’ll be there for my family. I’ll be there for my mom and dad. Until I figure this whole “living as an independent adult, financially, emotionally, and socially” — in other words security — down, I’ll patiently wait till they day I feel comfortable to be comfortable in California.
On Christmas Day, my parents, brother, and I packed into a car and drove to Las Vegas. There was an agreement between my mother and I that we could go to Vegas on the sole condition I don’t take a train from Los Angeles back to New York; it’s always been my dream to travel across the country by rail, but my mom insisted I should spend more time with them. Family aside, potentially gambling away an entire paycheck was an incentive in spite of what I’d consider an enlightening, beautiful, and long trip back to Brooklyn.
After maneuvering my way through Vegas traffic, we arrived at the Rio Hotel and Casino just outside The Strip. My mom encouraged the four of us to register to Rio’s Total Rewards club, but as luck (ha) would have it, my brother had banned himself from all Ceasar’s/Harrah’s casinos nationwide several years ago. As soon as he tried to register with his driver’s license, security was alerted and were ready to escort him out. Since we already reserved our rooms a couple of months before, we pleaded with security and the hotel staff to stay, on the condition that my brother does not play on the casino floor. Of course, this frustrated me a bit since I promised my brother that I would not gamble without him nearby, and this simply meant that we couldn’t fucking play in the hotel we were fucking staying at.
Still, fortune was on our side: in yet another unexpected twist, the Rio ran out of their standard rooms (like seriously, what’s the point of a reservation?). However, as compensation for overbooking their facilities, they were gracious enough to give us a single luxury suite with all the amenities: a king-sized bed, couch, kitchenette, a view of the mountains, 2 bathrooms, and access to the spa.
After dropping off our luggage, we drove to New York New York, where I wanted my family to try out Vegas’ Shake Shack outpost. They enjoyed the burgers — which are as comparable to In-N-Out’s, but only more expensive — and for the first time ever, I was comfortable enough to drink and carry a beer around my relatively conservative parents. We then did a little bit of gambling inside New York New York. I ended up losing about $20 in video roulette, but my parents collectively won $30.
We stuck around for about an hour and a half, and my parents decided they needed to go to bed. My family and I returned to the hotel, but my brother and I were still game to gamble a bit more. Since my brother couldn’t play at the Rio, we went across the street to the Gold Coast casino. It was there that I profited $150 on the Walking Dead slot machine. Let me tell you, I love the show, I love the comics, and I love the interactivity of the game: the graphics were cool, and you sat on a chair that vibrated each time you spun the wheel. It was like sitting on a giant N64 Rumble Pack.
The next day, I took my family out to Downtown Vegas, on Fremont Street. We had brunch at the Main Street Casino and walked around a bit, my insisting we take photos at every turn. I managed to win some extra cash at the Four Queens Casino, playing the Ghostbusters, Gremlins, and Sons of Anarchy themed penny slots. All my winnings eventually went towards the new DSLR that my parents and I split, so overall my third trip to Vegas was yet again successful. I showed restraint when it came to gambling (and that ultimately got me a few extra dollars in my wallet), plus I spent time with my fam.
Before we left, we walked around the Bellagio at my mom’s behest and took photos. We also hit up a few of the malls in and around Vegas — that mega-mall on The Strip that’s shaped like a circle of human suffering, and an outlet mall on the border of Nevada and California. It was at that outlet mall where I bought a coyote skull from a Native American. I think I’m going to put plants in its eye sockets.
I spent the holidays with my parents and brother in their new house in Corona, California (well, new in the sense that my parents bought the house 5 years ago and only moved into it this past October). I haven’t seen my mom and dad since the summer, and although I talk to my older brother nearly everyday, I haven’t seen him in 2 years.
My brother picked me up at Ontario Airport late at night, after flying nearly 6 hours from New York. We haven’t seen each other for quite a while, since he chose not to come home to Chicago whilst my parents were living there; he opted to focus more on his studies and burgeoning career. Now he had gained a little weight since the last time I saw him a few Christmases ago, and I’ll admit it was awkward after seeing him for so long. Our relationship has never been smooth, but he is blood. As way to steer the conversation into something more comfortable for the both of us, I immediately asked him about his current projects — as I do everyday over the phone — and that slight tension between us then faded. He proceeded to take me to In-N-Out Burger, noticeably excited to welcome me to California and happy that once again our family was reunited.
As a kind gesture and a way to show my family that I’m pretty well off without them, I bought him and my parents some food and arrived at the new house only to find out that my mom and dad were away visiting some relatives. Tired from my long trip, I excused myself from my brother and went upstairs to the room my mom had prepared. She spared no expense or time decorating what she endearingly calls my “permanent room for when you visit us”: the walls were decorated with pictures of me as a child, coupled with framed comic strips I made in undergrad and shitty artwork I created throughout the years. Trinkets and collectibles from my childhood lined the windowsill, which overlooked a pair of unfamiliar palm trees in the backyard. A stack of my high school yearbooks and hardbound copies of stories that I haphazardly made in kindergarten sat atop a footstool I instantly recognized from my old house in Chicago.
As soon as I laid down to take a nap my parents arrived, my mom shouting the familiar, “PHEEEEEEEELLIP!” in her thick Filipino accent. I walked downstairs and was greeted by my mother and father who, despite my brother proclaiming they looked more weathered and elderly, haven’t changed in the slightest since I last saw them in July in Chicago. We talked for a bit, my dad asked about my financial situation as he munched on the fries I bought him, and then I returned to my bedroom. Minutes later, my mom came up and sat on the foot of my bed, expressing how much she missed me and how she’s so happy to have all her family together again, under the same roof. She kissed me goodnight, and I went to bed.
Because of the time difference between the East and West Coasts, I woke up the next day unfathomably early — even before my dad, who’d usually get up at some weird, inexplicable hour to watch CNN. I started to do work, small tasks and design projects that I was obligated to do during my vacation. Most of my time — with the exception of Christmas — was busy with work; with the relaunching of the new website in January, I needed to do as much as I could in order to fulfill the site’s deadline. The majority of my vacation was spent sitting at the kitchen table, my laptop and hard drive in front of me, replying to emails and teleconferencing with my coworkers back in New York. Every now and then, I’d take a break and chit chat with my family, but they graciously understood the importance (and stress) of my job.
When I was free, I spent my time watching Filipino soap operas on satellite TV and shopping with my family. For Christmas, I bought my parents a pair of small guava and mango trees, while I gave my brother $10 worth of scratch-off tickets and a Visa gift card. For my own Christmas present, my parents and I decided to split the cost on a new DSLR camera, which would help me create more shitty photos and videos. Furthermore, I would give them my 2003 DSLR I packed with me so they too can take awful images with mediocre photography skills. With the discussion of Christmas presents done, we talked about driving to Vegas on Christmas Day and spending Christmas Eve with my aunt and uncle in nearby Chino Hills.
Now my aunt and uncle have lived in the same house ever since I visiting California as a child. They don’t have any children of their own, so they have a habit of spoiling their numerous nieces and nephews — even as adults. On Christmas Eve, they cooked us a wonderful turkey dinner and gave my brother and me money to gamble with in Las Vegas. We proceeded to play poker for the rest of the night, a typical custom within the Nievera side of my family. Ultimately, I came up as one of the biggest winners, attaining over $50 from my brother, dad (who sucks at poker), aunt, and uncle. Despite my mom having Nievera blood coursing through her, she refused to gamble and watched Adele’s Christmas concert in the next room. Honestly, I really don’t know how she’s going to do much of anything in Las Vegas.
So far it’s been a decent time here in California. Granted, the design work, the website relaunch, and a few freelance video editing gigs have added unwanted stress to this so-called vacation, but the warmth and sincerity of being with my family is compensation enough.
More later.
