Back to Alameda

Alameda, California was the first town we lived in when my sisters and I joined my mom in the US in 1982. We lived in an apartment on Taylor Avenue with my mom and grandmother.

As my grandmother advanced in age, she refused to live anywhere else, because Alameda was comfortable for her. I'm sure her heart broke when my mom sent her home to the Philippines to live with my aunt who could take better care of her.

My mom is advancing in age. She said that she now understands why my grandmother always complained of aches and pains. And she now also refuses to leave Alameda.

Maybe as we age, we feel less and less secure about everything. Maybe it's the fear of death, manifesting as fear of other things. So we hold on to things that make us feel secure.

Even I feel fear. I have no idea where my life is going. I've tried to make a difference, I've tried to build a new career, and I failed. Wendy Lipton-Dibner said that you have to find that deep inner purpose, that fire that will drive you to do what you need to get done. Maybe that's where I failed.


When Jon and I were newly married and we had to move to the east coast for his training, I remember how I couldn't visualize the future. Whenever I thought of it, all my mind got was complete blackness. Up to that point, as far back as the first time I cared about my future, I had some idea of what to expect.

But not that time. I had no idea what it would be like, or where we would end up. He knew little himself; we were simply directed by the US Navy one step at a time. There I was with a man I married after only three months of dating. He was even reluctant to declare me as his wife to the Navy, because, being a foreign national, I might compromise his security rating. If he chose to abandon me in the east coast, how would I get back with no money of my own?


The past several months, that's what my future felt like again -- complete blackness. When I wrote my book, it felt like it was the right thing to do at the time. And maybe it was, but I don't know yet. It takes time to see results. So the blackness remains.

Then last week, my mom's heart stopped. She had heart palpitations too and her doctors ignored her symptoms, until now. So in an emergency surgery, they installed a pacemaker on her. She's home now and recovering well, but it made me realize that I really am the best one in the family to take care of her. After all, both my sisters have families of their own, and I have no responsibilities to anyone except myself. And, in spite of her bravado, my mom really cannot live alone anymore. So I'm moving back to the Bay Area, and eventually back to Alameda, because it feels like the right thing to do next.

And I can see through the darkness.