More than a Passport

When we came to Britain three years ago, my husband gave up his lifelong dream of a life under the sun along with our well-paid jobs and good friends in Gibraltar. All for the sake of a British citizenship, the importance of which was only made more evident when on a holiday in Central Europe, we lost our passports in what became an immigration nightmare that involved dealing with three different embassies and was only sorted with the help of a Sheffield MP. 

At tough times we have often contemplated whether we have made the right decision to come here and for awhile we were very adamant that three years and that would be it. We have had enough of this country that doesn't seem to make up its mind about the weather. 

But after three years of living in Sheffield, I have slowly come to appreciate this country and its people - its proud heritage, its respect for different cultures and faiths and its ability to accept its faults and failures. I have made friends with people from different ethnic backgrounds who have made their homes here and who were all equally welcomed, including their traditions and beliefs. I have found a job that allowed me so much flexibility and opportunities for growth. I have made a home that is warm and cozy, with family members living just around the corner in a neighbourhood where everyone looks out for each other. I have enjoyed the fruits of my tax contributions with free medical services, accessible libraries, social benefits and safe and clean streets amongst others. 

No, this island nation in Europe is definitely not perfect and could learn a few lessons from its more advanced Scandinavian neighbours. Its a country full of moaners, ruthless benefit frauds, complicated immigration rules and exaggerated health and safety rules brought about by a culture of compensation. But it certainly means that democracy and social justice is being appropriately practiced here, regardless of the colour of your skin or the contents of your bank account. 

When I pledged allegiance to the Queen today, along with tens of others from 16 different countries, it didn't feel like I was only gaining a passport that would allow me ease of travel around the world. I have been accepted to an inclusive club that is, as the Home Secretary has described in her letter, "united by shared values, our respect for education and learning, and our willingness to listen to different points of view but also together seek the common good." But just like the country of my birth is just an aspect of my identity, my British citizenship will never be the only thing that would define me. 

Three Years Today

Summer of 2009 was a rather eventful season. I have just turned 25 going spinster (and the butt of the family joke 'Never been kissed, never been touched'). I have finally crossed the other side of the border and stepped on Spanish soil only after a year of living in Gibraltar. I have bought myself a Nikon D60 before boarding the ferry to Tangiers and was rather proud of my first SLR outputs. To top it off, our British friend said my photos 'captured the atmosphere' of the place.

Just days after we have crossed the Straight of Gibraltar, we embarked on another weekend get-away with friends in a campsite in Marbella. Encouraged by his interest in my photography, we started a conversation and over the course of the weekend, discovered a similar outlook in life and the same passion for travel and adventure.   

I have written about the man of my dreams long before I met him. I have waited and prayed for him over the years. So when he finally found me, I already knew but I had to keep my fingers crossed that God would also know I was ready.

That weekend was followed with four days of subtle flirting over our Facebook statuses, a text message with an 'x' and an eventual confession through an electronic message. There was nothing British 'Do you fancy going out for a drink' about it nor my response a hard-earned Filipino 'Yes' after long periods of courtship. It was as unconventional as only two non-conformists can get away with. 

So on this very night 36 months ago, to top up an already eventful summer, I had my very first kiss in the middle of a dance floor, with half of Gibraltar dancing to the classics of Abba. It was long and sweet, and everything I have dreamt it would be like. 

What followed is an exciting roller coaster ride involving weekend trips in Costa del Sol and Portugal; European city breaks; getting married; moving to Britain; becoming a football (supporter's) wife; learning to be domesticated; crossing the Bosphorus and meeting our Turkish family; driving around the English countryside; visiting my family back home; losing our passports in Central Europe; driving around Scotland and reaching Wale's highest point. This kind of lifestyle has once or twice left us broke and unemployed yet inspired and worldly-wise. Perhaps success has evaded us but happiness has not, and for that we are blessed.     

Three years today, life as we knew it, took on a different light. But for two people who have spent every single day together since then (apart from the few weeks before and after our wedding day), it has always felt longer than that.  

The Colour of Beautiful

Her skin, the colour of mellow bronze, glistens brightly against the summer sky. Her hair, thick and startlingly black, dangles loosely like the waves of the raging ocean. 

In the Western world this is how I have often been described, the colour of my skin and the texture of my hair is something most of them aspire. 

Where I came from, I was just plain 'maitim' (dark-skinned) with a very messy hair, not fitting of the nation's idea of fair skinned and stick straight-haired "beautiful". 

The happy childhood memories are somewhat marred by the playground banters that centred on the colour of my skin. Before Coco, my family nickname, became associated with Chanel, there was a Filipino song “A coconut nut is a giant nut” that followed me throughout my younger years. Then growing up, the usual compliment (or lack thereof) I would receive was that I “would have been beautiful if you had lighter complexion”. Some people had other ideas “You are lucky for the colour of your skin", they told me."You will be very popular with the foreigners” as though I am an exotic commodity who will peddle herself to the first bidder. I resented that most.

There was nothing I wanted more than to be considered ‘normal’, I didn’t even ask to be beautiful. I would have been tempted to pay for whitening products like most of my compatriots have done but I was sensible enough to realise that true love looks beyond the colour of my skin.

And indeed once in Europe, true love eventually found me. In a story that seemed like The Ugly Duckling coming to life, I have found the place where I can be myself, with dark skin and curly hair, and still be beautiful. 

When God Answers Prayers

It was the day after my 25th birthday. It was the day I stood up in front of the church congregation for a last-minute testimony to thank God for the quarter of the century past. It was the day I met my Destiny.

I can remember it almost so vividly now. I stood up with all the confidence I could muster. I stared at the friendly faces looking back eagerly at me. I opened my mouth. Then as expected, I started croaking like a frog. But it didn’t matter. I was in the company of the people who would listen anyway.

I have spent twenty-five years walking with God, sometimes stumbling along the way but always getting up stronger after the fall. Most of the time I have been stubborn, insistent upon my desires but I learned that whenever I let go, I could never fall. There have been moments I have faced uncertainties, battled with indecisions but never once did I doubt the existence of the Force that answered my prayers more than not.

But I also do remember telling everyone how despite all my blessings, I still somehow felt disappointed because I was living a life so different from the one I imagined I would have at 25. How I was scared that I would never experience what most people already have. And yet how, despite the gloomy future, I remained hopeful that I am still to see the fullness of the plan my Master has drafted for my life.

I had no idea then that the wheels of destiny started to turn that day.

It was at a joint birthday celebration where the rest of the Filipino community got together a few hours after I finished with the Open Arms. Drinks, Filipino dishes, karaoke and photo sessions are the flavours of the day. And of course, Tita’s friend from the hospital would be coming along later that night.

Most of my friends have met him in April, three months after he came over from the UK with a six-month contract as a nurse at the hospital. I have heard stories about him and received invites to go out with them for drinks or coffee where he was also expected. I was never interested; I couldn’t be bothered to be “talking in English”. Besides, I have never been sociable with men, how much more with men from another ‘planet’,.

So I only had a quick look of him that night (and I thought he’s cute). I wasn’t able to witness his videotaped karaoke performance of “I Swear” in his more-than-one-glass-of-wine state as I was busy with my photo shoots and playing with the little kids. He couldn’t even remember me from that day. I was just “one of faces”.

After becoming an adopted member of the Filipino community in Gibraltar, we’ve met a few more times during the gatherings and the special events but we never talked. Except on one occasion towards the end of July when we celebrated the receipt of our schengen visa with a picnic at the Rosia Bay. It wasn’t even a conversation; I just answered a question or two but that was when he first remembered me.

Then Morocco happened, a reluctant trip I took in August because I wasn’t allowed to take a previously booked holiday in Rome. And so in Tangier where Santiago (of ‘The Alchemist’) began his search for his Treasure I began the quest to follow my greatest dream.

It may be the mystique of the tiny alleyways all over the Medina or the magic of the exquisitely made carpets we have both been talked to buy. It may be the smell of the incense from the little shops along the way or the taste of the kuskus from the local restaurant where a di Caprio movie was shot. It may be the atmosphere of adventure after crossing the seas to another continent or the tone of romance looming over the air. Or maybe all that conspired in merging together two different worlds in one universe.

But nothing magical happened then, except perhaps it made him realize that I was indeed more than just a blur in the traffic of faces that walk past his mundane existence.

When we met again in a camping trip to Marbella, I found myself being drawn out of the cocoon that was my comfort zone. Before I knew it I was talking about myself as I would to people I have known for years. Suddenly I was stripped off my inhibitions, fears and insecurities. And the consciousness dawned on me: this is the man I have only dreamt and written about.

It was such a painful realization because I remembered a Jane Austen quotation from Northanger Abbey:

"No young lady can be justified in falling in love before the gentleman's love is declared, it must be very improper that a young lady should dream of a gentleman before the gentleman is first known to have dreamt of her."

But instead of wallowing over my confusion and building more walls that would block the imminent heartbreak I thought I was meant to suffer, I prayed like I have never prayed before. Yet more than a prayer from a weeping child desperate for a toy that would easily break, I surrendered my heart. Because I know He will lead the way, however long it will take for me to get there.

Then just when I least expected Him to, God answered my prayers—a bit too quickly. It was scary at first. Some people thought it was too sudden, how he didn’t even need to earn my heart. I have always been the predictable one: practical and ‘too analytical’. But when I made my plunge into those waters, the first one I’ve ever made in my life, I’ve let go fully.

There was never an ounce of regret. There were no what-ifs. And yes, he is everything I have ever written him to be, his love more than I have ever hoped I could find.

So when he knelt on his knees and asked for my hands, I couldn’t say no. He didn’t really need to ask. I knew of his existence long before I’ve met him. I knew of his love even by just the look in his eyes. I knew of his promise of forever, the moment God answered my prayers.