One Way

Today was a significant day for my mom as she had her scheduled interview for her US Visa application. The plan was for her to accompany Grandma on their trip back to the States. Everything was arranged accordingly. We rented a van and made our way to Manila, parking near the Museong Pambata, right next to the US Embassy.

After devouring the somewhat satisfying tuna sandwiches that we had bought for lunch, we proceeded to the entrance. Mom had meticulously prepared all the necessary documents. These included grandma's medical certificates, demonstrating her need for assistance during travel, support papers from Mom's US citizen siblings, showcasing that she had a place to go and people to support her while abroad, and birth certificates of my sisters and me, indicating her intention to return to the Philippines—well, at least after she becomes a citizen herself. We had everything planned out perfectly and held high hopes for approval.

As we took the brief three-minute walk to the entrance (which turned into a thirty-minute stroll due to Grandma's slow pace), I noticed a variety of vendors near a waiting shed. You could find anything you needed there: food, drinks, candies, cigarettes, chewing gum, umbrellas, newspapers, magazines, Sudoku, word search and crossword puzzles, fans, ballpoint pens, and other office supplies. This reinforced my belief that Filipinos are born entrepreneurs. There was even a ten-minute ID photo processing service. At that moment, Mom realized she had forgotten to attach an ID photo to her application form. We approached the lady holding the sign for ID photos, and she promptly summoned the photographer. Right there, in the waiting shed, with an assistant holding a white blanket for the background, they captured Mom's picture. The price was a bit steep, P100 for four pictures, but we had no other option.

When we reached the entrance, the line was considerably long. There were two lanes—one for Visa applicants and the other for US citizens. Grandma went through the citizens' lane, while mom had to patiently wait her turn in the applicant line. That's as far as I could go. From that point onward, they were on their own.

As I made my way back to the van, I noticed a familiar face walking past me. Initially, I didn't recognize him because he was wearing sunglasses. Then I saw his bandmate, and it hit me—it was Mcoy Fundales, the former vocalist of Orange and Lemons and a Pinoy Big Brother housemate. Now he's part of a band called Kenyo. It's not every day that I encounter a celebrity up close and personal. I should have taken a photo or asked for an autograph, but I stood there, rooted to the spot. Mcoy and his bandmates joined the queue. Oh well...

Three hours had passed since Mom and Grandma went in for the interview. I returned to the waiting shed to make use of its purpose. Eventually, the rain started to pour. Amidst the downpour, twelve or so fire trucks, with their blaring sirens, hurriedly rushed back and forth on Roxas Boulevard. Clearly, there was a fire somewhere. I didn't need to be a detective to figure that out. They'll probably cover it on the news tonight. Hopefully, the rain helps extinguish the flames.

Suddenly, Mcoy and his bandmates walked past the waiting shed, attracting gazes from the people gathered there, including me. Silly as it may sound, I was once again starstruck. This is how it is in Manila—so many celebrities around, I thought to myself. Then, finally, Mom and Grandma emerged. Just by looking at Mom's expression, I knew it wasn't good news. I was right. Her application had been denied.

The consul who interviewed her barely asked any questions and didn't even glance at the presented documents. Without another word, he swiftly returned Mom's passport. That was it. Weeks of preparation and a significant amount of money had gone down the drain. It felt incredibly unfair. It seemed like they had never intended to approve her application in the first place.

Anyone who has tried to obtain a US Visa knows that it is a costly process. The scheduled interview alone requires a payment of almost P6,000, and it doesn't even guarantee approval. A message to the US ambassadors: we pay a substantial amount of money to answer your questions and try to convince you that we are deserving of your precious Visa. At the very least, take a closer look at the documents we painstakingly prepared, and don't judge us based on your mood or personal preferences. Dammit! You come in and out of our country, exploiting our resources, and yet we still welcome you with open arms. How is it that you get to dictate whether we can or cannot enter your damn country?

Defeated by the flawed system, we headed home. The weather seemed to empathize with our situation, pouring its heart out. Mom needed to inform Auntie Alice, her sister, about what happened so they could figure out who would come here and escort Grandma. I could see the pain of rejection in Mom's eyes. I know how it feels—I'm accustomed to it. But witnessing your loved ones experience it is a hundred times worse.