Never Bridge the Gap

By Angelica Mae Balbuena / Winter 2025

When I first left the Philippines for America, I thought the “American Dream” would be waiting for me, as if it had almost been promised as soon as I landed. But, as I reflect on my experiences, I’m beginning to wonder why the dream doesn’t seem to match reality. My life in Manila, the capital of the Philippines, can often be called privileged by many, and I’m always reminded of how lucky my family has been in terms of money. In the many days I’ve traveled throughout the city, the quality of life of the poor has constantly been screaming for help in the eyes of the government.

Dilapidated houses littered the streets with aluminum sheets as their roofs and hundreds of power lines crisscrossed each other, almost touching the houses. You sometimes see an old man pushing a wooden cart filled with trash, which they sell to junkyards so they can have some extra money and maybe their children can eat some good food for that day. Rivers are green and overflowing with trash; you’d think it was flowing with rubbish instead of water with how putrid the smell around them is. I could probably write a whole essay on the current state of my motherland, and it still wouldn’t be enough to explain how devastating life is on the other side of the world. While this isn’t the reality for every Filipino, millions of people live their lives close to this description while praying for a miracle to happen. I guess this is one explanation of why the country is so religious; they look to God to provide them the comfort their own government refuses to give them. I consider myself privileged because I didn’t have to experience that, and my family was well-off enough to send me to a private Catholic school, where I only had to pray for my parents to buy me a new phone.

During my high school years, we only had a few lessons on American history, and it was mostly about how it was discovered. But based on pop culture and how my relatives abroad regaled on how life there was easy, the “American Dream” spawned in my head. As I think back on that moment, it’s easy to romanticize something unachievable. My definition of the “American Dream” is if you work hard enough, success will soon be in your grasp. Imagine my surprise when my parents got the immigration papers, and I was soon screaming with delight to my friends about how exciting my future would be. A few days after we landed in the States, though, I would be slapped in the face with how unprepared I was during my assimilation here. We arrived late in the school year, and I couldn’t be enrolled in a normal high school, so I spent the next few months sitting by myself in a learning center while I was scrutinized by my classmates for having a weird accent and dressing differently. I wasn’t used to wearing casual clothes to school before because, in the Philippines, we had uniforms, so I didn’t have a lot of clothes to wear to school. After a while, it became apparent to me how vastly different my life was compared to theirs, and I became embarrassed that I could only shop at thrift stores because it was what we could afford. I knew we didn’t have a normal living arrangement as well, as there were a total of 13 people living in one house. Life was different, but I had hope that I could wrestle with the steering wheel of my life and that my future could change if I put in the right amount of effort.

That changed when we had to move out and were no longer under the guidance of our sponsors. I sought temporary work at the same grocery store my parents worked in just to get by. Meanwhile, with time, inflation made the distance between what we earned and needed wider. The struggle was endless, and we never seemed to catch up. But I rose to the occasion with those challenges. It wasn't about just living for me anymore. I became the protector and the provider for my younger cousins. I came to America when I was the youngest of my family there and was somewhat carefree and reckless in a lot of ways like how children often are. It all changed when my two little cousins moved in with us. They needed someone to look out for them, and I became that person. It wasn't easy and I wasn't much older than them, but I took on the responsibility anyway. I treated them like my siblings, helping them with their schoolwork, making sure they felt safe, and providing comfort when things got heavy. I had to grow up quickly. Between working long hours in the grocery store, taking care of my cousins, and trying to balance school, the burden of responsibility became much heavier than what I had originally known. I kept everything together and became the glue, although there were quite a few times when I didn't really know if I was strong enough to keep hanging on myself.

But it wasn't only my cousins that I had to take care of. I could see that my parents were not getting younger anytime. My father had been trying hard to catch up with his job, and my mother had already sacrificed so much energy. I knew I couldn't just sit and let them get burnt out, so I knew I had to help. I began pitching in more at home, taking on more work outside and just kept trying to keep it all afloat. It was difficult, yet I knew this was the reality that stared at me in the face. I couldn't afford to be selfish anymore. It was my family's survival on my shoulders now, and I realized my dream was merely just a dream.

Then came the realization about the "American Dream": the idea that if one worked hard enough, then success would be the result. I thought my family's sacrifices would pay off, and that all our hard work would amount to something more. But the more I tried, the more I saw how out of reach that dream actually was. The American Dream wasn't about hard work or sacrifice; it was something for the privileged, those with resources and connections. No matter the effort put in or sacrifices made, we remained where we started. I would watch people around me take on life so easily, while we struggled to get through the day. It was painfully clear: the American Dream wasn't promised to me. It had been a dream I had always pursued, believing in but never quite attaining. How much we worked, and how many hours we put in could never bridge the gap. The system was rigged. In that instant, I realized that no matter how hard we tried, this dream was not meant for us.